The Makings of a Sociopath
“Do you understand how hard it is already? Do you? DO YOU?!” The teen’s voice cracked as he began to shout. His world felt as though it was caving in, the walls in the room spinning. Even with the gothic, long windows bringing in the twilight, he could not breathe. His mind was filling with shadows like ink dropped into water. His hands came up to his head, hoping that blocking his ability to hear through his ears might make the world less shaky. But his arms trembled, his clothes were soaked, everything was wrong. It was the first time that one of his closest mates, a lad he saw like a younger brother, Aiden, saw him so distraught, so angry. Trent had never raised his tone that way with him before. Although he came back to the orphanage with bruises on his cheeks, mouth, hands, Aiden had never directly seen him be violent. But Trent had thrown around the furniture, anything he could get his hands on. There was quite a bit of shattered glass across the old, creaky wooden floors.
The orphanage was in an ancient Victorian estate, previously a school or a palace, but now, it housed lost, abandoned children, and many of them. However, as they were discarded, the place they inhabited instead of a proper home saw as much care as they did. Barely any.
Aiden was speechless. They were definitely getting in trouble for the mess Trent, or Beast — the reasoning for his alias was becoming clear now — had caused, but that was the least of his worries. A young man that was basically an older brother to him was falling apart right before his eyes, and the only way he knew how to release the pent up emotions of being completely shattered was through rage and tears. For the first time, instead of seeing him as a much older, grown, mature male, he saw him for the lost child he was.
After the violent energy had left him, Trent fell to his knees, on the glass covered floors, his jeans not nearly thick enough to prevent him from scarring.
Although he was in shock, his little brother rushed to his side, his sense of duty — which Trent had so successfully instilled into him — barking at him like a rabid dog to snap into action. He used whatever strength he had (Trent was much stronger and more grown than he was) to pull him up off the glass shards, and as the broken young man, with a reputation that earned him the name “Beast”, openly wept, Aiden felt himself break a little inside. For how long has this side been hidden from everyone?
“Trent… Trent, come on. Don’t hurt yourself. It wasn’t your fault.” Perhaps using his real name might remind him of who he is, in the midst of the storm of anguish and loss.
If he could have, he would have shouted again, however as his throat had run sore, all he could do was whisper pathetically, “They were riding with me… They were riding with me, Aiden.” He could barely even breathe.
“They had their bikes alongside me, and I couldn’t protect them. I tried… I tried to get them out of the way of that truck, but they…” Silence filled the room, louder than any of the screaming that had taken place beforehand. Aiden’s grief had not kicked in yet; he was too shocked and still in denial. It was a huge loss. A sister and a brother (even if not by blood, they were family), too young for it to be fair for them to simply be taken away like that.
“It’s my fault… I failed…” The exhaustion was finally taking its toll. Trent passed out in Aiden’s arms.
“Nurse! Nurse!” The thirteen year old boy cried out for help, until his throat would run sore. All of the noise had attracted attention, but those pleas for help called for action. Soon enough the live-in nurse would show her face, and although anger flashed across her eyes like a man offended at the sight of the study hall, it was easily flushed away into worry. It took her and Aiden and to carry Trent, especially since he was such a lightweight. Muscle mass or not, he was still only sixteen.
“Is he gonna be okay?” Aiden finally asked the question that had been on his mind ever since Trent came home alone, without the two mates he had left with.
“Physically? Yes, he’ll be fine… Relatively. You know how Blade is. Emotionally…?” She released a deep sigh. “That’s up to him.”
And all they could do was watch over him as he lay in bed for two weeks straight.
The only thing that got him out of bed was the guilt, the voices of his brother and sister haunting him, pushing him to move on. They told him they loved him, and as he rode his bike as fast as it could possibly go, leaving behind everything, every time, tears welled up in his eyes.