North Bend

September 3rd 1999

He stared at himself in the mirror. He didn't move; instead he just stared, inspecting and thinking.

He didn't hate his reflection. He just hated himself. Just like everyone else: his parents, his classmates (not his friends, he had none). The one person who might've cared was gone:

he wished he could've been like him. Everyone loved him. He was smart, good at anything he turned his mind to, amazing at sports and good-looking.

He was nothing like his brother. He wasn't smart, he was usually trash at everything, he was the worst at sports and he wasn't good-looking, in his opinion. His skin was too pale, his brown hair was too dark and straight, his eyes too dirty a green, his nose bridge too arched, his teeth too slanted and his arms and legs too puny and skinny. But he gave up caring about his appearance a long time ago. He used to hear people say that appearance doesn't matter, that you could be the ugliest person in the world but people would still love you for your personality and who you are… But if that was true, then he was double screwed. At least, that's what he thought.

No one at his school liked him. They hadn't liked him since 6th Grade. That's when he started to change. And people changed around him, just not in the same way.

It was in 6th Grade that he got into a fight with the most popular guy in the year. He was only trying to 'do the right thing' and stand up for this girl who was being picked on and being called fat. It was only a year later that he realised that the girl he stood up for was a waster and he would be the one who called her fat.

Still, he was sad to leave. Maybe sad isn't the right word.

It was more that he didn't want to leave because wherever he was going people would do the whole routine of trying to be nice and feeling sorry for him before realising it was a lost cause and he wasn't worth it. At least at his school, everyone already knew that and just didn't even bother.

He went to go and collapse on his bed but instead he stumbled backwards, realising that the bed was missing. He hated moving. All that was left in his room was his hoodie and socks thrown on the floor and his Goodfellas poster that he'd used to cover up the biggest gap on his wall, where paint was missing, still on the wall.

He scanned the room and noticed it. He was packing last night and it was dark and he was tired; he must not have seen it still on the wall.

"Oh crap."

He opened the red patterned curtains that he'd always hated (he'd be glad to be leaving those), and walked to the opposite wall to take his poster down.

His mom shouted from outside his room. "Joey? Joey?"

The door opened.

His mom had that expression on her face; it was like the calm before the storm. Her face was relaxed. Her eyes soft, the edges of her lips unfurled, her black hair looking neat in its bun.

She looked around the room then the storm began. Her eye expression turned to a frown, the edges of her mouth turned down in disgust, and her hair suddenly looked very severe.

"Joey? What are you doing?"

"Nothin'." He stared at the reddy brown bits that his fitted carpet had been malting.

"Talk properly."

"I am talking prop'ly." He carried on looking down.

His mother's frown deepened but she said nothing. "Why-what-why are your clothes on the floor? Your poster on your wall? Are the curtains still there?"

His face dropped. "What do you mean? The curtains? Course."

A huge sigh issued from her mouth. "We're taking them with us."

"What?" He knew his parents were rich; why couldn't they spend a little money on some half decent curtains?

"I should've known this would've happened. If you were anything like-" She broke off.

"What?" He became defensive because he knew what she was going to say. "Like Luke? Huh? Like him?"

His mom sniffled and rushed out of the room quickly, saying nothing.

"Well, I'm sorry I'm not like him. I'm sorry I'm not perfect." He shouted after her.

He collapsed onto the floor, tearing his poster off the wall next to the door. He rested his back up against the door. He didn't care if anyone wanted to get in; he wouldn't let them. He turned over the poster to roll it up and he noticed a message on the back of it. Luke had given it to him. It read: 'Hey little bro, happy 14th birthday. You're the best bro ever, you know that? Good luck with 9th Grade, you'll need it. Luke. P.S. I ain't deleting that video of you tryna throw a baseball. Or the one of you tryna hit one.'

A grin crossed his face briefly. He hadn't even paid much attention to the message at the time; he just thought it better not show through the other side. It was from March 7, 1999. His 14th birthday.

He hadn't realised just how much he missed his brother. His brother was one of many curses but at the same time he was his only blessing. He always thought needed no one, but he was wrong. He needed no one except for his brother. Because as much as he tried to suppress it, inside he knew he needed someone who loved him.