The boy slammed the door shut behind him, cutting off his mother's shrieks. He hunched his shoulders and started walking, dragging his trunk behind him. Dark clouds hung in the sky, the air was muggy. A storm was coming. But for him, the storm had already passed.
His mind kept replaying the scene in his mind, his mother screeching, his father looking silently disappointed. But the worst thing had been his brother's stone cold face, wordlessly letting their mother throw him out on the streets. His brother, who had been the only thing that kept him from leaving, his baby brother, who had always looked up to him with awe, adoration and love. That icy expression on his face had almost broken him, but he survived, packed his bags, and left.
People stopped to stare at the youth, his beauty heartbreaking. Long, raven locks tumbled down his back, a low-cut tank top revealing perfect porcelain skin decorated with black designs all over his chest. His long, graceful legs were clad in torn black jeans, and his boots broke the silence surrounding him with every step. The boy looked tired, the circles underneath his eyes were dark and his cheeks hollow, his face sharp and angular. He did not notice the looks, his grey eyes unfocused, his mind in a faraway place.
He shivered and burrowed his free hand in the pocket of his leather jacket. He took out a cigarette, lit it with a snap of his fingers and put the cigarette to his lips.
With a deep, sorrowful sigh he sat down on a bench. The streets were empty, every other person had sought refuge from the storm that was coming. He had barely sat down when it started raining, the water pounding down on his head, plastering his hair to his face. He did nothing to stop the rain, the cold a welcome distraction from his dark thoughts.
For hours he sat there, slowly losing feeling in his limbs. All he wanted was, if only for a moment, some peace. He wanted to be able to be with his friends, his second family, without losing his original one. Because even though he resented his parents and everything they stood for, he still cared. He spent so much time trying to live up to their expectations, and maybe, even more, defying them, that he didn't know what to do if he didn't have that.
And then there was Reg, the one person in his fucked up family that he truly loved, and that had truly loved him. He hadn't been able to save him from their parents' beliefs, hadn't been able to protect him from his mother's wrath. He hadn't wanted to leave Reg alone with their mother when he first left for school. He had immediately noticed the difference in his brother when he came back for Christmas. His brother had learned to stand on his own, his brother didn't need him anymore.
The rain had ceased, and people flooded the streets again, sparing the soaked boy sidelong glances, oblivious to his pain. He stayed on that bench, alone, cold, frightened. He longed for his friends, but wasn't ready to face them. Tomorrow, he promised himself, and allowed his exhaustion to finally take him.