Disclaimer: no, Thomas's dad is not dead in real life, this is just a fanfiction, it shouldn't be taken as literal fact. It's a STORY.
Don't be dumb.
-me
The man introduced himself as Guy-Manuel, but he told Thomas that he could just call him Guy if the name was too much of a mouthful. He set up what little he had packed into his backpack in the room across the hall from Thomas's. That room was specifically used as a spare bedroom for when his family came to visit, but they hadn't visited in years so he thought it would be fine for him to stay there. Each room in the house had a specific theme. The room that Guy was staying in was beach themed; the walls were painted a baby blue, paintings of the beach hung on the walls, and seashells were arranged on the dressers. A tall cream colored dresser sat directly across from the bed which was adorned with matching sheets. A small nightstand with a desk lamp sat next to it.
Thomas felt bad when he entered the room. He thought that the room was dusty and ragtag. This was because it was full of cheap knick-knacks and the very few decorative things he could afford. But when he saw him set down his bag on the bed and really examine his surroundings, a genuinely happy smile appeared on his lips. He turned to Thomas.
"It's nice here. Thank you for letting me stay, I'll try not to be a bother." He whispered, unzipping his bag and pulling out some clothes.
"I promise you're not a bother." He told him earnestly, "I just hope that you don't mind staying in this dusty old place."
"I think it's lovely." He smiled. Silence had resumed over the two of them and Guy had turned his attention to unpacking. Thomas awkwardly stepped out of the room and reminded himself that he urgently needed to clean. He walked down the stairs and into the dark hallway that had the kitchen to the left and the living room to the right. He went left and started to do the dishes, wondering how he just happened to come across someone who didn't mind his appearance and wanted to stay with him.
He heard the sound of footsteps behind him and he heard Guy ask, "Do you want me to pitch in on some chores around here?"
"If you'd like." He answered, gazing out the small window that was above the sink. He could see the sun starting to set over the mountains, casting the valley in an orange glow. Thomas had always wanted to watch the sun set with somebody, and now that Guy was staying at his house, he finally had his opportunity. There were actually many things that Thomas wanted to do, but they all involved doing them with someone else. He had already completed the list of things he could accomplish by himself: graduate college with a degree in computer science, buy a house, and learn how to take care of himself.
"I'd feel weird about staying here and taking advantage of you, you know?" The deep voice next to him startled him back to reality. Thomas peered over at him and gave him a firm nod before returning to the dishes. Guy still had a small smile on his face as he gazed around the simple yet neat kitchen. He opened his mouth to speak again, "So, what do you do for a living?"
"I make websites. All from here at home." He replied quietly, rinsing off a cerulean colored plate and putting it in the dishwasher, "I put up an ad online and people who need a website made contact me through email or through the phone, and I make a website for them just the way they want it."
"That's so cool!" He exclaimed, "And you can do it all from the comfort of your own home!" Thomas didn't know why his response crushed his heart. He didn't want to be in the comfort of his own home. His home had become a prison to him since he had moved to town. He couldn't leave because he knew of the reaction he'd get from people. And he couldn't bear taking the helmet off. What if they think I'm ugly?
"It's a blessing and a curse." He told him, his voice becoming no louder than a slight whisper, "I'd like to go outside, but people think I'm a freak or that I'm scary."
"I don't know why." Guy told him genuinely, "You seem like a nice, gentle man."
"T-Thank you." Was Thomas's stiff reply. He wasn't exactly used to compliments, especially from someone as beautiful as Guy. His face burned in shame as he felt his presence leave his side and move over to the window in front of the kitchen table. The window overlooked the mountains and the small part of his backyard that was covered in wildflowers.
"If you'd like to go outside, then why not go outside?" He mumbled to himself so quietly, that Thomas barely heard it. Thomas stopped washing the dishes and turned to look at him. His gaze was trained on some rabbits running around outside. His eyes narrowed as he whispered, "If you want to see the world, then who is stopping you?"
"But-" Thomas began hesitantly.
Guy turned to him, his oceanic eyes narrowed, "Nobody should be able to stop you from doing what you want. If you want to see the world, then do it. It's as simple as that. Who cares what they think. To hell with that. Their hearts are just bitter."
Thomas walked over to him and stood next to him at the window. He sighed, "I want to do things that I wasn't able to do by myself. I've been alone all this time and I've accomplished all that I've wanted to by myself."
Guy put a firm hand on his shoulder and gave him a hard, yet reassuring look, "I'll do it with you."
Even though the sun was setting outside, a new kind of light rose within Thomas and he felt his heart began to flutter. It was a light he hadn't felt in years. He hadn't felt this way since his father was still alive. Thomas could see an overwhelming feeling of warmth overcome him.
"You'd do that for me?" He asked.
"Of course I would. You seem like you need it." Guy grinned, "We can go through this list of yours together."
"Together…" Thomas repeated, hearing his voice become distorted. He was beginning to cry. He struggled to stop himself as he didn't want to cry in front of Guy. He nodded, "Thank you…"
***********
It had all started when Thomas's father passed.
He was a musician, something Thomas had always aspired to be. He remembered his father singing in the car, singing him to bed, and other instances where he could remember his warm, soothing voice. Thomas's mother was absent throughout most of his childhood, leaving his father to take care of him. He would wake him up, make him breakfast, dress him for school, greet him when he came home, make him dinner, and then tuck him into bed at night.
Thomas's mother and father fought a lot. Thomas knew she was seeing another man while she was married to his father, but he kept mum about it whenever his father had asked him about it. He felt dirty about keeping something like that from the person he loved the most, but he knew it wasn't his place to ruin an already failing union. Knowing his mother's infidelities made him feel like his body was caked up with mud. He would walk past them screaming at each other with bricks on his little feet. He would plug his ears, cry into the soft brown fur of his teddy bear, and pray over and over for them to stop. What happened to when Mommy and Daddy used to kiss each other and we'd all have fun together? When the fighting subsided, Thomas's father would come upstairs, tuck him into bed, and sing him the usual ritual of "California Dreamin'" by the Mamas and Papas.
"Daddy?" Thomas whispered in his frightened five year old voice, "Do you and Mama love each other?"
His father stopped singing and closed his eyes. He sighed, a very deep, stressed sigh. When he opened his dark brown eyes again, he could see the sadness within them, and the concern that lined his face.
"Yes." His father answered, and started singing again from where he left off. Thomas wasn't sure if he was just telling him what he wanted to hear or if he really believed that deep down, his mother still loved him. Once the song was over, his father kissed his forehead, shut off the light next to him, and shut the door.
About a week after, Thomas was playing with some toy cars out in his front yard. He was pretending to make a highway, using some pebbles as the dividing line and making the cars go in their opposite directions. He made some crushing noises as two cars collided head on across the dividing line.
"Shut up!" He heard his mother scream. He bit his lip, knowing they were at it again. He saw his mother trudge out of the house with a cigarette in her red mouth. He never saw his mother smoke before. In her hand was a slip of paper. And on her ring finger was something gold and shiny. Not like the silver engagement ring that his father had given her. Thomas felt his heart sink.
"I know he gave you that ring! Doesn't he know that you're married?" He heard his father shouted angrily.
"Why does it matter to you?!" She growled. When her green eyes caught Thomas's brown ones as he sat in the grass, she frowned and picked up a car that resembled the one that sat in their driveway. She threw the orange vehicle out into the street, watching a car whisk past at a high speed. "That's what I think about your cheap ass car, Daniel!"
"That car is still valued more than you are, you bitch!" He heard his dad yell. Thomas's mind was somewhere else as he stood up and gazed out into the street where the car had gone. He wasn't sure what he was thinking at the time. He wasn't sure if he was thinking at all. He just walked off the emerald grass and onto the inky pavement of the street. The small orange Ford Pinto toy was sitting in the middle of the street. He reached out to grab it, because it was a missing part of his play set. He could still remember the scorching summer heat that came off the pavement as he bent down to pick the car up in his hands. He felt the smooth metal of the toy in his chubby little fingers. Then he heard a honk. And a scream. A loud, thick scream. Unlike anything he had ever heard before. He felt himself behind pushed forward onto the street, his paper skin being scraped open onto the ink beneath him. Red seeped out onto the ground from the new wounds on his arms as he heard his mother scream.
His father had saved him.
But nobody could save his father.
Thomas sat at his bedside at the hospital and when the heart monitor flat lined and the loud shrill beep filled the room, he had to be ripped from his bedside. His mother grabbed his arms and dug her crimson painted nails into his arm, which was scabbing up from the incident. The scabs had now started to bleed again, and in his most vulnerable state, she saw him lean towards him. She was so close that his nose almost touched hers. He could smell her breath; bubblegum and cigarettes.
"It's your fault that he died." She told him simply, without a single hint of emotion. There wasn't a tinge of sadness or anger. She was about as frank as a teacher telling a student that they had made a mistake. He kicked and screamed as she pulled him out of the hospital, and he could see the troubled looks of people as he went past.
As he got older, he began to look more like his father. His mother would remind him all the time that he was growing up to look more like his father, and a deep sense of dread filled in whenever he passed a mirror. In response to what had happened, when he moved into a new town away from her and away from the trauma, he had burned and shattered all of the mirrors in the house. Truthfully, he hadn't seen his face in full detail since he was ten, back when he thought he looked nothing like his father minus the cocoa brown of his eyes and the muddy color of his hair. But as he got older, he saw that he was inheriting his receding hairline and his jawline. His frame had become lanky and thin. He considered himself to be unattractive and disgusting, and left it at that. He didn't want to see the reflection of his father in the mirror. It just drowned him a sea of grief. Deep down, Thomas truly did believe that the accident was all his fault.
If only I hadn't gone out into the street, I could still be with him.