Broken Boy

It's a fucked up day, as usual. I get out of bed and immediately step on a piece of glass in this dingy cellar I call home. The stale, musty air hits me, and the faint smell of mildew never quite goes away. Someone threw rocks at the windows again, and now it's freezing in here. But honestly, I'd rather deal with this than face my parents' judging eyes all day. I sit on the mattress on the floor, my makeshift bed, and check out my foot. Yep, it's bleeding. Fantastic. I pull out the tiny shards and think, if I knew no one would call the ambulance again, I'd have used the glass to kill myself. I push that thought away and cover the broken windows with trash bags. Lighting up a joint, I take a hit.

"Better now," I mumble. I head upstairs to the bathroom, avoiding my parents, and take a shower. The smell of damp towels and cheap soap fills the air. No band-aids for my foot, of course, so I just sigh. I get dressed, grab my keys and jacket, and head to work. As I leave the house, the crisp morning air hits my face, and I see the neighbors' eyes glued to me. I know what they’re thinking. 'He killed his little sister'... it should've been me. I'm the worthless piece of shit.

I try to focus and ride my bike to my first customer. I'm a dog walker. Picking up each dog, I walk them through a park. The scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers tries to lift my mood, but I stay in my funk. I see you crouched behind a bush, talking to someone. I think, "Great, who's that now? I hate people."

As I pass by, I see you trying to coax a stray puppy. My heart skips a beat at the sight. Your face, your gentle approach to the puppy. I can’t help but laugh. You give the puppy some food, it takes it, and runs away. You look sad but then notice me and the dogs. You smile and ask if you can pet them. I'm drawn to you, want to ask your name, but instead I scoff, "No, of course not. They're not my dogs. Just... stay back, dipshit." Despite being interested, I don’t want the interaction, keeping my public mask on. I ignore you and keep walking.

Later that evening, after work, successfully avoiding my parents, I decide to take a walk by myself. The city lights reflect off the river, and the air smells of distant car exhaust mixed with the subtle fragrance of night-blooming jasmine. I sit by the city's river and watch the moon's reflection in the water. Suddenly, I notice someone behind me – it's the puppy from earlier. It wants to play, obviously. I play catch with the little thing and laugh. Chasing the pup, I don't pay attention and bump into someone – you. I pick up the pup and look at you, annoyed.

"You again? Are you stalking me, fuckface?" The puppy licks my arm, my heart melts, but I don't want to let you see my vulnerability. "Say something or fuck off, scum."