A/N: Hey, so, this is just a little oneshot that I thought up after reading something. Thanks for reading and enjoy!
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
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Riley hates tears.
He always has. The last time he cried, he was four. He had been goofing around and had somehow gotten his hand slammed in a door. His mom had gone to wrap it up, when his dad came in and looked at her, and said, "Stop babying him. He's got to grow up sometime." Then he turned to Riley and said, "Quit crying."
He whimpered at the look on his dad's face, but managed to stop the tears.
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When he was six, his dad was taking him somewhere- sort of. He was walking really fast, and Riley, being six and having short legs, just couldn't keep up. He kept yelling at his dad to wait up, but he wouldn't slow down. Eventually, when they were almost there, they passed two teenage boys talking and he heard his dad mutter a word he'd never head before; "Fags."
"What does that mean?" Riley asked, looking up wide-eyed at him.
"Nothing," he replied gruffly and kept walking, faster than before.
Riley felt his eyes well up in frustration, but pushed them back. He hated the look he got whenever he didn't.
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When Riley was eleven, his dad left. No explanation, no nothing. One day he was there, the next, he wasn't. He remembers hearing his mom cry, but he couldn't. He just stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to do. He looked down at the floor, wondering what he did that made his dad want to leave. To this day, he still blames his four-year old self crying that day. He looks at his hand and then back up. He watches his hand punch the wall of his room and sees the blood spring up. It hurts, but at least he can say that he's not a wimp. He can try and make his dad proud.
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When he was thirteen, one of his friends died in a car accident. He remembers standing in the room at the funeral, watching everyone around him cry, and his being the only dry eye. He felt like such an asshole. Everyone just kept looking at him, with questioning looks, looking at him sympathetically, expecting him to do the same thing they were. He tried everything to get himself to cry, to feel something, but the tears just wouldn't come. Later on, Riley ended up breaking his wrist. He had punched his dresser and his hand twisted wrong. He didn't tell anyone until the next morning. He deserved it.
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When Riley was fifteen, his mom got pregnant again and had his little sister, Lucie. She had been pretty young when she had Riley, so it made sense. He heard his mom talking to her friends about how she didn't know who Lucie's dad was. Riley, as much as he hated his dad, wished that his dad was Lucie's too. He wanted her to truly be his sister, not his half-sister or whatever. He heard her crying every night. By this point, Riley didn't even bother to try. He didn't want to. Crying was weak, and Riley was not weak.
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When he was eighteen, he kissed Peter. Just seeing the look on his face afterwards was enough to let Riley know that this was wrong, all wrong. Why had he done that? He didn't…couldn't…he was Riley. He was on the football team, the star athlete. He couldn't be…gay. He didn't want to feel like this, especially not for Peter, his best friend. Sitting in his room later, he felt one lone tear slip down his cheek. And for once, he didn't care. He had already sunken as low as possible.
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A/N: Thanks for reading! Please review!