Hurricane Jones [boyxboy]

hurricane jones [8]

[even my dad does sometimes by Ed Sheeran]
word count: 1433

in dedication to this poetic boy i met today who told me to text him because he wanted to vibe with me. (he's so cute jfc and he dresses like a flashback to the 90s.)
-

I'd never really been anyone's shoulder to cry on.

After an hour in Chem, Dalton beside me, he'd basically ran out. Today was different, today he'd completely ignored my annoying habit of fidgeting. I'd been fidgeting over Wyatt being straight and I couldn't help it but what shocked me was the fact that Dalton didn't seem to notice.

He'd laid his head on the lab table and kept his arms wrapped tightly around his head. The teacher must've known about his situation and I wondered how long they'd pity him, looking over the fact that he didn't lift his head until class had ended. His lips were chapped, his eyes were bloodshot, his hair was disheveled. If death were a person, he was Dalton Jones.

"Dalton?" I'd inquired after class, it had hit the end on the day and I'd been on my way to the busses to lead me back home but I was slightly worried. Along the time I'd come to know him, if noticed his traits and unwillingly committed them to memory. He was was outspoken about the things that didn't matter and kept everything bottled up, he'd joked about certain things that other people wouldn't normally joke about, and he'd found every essence of me to be annoying. He was never too quiet to voice his disdain for me either.

So maybe that was why I wasn't quite sure of the fact that he was sitting on the ground in the handicapped stall of the boy's bathroom, head in his hands and silent sobs wracking through his body.

He was broken, that much I could tell as I sat down beside him, the bathroom being the only one that was quite pristine. I'd found myself sitting across from him that day, the fact that we were second load on the bus being enough to keep me sitting instead of rushing him to leave. My eyes were blown wide, my legs pulled up to my scrawny chest and hand playing with the strap of my bookbag, the boy across from me had yet to lift his face but I could hear his sharp intakes of breath.

He was aware that I was there and that I was hearing him fall apart.

"Go away." His normally deep a gravely voice was cracked, a hiccup nestling itself between the words as he ripped his hands away from shielding his cool blue eyes and opted to wipe harshly at his face with the heel of his palm.

I tried not to speak but my voice was out quicker than expected, eyes glued on him as he wiped at his cherry-red nose. "Why do you hate me so much?"

"I don't." His voice was weak, his paleness nearly matching his bleach-blonde hair and he ran a hand through his dark roots, disheveling them a bit more. There were a couple bruises etched over the expanse of his knuckles. Underneath his blunt fingernails was blood and when he'd stretched out his fingers, I'd seen crescent marks along the insides of his palms.

A shiver went up my spine and I failed to admit that I was terrified of him.

Mama always said never to be with someone who scared you.

I couldn't help but clutch myself tighter, gripping my knees and keeping my eyes centered on a speck on the floor. My heart was pounding, I didn't want my voice to waver as I struggled to hold a conversation with the hurricane across from me. "You do..."

"I don't." He bit his red-raw lip, breathing labored and I counted how fast he'd inhaled and there wasn't a pause before his exhale. His voice was gritty and grimly, dangerous smirk on his face and I should've just left when he'd uttered a "I'm just not really a good person."

He was literally sitting straight across from me, voice jagged like a little tapestry and on the brink of insanity, staring straight into my eyes and telling me that he wasn't a good person. Why I didn't listen, I didn't know... "I-" picking at a stray thread on my shirt, I sighed, forcing myself to stay put. I was too curious, that was my problem, I was a storm-chaser despite my introverted roots and I was staring into the eye of the tornado, attempting to reason with it, "I get being sad, you know?"

And his mood flipped, like it were doing tricks in some extreme sports ring, "I'm not sad. I'm fine, leave me the hell alone and piss off."

I shrank back, recoiling slightly at his tone yet I hadn't shut up. I'd never really been one to be quiet in instances that offended me, yet another reason I lacked in the friend department. "Look," shut up, Gabe, shut up. "Just because you're upset does not give you the right to be such a fucking asshole, okay? I understand that you're hurting and I understand that it must be tough but being so negative isn't going to help you."

He dropped his act, the quick mood switch being a bit concerning as he crumbled under my intense stare. And then we were both just two teenage boys sitting on the bathroom floor at 3:01pm filled with angst. "I just... miss her."

"I know and that's okay." Feeling the need to lean over and touch him in some way, comfort him in some way, I sighed, holding myself back. I didn't think I'd be able to support him in any way, I couldn't support him, I'd end up being awkward. I couldn't relate: I had a two-parent home -even if they weren't my biological parents- I had a loving family (even if my brothers were nothing short of assholes), and I never had the chance to feel alone even if I was.

But Dalton had lost a parent, I hadn't once heard of his dad, and I was more than sure that he was a single child as well. The only person he had in this world was Quinn, "She smiled a lot. She was just like Quinn, Christ, she was happy." He was struggling to laugh through his tears and I felt him getting choked in his sadness. And when he met my eyes, I'd averted my gaze to his tear-stained cheeks, unable to look into those windows of a broken soul.

He continued on, as if my lack of scrutiny had pushed him to allow more of himself to show and he answered every question without me having to ask. "Even when dad left us, said he wanted a shag elsewhere, she made sure to never dwell on it too much around me. I knew it hurt, it had to. She was such a good mum."

I couldn't comfort him but I could move closer. I could listen to him... I could let him rest his head on my shoulder and shallow heartbeats would sync with mine.

"She was such a good person, you know? And the guy who did it isn't facing life in prison. They let him have his life even though he took hers." Pouring himself out to me, I felt him tug me closer, fingers enclosing in the dark green fabric of the shirt I'd decided to wear that day. I believe it was Vince's old shirt, along the time of when he was into -very little- color, now I could look at him wardrobe without cringing.

Dalton's tears were soaking through Vince's shirt and I didn't care. The boy beside me sniffled through his bitterness, gritting his teeth as he spoke, "They said he had a few kangaroos loose in the top paddock. Called him a crazy cocksucker and he's in a mental facility."

"Dalton..."

"I hate him." His answer was blunt, my stomach tightening in knots at both the fact that he were so close and spitting pure acid, "I hate him so much, I wish he was dead."

"It's okay," it wasn't. He was scaring me and I was never really good at comforting people, "you're okay."

My third mistake was holding him with warning signs going off in my head, not wanting to listen to my brain which was screaming at me to run.

Maybe I liked being needed.

xx happy mother's day.