A/N: This is for a fellow reader friend of mine. I don't own EEnE.

Learn to see

When were they going to see?

Everybody had eyes, but nobody saw. Or they pretended not to. They looked without seeing, going about their lives as though nothing has changed. Perhaps nothing has changed and it was just me. Perhaps I was imagining it. It wasn't impossible.

I was dying inside. I was slowly dying inside, and no one saw it.

I saw Kevin's father abuse him – for what Mr Barr did could hardly be described as punishment. The red haired boy had taken a few hits to the head, and he just blamed his injuries on exercise equipment. I wonder what story he will tell the others if the see the welts on his back, seeing as he made sure no one ever saw him without a shirt. I saw it happen through a window.

Imagine that – an eighteen year old boy still being corporally punished? The humiliation it would be for my neighbour. Of course the victim would think it was his fault.

I once saw him crying, you know. He just rushed out of his house and run across the street to my house.

"Please, Double D, you gotta let me crash here. Please?" He had begged me, and there were streaks of shiny tears across his face.

I stood back and allowed him entry, saying nothing because I was, for once in my life, at a loss for words. He looked at me gratefully – as if I had just granted him a new life. Perhaps I had. Perhaps I had seen what others refused to see.

The guest bedroom was made up for him and I gave him some of the clothing my parents gave me in hopes of me becoming a better-liked person to my peers or to join a sporting team. I didn't have that patience to repeatedly fall over or to willingly subject myself to a pummelling by boys larger than I was or my body torn in two in a tackle.

Books were good and familiar and they couldn't hurt me. My parents hadn't seen it that way, of course.

Kevin had moved into my house. It started off as simply a day or two, but in the end I asked him to stay. I was home alone. I didn't know for how long, but while I wasn't necessarily afraid of sleeping in the house by myself, he was in need of some care. He, in turn, offered to provide me from protection from his team mates.

"Kevin, the football team has not hassled me in months," I said, "I can take of myself."

It was true. I had been left alone. The jocks hadn't ridiculed me or demanded that I do their homework for them in quite some time. I knew exactly why too, but my new houseguest apparently didn't. His teammates probably hadn't told him.

I couldn't blame them. Only Eddy and Ed had ever known until I was forced to reveal this shameful secret.

I could also see the way Nazz was spiralling downwards. Her parents didn't care about her. They just gave her all the money she needed and let her do her own thing. Nazz was desperate for attention and she searched for it in all the wrong places: in others' arms, by acting out and dressing like she did. It was a frantic cry for attention for her parents, but they just… did not care. It was a sad story.

I talk to that girl quite a lot. I didn't realise it until later, but the attention I was giving her by chastising her for her behaviour made the blonde open up to me. She toned down her wardrobe, though I'm still not happy with it, and she clung to me. I was the person she ran to when things got too much for her or when she felt like she had made a horrible mistake. I had become a parent to her, despite being her own age.

I also noticed Ed and Sarah's conditions. Not only was Ed smarter than he made out to be, his sister was kinder than she made out to be. How do I know this? I've played witness to it. Ed's grades were average, better than I had expected he would fare in high school, and he understood some things more than I did. Ed was sensitive. Ed was very sensitive, so he wore a mask of idiocy to hide this. They could call him an idiot, of course, but no one knew what the tall teenager was truly like.

I had only seen glimpses of it. I don't know why he hides. I could have blamed on his parental parties, but I know they're perfectly lovely. It wasn't a façade either. I know because I know what a façade looks like.

I gave him lessons, and his grades increased. I always taught him, because I knew that he was capable of more. He didn't let anyone see his report cards, but I was rather apt at using a school computer and the educators trusted me with managing the school's system. It meant they could get less expensive labour and I didn't have to go to gym class.

I didn't mind gym class, but everybody seeing my newfound athletic skills would be dangerous for my health, because by the way my muscle tissue was filling out, I would be recruited for a certain team. As has been stated, I don't want to subject myself to that. Addiction to pain was one thing, but being torn in half by the football team was another.

Sarah was the personification of sarcasm and screams. She didn't let anyone walk over her, and she protected Jimmy with all her might. Jimmy didn't truly need it anymore, but she didn't stop. Once I hugged her. It is against my nature to show any sign of physical affection, but she had been in my home, screaming at me for a reason I did not fully understand, and I hugged her. She stilled immediately and hugged me back. Now she just sometimes shows up on my doorstep to embrace me, sometimes she would tell me about things that bothered her, sometimes she just drank a bit of water and left. Her eyes sparkled a bit more, I noticed. She is the only person I allow physical contact with.

Kevin often teases me about it, but he grins at me and I know he doesn't mean it.

I think something happened when they were children that caused this. Ed withdrew into himself and Sarah became prone to tantrums.

The jock is nicer than I thought he was. Many nights we would fall asleep in the living room, sharing a mattress, whilst watching television. He helped me clean up too. It was an added perk. Seeing as I had no idea what exactly needed to be done now that the post-its don't come anymore.

I told him one of my secrets once. I have two large ones, and since we were sharing a living space, I thought he ought to know.

"Kevin, I have something to tell you. I don't know how you'll take it, but since we are living together, you should know." I started. It was just after dinner and we had just finished cleaning the kitchen.

"What is it, dude?" He hung his hat on a hook by the door and swept a hand through his red hair.

"I'm gay," I said quickly. I watched his reaction, and he barely reacted. He just stood across the kitchen and stared at me.

After what felt like an eternity, he smiled at me, "Dude, I don't care."

"What?" I couldn't stop myself from saying something inarticulate, "My apologies but… what?"

He crossed the space between us, but his hands on my shoulders, looked me in the eye and said: "I don't care. You're an awesome friend, dork, so I don't give a rat's ass. And if anyone gives you grief, I want you to tell me, okay?"

I smiled and nodded, and he took his hands off my shoulders. He knew I didn't like people touching me.

In the rest of the cul-de-sac… I saw that Eddy's family was poor. There is not a euphemism for it, because that's what they are. They can't always afford the best, because Eddy has a lot of his older brother's clothes and belongings. Eddy tried not to let it be known, but I knew. I saw what others were blind to.

I often bought a few items of clothing I thought he would like, took off the tags, and asked him if he wanted some of the things my parents bought but I would never wear. He was nonchalant about it, but I could see his hands shaking when he hid his face behind a magazine, a magazine he'd probably paged through many times. He was grateful, because he would share his candy with me. Eddy knows that I 'play for the other team', but he doesn't care. I told both him and Ed, and Ed grinned like an idiot and said "Cool.", but Eddy had a much better way of phrasing it.

"No shit, Double D, you're my best friend, I've known for years." And that was where we left it.

His scams had stopped entirely. I think he got the idea that he, Ed and I were entirely inept at running a successful scam.

Rolf worked hard. He barely had time to do his homework, because after school he had to tend to the gardens and the animals. I would tell Ed to go help him, because Ed still likes chickens, but he also likes feeding the other animals. Rolf used that time to do his homework. It was a wonder Rolf even passed his schooling, he doesn't have much time to study. I suspect he lives on a rather lacking amount of sleep and tons of cans of unhealthy and sugary energy drinks,

One of my childhood enemies, Lee Kanker, took a lot for her sisters. She worked three jobs to care for her two sisters, often being utterly exhausted when she was at school and sleeping though lunch and her free period. Her sisters, or rather Marie, did her homework and assignments for her, while May did the chores around the trailer. I wasn't spying on them, I swear – I had offered Marie my services to explain some of the harder math to her, and I noticed it. I saw. I didn't just look.

I think Johnny has disassociated. He still walks around with Plank, he talks to him and Plank even hands in his own homework. The school psychologist says Johnny hasn't grown up, I say Johnny has a split personality that he projects onto a smiling piece of wood. But what do I know? I'm just an eighteen year old boy. I treated Plank like a person, and Johnny had started to answer for Plank in a different voice. He didn't look like he was realising it.

I saw this. I saw the trouble the cul-de-sac had, yet no one else did. No one saw that there were serious problems in the neighbourhood, or perhaps they didn't want to see.

As for me? I can't dare to think of it. Because if I gave in, what would happen to them? I didn't do magnificent things, but I did try to help.

Mother and father left me. They signed the house over into my name when I turned eighteen and paid a large amount of money into my account, but they were gone. A last sticky note had been left on the fridge, written by father.

Eddward. I'm sorry, but we can't accept it. Father

They didn't want me. I wasn't good enough for them, and they didn't even talk to me about it. Despite the pair of them reading numerous parenting books, they failed at it. What would their colleagues say if they found out that they had a homosexual son? That they had a son that refused to do sport; a son that had Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and a fair share of abandonment issues (of course it wouldn't be mentioned why said son had said issues, no, it couldn't possibly be their own doing); a son that wanted to become a Psychologist rather than a neurosurgeon or even a spinal surgeon? They would even settle for a rocket scientist. But a psychologist? Not their genius son if they had anything to say about it.

What if they saw their son without his hat? Then they'd see my other shameful secret, the fact that I had a scar interrupting my hairline. A teacher had asked me to take my hat off in class, despite the plea not to do so but simply ignored me, and the class saw it. The teacher quickly said that wearing my hat was okay, and I think I gave the jocks some food for thought. When they wouldn't stop pestering me, and once the teacher was out of class. I stood up, picked up the desk and threw it at them. One was pushed against the wall while his friends had abandoned him.

I allowed myself a rare moment of satisfaction before walking out of the class.

The scar was due to an accident, the last time that I had been in a car with my parents, and they couldn't even provide me safety. The hat had always been just an accessory, but now it was part of me. I hated the fact that people had seen me without it, but at least they left me alone.

What nobody knew was that I was much more screwed up (as my parents put it) than simply a "homosexual travesty and a master pretender at having disorders he has no right to mock". I swear, that was how they put it. I was chronically depressed, the school psychologist took some tests and told me this. She gave my some medicine, but I don't want to take it, because I simply don't believe in it. It was all I felt, a mass of anger that I kept hidden in the darkest spaces of my mind.

I was also extremely paranoid. There was a baseball bat under my bed, a sharp knife on my bedside table and mace spray around my neck, I always carried a pocket knife and a spare mobile phone with me; I had taken a course in self-defence and a routine workout to ensure fitness, as a result I started to fill out my lanky teenage body with muscle tissue. My parents would be so proud to know that I had gym membership now, the rub was now I didn't care.

What nobody knew was the fact I loved pain. I loved the pain of muscles burning, being short of breath, being in an accident… I had been I one a few weeks ago and hurt my ribs, the doctors told me to cease my physical exercise for six weeks until my chest was healed.

That was a few weeks ago and my chest still hurt, but I hadn't taken the doctor's orders to heart. I liked pain. It made me feel something. The bottle of pills stood on my bedside table, the seal still firmly in place.

Why couldn't they see? Why was I the single member of this community that saw the hurt in our little place here on this planet? Why was it helping me be better?

Or was everybody to involved in their own anguish to even look for it in others?

. . .

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