Stellan Collins, a tall 16 year-old-boy with unkempt chocolate brown hair and dark eyes, taps his foot impatiently, waiting for his detention to end. He sneaks a glance at the clock and there are still around 40 minutes left till detention is over. He slumps in his seat, glaring at the clock as if mocking him for wishing time to move faster when he obviously can't. The students around him send him dirty looks, perfectly clear that they can't stand to sit in the same room as him any longer. Stellan doesn't care and he will never care, so he turns around in his seat and presses them down with a dark stare and they immediately shrink in fear. They move their chairs a couple of inches away from him, not wanting to earn his fiery wrath. Stellan smirks in victory and goes back to flipping through the pages of a comic book mindlessly to pass time. The students behind him whisper loudly, Stellan ignores them in favor of his comics. The clock ticks by at an unbearable pace and Stellan is left to drown in his own thoughts, his mood gradually worsening to a fault akin to stormy weather. As the bell rings–signaling for their dismissal–a couple of cheers and whoops erupts and a bunch of students dash outside the office, relieved to leave the dull office alone.
Stellan is just about to leave, clutching on one of the straps of his backpack and about to put noise-cancelling headphones on his head, when a hand abruptly stops him from further approaching the doorway. He looks up from the floor in confusion only for his face to settle in a blank stare.
"And where do you think you're going?" the vice principal asks him, raising his brows.
"Home. Where else?" Stellan replies brusquely. He moves to leave and the vice principal blocks his way again.
"Ugh, what do you want?" Stellan asks, ticked off.
"We need to talk."
"There's nothing to talk about."
"Regarding your poor behavior at school. You know that good grades don't make up for it."
"But I've already attended detention, you see?" Stellan gestures at himself, as if it's painfully obvious. "I've obeyed with no complaints. You did not see me causing a fuss earlier, did you?"
"The other students backed away from you during detention."
"Their stupid glares were getting on my nerves. Can you blame me?"
The vice principal sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "How will we ever deal with you..." he mumbles.
"Simple. By not minding me."
"It isn't as simple as you think."
"How so? You can just ignore me. Easy as that."
"It would be," the vice principal says, his patience thinning, "if others won't get caught in your mess."
"Oh for goodness sake!–" Stellan exclaims, raising his arms indignantly. "How many times have I told you that they started it?!"
"Oh, really?" the vice principal asks disbelievingly.
"Yes, really!"
"Then would you care to explain why they're the ones to get heavily injured in the aftermath?"
Stellan, assessing the vice principal, concludes that it would be of no use trying to reason out with him. Stellan knows he won't listen to him, no one ever does. He stays silent, clenches his hands into balls of fists, and avoids eye contact with the vice principal.
"I thought so."
Stellan bites his lips, resisting the urge to throw a blowing punch at him–that would be too disrespectful, even for him. The disappointment in the vice principal's voice is transparent, and Stellan cannot help but get affected by it. It's as if the vice principal didn't expect much from him–as if waiting for Stellan to drop his expectations below the surface of the earth. Well, not that Stellan can blame him for it. Everything he has done up till now has been nothing but the pure epitome of violence and havoc.
Stellan says nothing, eyes aggressively drilling holes on the floor as the vice principal begins reprimanding him for every misconduct he has done in school.
Stellan, don't lose your cool. Please don't. It will get worse. It's no use.
"Seriously...a brawl of all things...! For such a child from the Collins Family to get himself involved in one! Your parents must have been severely disappointed in you...tch, what a pity to have you as their child."
Yes. Don't lose it. Don't lose it. Don't lose it. Keep calm. Keep calm. Keep calm-
"Just...don't do it again." The vice principal tiredly waves his hand at him–shooing him away, his expression wearied. "You may go now." Stellan nods and mutters a short 'Thanks', quickly leaving the office. He scrambles to exit the school as soon as possible, finding the air around him impossible to breathe in. He trudges quietly towards the bus stop, his hands in his pockets. He almost makes his way there but then he slowly stops in his tracks.
I don't think I can go home now.
He doesn't know why but his gut feeling is whispering at him not to go home early...at least for now. Stellan kicks a pebble on the road and heads towards the opposite direction of the bus stop, not having a planned destination in mind, merely wandering thoughtlessly. It isn't the first time he has thought this way, in fact there are many instances when he has to force himself to return home. But this time, there is something strangely different about it. He decides to place trust in his gut feeling, it has never failed him before–on the contrary, it has often proved to be beneficial for him. But while it may be a useful weapon, it is also a double-edged sword.
Stellan chooses to visit a deserted playground instead, it may be considered childish for someone his age but it is a place of quietude that suits Stellan's peace of mind. He sits down on one of the swings, the red paint on the swing peeling off, the rusty metal chains holding the swing creaking grudgingly at his weight. Stellan sets his backpack down on the ground, staring at the creamy white clouds traversing through the clear blue sky. He might as well salvage this temporary moment of calmness while it lasts.
Before a pandemonium hits their home once more.
. . .
No wonder his mind persistently scratched him not to head home early. "Ah, my son, you're here? Silly boy, where have you been?" A buttery voice chirps, smiling sickeningly at him. A brunette woman wearing a fancy formal attire, a long black dress and white blazer, slips one of her arms under Stellan's elbow, tugging him forward. "Come, see! Our relatives have visited! It's been so long since we have met them!" Her eyes darken, motioning for Stellan to initiate contact.
The whole family including their relatives make themselves comfortable at home. One of their relatives, a cousin of Stellan, rises up from the couch, and pulls him into a crushing hug. Stellan chokes. "Stellan! It's been years! You were so small compared to me–look at you now! You've grown taller!" He lets go of Stellan and pats him on the shoulders good-naturedly, smiling brightly. Stellan forces an awkward smile, wanting to escape in his bedroom. "Nice to meet you too," he grits out, glancing at his mother whose eyes are cold as ice, their relatives unaware of the calculating gaze. It looks like he can't escape anytime soon.
His cousin beckons Stellan to sit beside him and Stellan listens, begrudgingly sitting next to him. His other relatives who are sitting near them begin asking him all sorts of questions and making comments about how he's grown up now and all those typical mundane subjects. Stellan wills himself to answer despite wanting to get out of the living room as soon as he can, giving them short but acceptable replies. Stellan's mother claps her hands together excitedly at the sight of them conversing smoothly, a wide smile stretching on her face. "Wonderful! I'll inform the chef to prepare dinner for us, you can stay here and chat for a bit–update each other on what's going on with your lives." she says, scurrying her feet towards the kitchen.
Before she heads out of the living room, she shoots Stellan a sharp glare, giving him a signal.
Don't mess things up.
Stellan understands what his mother is trying to convey and he's not happy about it. His cousin, whose name is Nathan, happily starts the conversation without needing Stellan to prompt him to, babbling all the tad bits that have happened in his life. Stellan is more than willing to just listen and nod every now and then.
I want to go to my room already.
But he can't or else his parents will pester him and give him a lengthy lecture on how he should change his attitude and how he's ruining their family's image just by existing. Stellan snorts at himself internally. As if they already aren't doing it everyday 24/7. After around 20 minutes or so, his mother returns and ushers them towards the dining room, the meal already spread out nicely on the dining table. "Please don't mind the simplicity of our dinner tonight, I hope it suits your taste." his mother says, beckoning their relatives to take a seat first.
Stellan stares at the various spreads of appetizing food placed on the table by the maids. He wonders about his mother's definition of simplicity. If anything, this looks more like a buffet. They start eating their meals, the sound of utensils clanking audibly, loud and jolly voices and raucous laughter permeating the room. Stellan wants nothing more than to just sink and merge with the floor. He chews dejectedly on his dinner, stabbing his food with his fork weakly. One of their relatives suddenly perks up. She is a slender woman with long chestnut hair and grey eyes. She turns towards his father, her voice tinted with curiosity. "Brother, how is Stellan doing recently at school?" she asks innocently, her eyes darting at Stellan. "My children are quite envious of your son. I remember how he always used to top his exams back in middle school and ranked first place in his school. Ah, he was the valedictorian back in Grade 6, wasn't he?"
"His grades are as splendid as always but there are areas for improvement." his mother answers in his father's stead. She shakes her head in dismay, sighing. "My, he can always do better, his grades aren't high enough. A shame! He's the eldest in our family and yet, even his younger sister's grades surpass his greatly!" she leans in to whisper, a proud expression taking over her features. "Danielle skipped not one, not two, but three grade levels. She's a prodigy!" Danielle, a fairly tall and petite teenager with soft eyes and shiny dark brown hair, smiles shyly as their relatives sing praises and commends her for her amazing feats. Stellan sets his fork and spoon down, his fists clenched under the table. He doesn't feel hungry anymore.
"Your family is blessed to have such a daughter but I think you're underestimating your son too much, no? He's still brilliant compared to other children his age."
Another relative chimes in, this time a chubby man with a bushy mustache. "My son attends the same school as him and he says that Stellan often gets into trouble at school." He tilts his head, perplexed. "That doesn't sound like Stellan at all."
"Ah." His mother's eyes flash for a fleeting second before her lips curve into a smile. "Is that so?" She looks at Stellan, and he stays very still in his seat. "It must be the rumors then, you know how kids like to exaggerate things."
"Hm, you're right...but my son isn't the type to lie."
"We can ask Stellan if it's true," his aunt suggests, as if it is the most obvious thing to do. All eyes turn to Stellan and his stomach churns, his voice caught up in his throat. "You aren't like those rowdy teenagers who always get into fights and cause a hassle, are you?" his aunt asks carefully, raising one of her eyebrows. "We're not implying that you are one, we don't like to assume things without knowing, you know." His uncle adds.
Stellan can feel his heart about to leap out of his chest, his mind going blank. His mother's piercing stare and his father's chilly gaze aren't making it easier for him. He gulps, his mouth parting then closing. What is he going to say? You see, your son is right and I get involved in fights but not in the way you think. Most of the time, I always get dragged into one despite unwilling to. Or I deliberately fuel their anger towards me and things quickly escalate. Yeah right, as if it's a fitting explanation. Wait, why is he even overthinking this? He should just be 'himself'. It's that simple.
Stellan's face hardens and he leans against his chair pompously. His anxious demeanor from earlier ebbs. "Does what I do at school matter? What if it's true? What are you going to do?" he asks in a challenging tone, daring anyone to make a snide remark about it. The shock in everyone's eyes is worth it though, their mouths gaping dumbly like a fish. They did not expect the quiet and behaved Stellan to respond to them in such a condescending manner. It's as if Stellan transformed into a completely different person in the span of over 40 minutes.
"Stellan!" his mother exclaims harshly, her charcoal eyes shaking furiously. Stellan decides that whatever is about to happen later with his parents, he will deal with the consequences. Just like he always does. He pushes himself up from the dining table, rattling the chinaware on the table sharply. Stellan leaves them all at the dining room, making his way towards his bedroom. "Stellan! Where on earth are you going?!" His mother's voice rises a pitch higher.
"My room, it was nice meeting you all. Goodnight."
He hurriedly scampers away, climbing up the flight of stairs leading to his room. He slams the door open and shuts it close behind him, his back pressing against the cold mahogany wood. His chest heaves up and down, his mind racing. He slowly slides down on the door, pulling his knees together. He wraps his arms around it and buries his face on his knees, trembling.
Stellan can hear the cacophony of voices filling in the dining room rapidly below his room, their voices full of utter bewilderment and great distaste.
Stellan puts his headphones on his head and the noises fade away in the background like a ghost, abandoned and forgotten.
. . .
Stellan skips breakfast, not wanting to meet his family's critical looks after what happened at dinner last night. He couldn't bring himself to face them again because he knows nothing good would come out of it and that it will simply drain his energy. He even locked the door yesterday when his mother started banging on it and demanding him to get out of his room instantly, enraging his mother further. His body started shaking on its own and he ignored the shouts and yells bouncing off his door like a rubberband, clutching on his blanket tightly and pressing a pillow on the side of his head.
It is early morning, the birds chirping and the leaves of trees rippling in the wind. Yet, the sky appears dark and brooding, the sun nowhere to be seen. The sky rumbles, a flash of light streaks past through the somber sky, indicating a storm might reign over the bustling city without prior warning. A strong gust of wind blows, the gaunt trees swaying turbulently from side to side. Coldness seeps into Stellan's skin like tiny ants crawling onto his skin and he shivers. He zips his jacket close and covers his head with a hood.
Stellan arrives at school and notices that it is still empty, only a few students and teachers are seen hanging around. Stellan arranges his belongings in the locker, most of it misplaced and disorganized. He doesn't mind cleaning it, it takes off his mind from thinking unnecessary thoughts and keeps him busy. He goes to his classroom, all the armchairs stacked on top of each other neatly. Stellan grumbles under his breath and proceeds to remove each armchair one by one, wondering why their principal has to be stern with cleanliness and having to keep everything in order. One time, one of their classmates did not bother stacking up the armchairs because they found it troublesome. The next day, they got sent to the principal's office and got severely scolded by the principal. Their classmate told the class that they will never forget to stack the armchairs again....all the while complaining about how the principal is a clean freak. Stellan then arranges it according to their proper seating arrangements.
Once he's done he collapses into his seat, staring at the ceiling, devoid of any thoughts. The memories from dinner materialize in his mind, unbidden. He tries to erase it from his mind but the voices of his mother and relatives grow louder, the looks in their eyes difficult to turn away from, and it is as if he's there at dinner all over again, forced to listen to their thinly-veiled and derisive comments like a submissive puppet. He angrily shakes his head and grabs a sketchbook and a pencil from his backpack, scribbling on his sketchbook madly to the point the tip of his pencil breaks. He takes a sharpener, sharpens his pencil, and continues to draw. Then it cracks again and Stellan has to hold back a frustrated scream, sharpening his pencil once more and the process repeats.
"My children are quite envious of your son. I remember how he always used to top his exams back in middle school and ranked first place in his school. Ah, he was the valedictorian back in Grade 6, wasn't he?"
The lead of his pencil fractures.
"His grades are as splendid as always but there are areas for improvement."
He sharpens it again.
"My, he can always do better, his grades aren't high enough. A shame! He's the eldest in our family and yet, even his younger sister's grades surpass his greatly!"
He returns to sketching.
"Danielle skipped not one, not two, but three grade levels. She's a prodigy!"
His hand trembles and he does his best to steady it.
"My son attends the same school as him and he says that Stellan often gets into trouble at school."
The pencil slips from his hand.
"Hm, you're right...but my son isn't the type to lie."
He picks it up from the floor.
"You aren't like those rowdy teenagers who always get into fights and cause a hassle, are you?"
His pencil hovers slightly above from the sketchbook and starts scrawling.
"Stellan! Where on earth are you going?!
He stops drawing on his sketchbook and his eyes linger at the messily drawn scribbles. He did not even form concrete shapes or forms, merely incoherent circles and lines that aren't worthy of being called art. He starts to pity his sketchbook for being subjected to Stellan's ire. His grip on his pencil tightens unconsciously. How he badly wishes he wasn't born as the eldest child of his family, wishes his parents didn't pressure him endlessly, wishes he could abandon his responsibilities carelessly, wishes he got to live more freely, and wishes he wasn't born as Stellan Collins. Maybe if he wasn't Stellan Collins, he would have more freedom, more choices. A family would have loved him with their entire being and accept him for who he is and not for what he is. But because he is indeed unfortunately Stellan Collins, he is confined within the walls of scrutinizing eyes watching his every moment like a hawk, forced to abide by the rigid laws formed by the upper class of society, and he can't do anything except to witness everything unfold before his very own eyes. The only control he gets in his life is when he frightens other people away, when he acts dominant and fierce, and when he doesn't hesitate to fight back when asked for it. And he loathes this fact with every fiber in his being.
What an awful way to live life.
The closest thing he can ever get to attaining freedom, to make his own choices–is by destroying himself, his soul slowly crumbling and cracking apart, almost impossible to mend the wounds that scarred his heart. He lets out a hollow, quiet laugh–finding his situation to be humorous.
Will he ever get to heal these scars that grew along with him since he was young? Scars that only become deeper, heavier, and more painful to carry with him? Will there be anyone who will get to treat these hideous, marred scars? He doesn't think so, if he himself cannot heal from it, who is to say someone can? Stellan once made a mistake of trusting an old dear friend of his, the only person he shared all his deepest secrets and wishes with, only to get himself stabbed in the back ruthlessly in the most horrifying way possible. He remembers how he can't seem to get over it at that time, shutting himself from everyone and staying cooped up in his room. He didn't go to school for a week straight and his parents chastised him for it.
Rumbustious and lively voices enter Stellan's ears, shattering his train of thoughts into fragments. He looks up from his sketchbook to see a few of his classmates already sitting on their armchairs, casually chatting and laughing. They make eye contact and for a moment, his classmates' eyes are brimmed with fear. They swish their heads away from him, continuing their conversation as if Stellan isn't there. Stellan ignores how his chest tightens uncomfortably at their reaction, focusing back on his sketchbook and picking up his pencil once more. This time, he draws a chibi version of himself and an imaginary friend by his side, humming. Maybe he's too old to draw an imaginary friend of all things, but there's no harm in daydreaming about it. He scribbles a short description above the said imaginary friend's head.
Is energetic and friendly, the aura they radiate is like that of the sun. Won't abandon me or treat me like crap unlike someone I used to know.
He smiles bitterly at himself. As if someone like that exists. His classmates' topic of conversation steers and it sounds interesting enough that Stellan dares to eavesdrop. Well, he can't call it 'eavesdrop' as his classmates are loud people in general and didn't bother to lower their voices.
"Oh yeah, have you heard of the rumors recently?"
"Which, specifically? I can't keep track of all the gossip."
"You know, the ones about a transferee."
"Oh! That one?"
"I've heard of that, isn't it odd to transfer at this time of the semester? The first semester is about to end!"
"I wonder who they are,"
"What if it's a cute girl?"
"Or a hot guy!"
"Can ya'll stop with your wild imaginations? It's giving me the ick."
Stellan stops listening to their useless chatter, it's not like those rumors concern him. It is peculiar though, for someone to transfer during the middle of semester. He is curious to know who exactly the new student is but he doesn't care much about them at the same time. More students file their way in the classroom and eventually the bell rings, signalling for the start of their classes much to their chagrin. Stellan can only hope that he will get to live more peacefully to the best of his ability, small as it may be.
And perhaps...
He peeks at his doodles, particularly the imaginary friend with a big but sweet smile on their face, waving at him cheerfully.
He'll let himself immerse in his wishful thinking of having a best friend of his own.