Part two: there are no others like us, we were alone.
The boys eyes were what scared the public the most. They pierced humorlessly through you, they saw right down into your soul and past that. They were never impressed, always worn and bitter.
He was too young to have a gaze like that, too innocent. His brother, by contrast, was lively and cheerful. A little on the troubled side, but he made fast friends with everyone and was bound for success after his troublesome high school years. He had a vibrancy for life that the older brother lacked, a joy.
How could one be so well liked, and the other dead and deprived, picked apart over the years but invisible vultures?
And the girl, who shared with him the isolation, but not the emptiness.
She was shy, she hid beneath frills and soft, feminine timidity. She was fragile and never participated with her classmates, hardly spoke or drew attention to herself. If someone tried to touch her, she panicked, retreating into herself.
She didn't trust them, not one. She needed to keep her secret to herself.
He didn't trust them, not one. He needed to keep their secrets out of his head.
So where she spoke softly and pretended to be weak and undesired, he filled his ears with media of all kinds, the thoughts didn't translate over recordings. His ear buds were always in and he ignored everyone, trying to fade from the scene.
If someone interrupted his constant stimulation, took away his escape, his temper couldn't be sedated. He didn't need to pretend to be undesired, he was a ticking time bomb.