It wasn’t a wild estimate to say that Mathias loved kids- the man acted like a child himself, after all. But what drew him to Lukas so much eluded Mathias. Was it that he spent so much time with adults who acted like children that it was an exotic new flavour to meet a child who acted so much like an adult? Was it that he’d never been a big brother before and was now relishing the experience for all it was worth? Was he trying to be the big brother Berwald never was to him? Was he so unsatisfied with his adult life that he’d rather watch the blossoming of a smooth-skinned, wide-eyed boy with actual potential than face his own shame? Had all the alcohol finally gone to his brain and destroyed all sense of priority he had?
Whatever. Now where’s the kid?
The kid happened to be sitting on his favourite tree stump, reading his favourite book while wearing his favourite blue boots. In other words, positively ecstatic. Of course, nobody could tell from his face. Lukas had over the years perfected his straight face- his mother was exuberant enough for the both of them, and now that she was marrying a politician, Lukas had all the more reason to shrink into the background. No, Lukas’ bliss was his little secret.
Lukas really hated his mother’s new husband. He liked quiet, and life with Mr. Oxenstierna was shaping up to be anything but. He didn’t know much about the man people said was his new father- Mr. Oxenstierna treated him more like a cat than a stepson, what with occasionally patting his head when he passed (which messed up Lukas’ hair, and then he’d have to fix it and that was really annoying) and feigning mild interest in his school affairs. He knew that Lukas was top of the class, and that he had placed first in the city wide science fair. But Lukas would bet his entire bookshelf that Mr. Oxenstierna didn’t know about his frequent trips to the library to read everything he could about Norse mythology, or how much he liked the beach, or even what his middle name was.
But that was okay. Lukas was perfectly fine. After all, he only liked questions that weren’t about him.
According to his watch, it was almost quarter past three, and Lukas wondered if his mother had forgotten. A quick glance at the sky told him that a storm was encroaching, and he really didn’t want his book to get wet. The janitor usually let him wait inside, so maybe- ugh, he could really concentrate better without that infernal honking.
Wait.
No. - Why wasn’t Lukas coming over? Silly boy. Mathias ignored the pointed glares that the other parents were giving him as he pressed down harder on the horn and stuck his head out the window.
“Lukas! Hey, Lukas! Over here! It’s me, remember me! C’mon, I don’t have all day, my boss’ll murder me if I stay out past four!” - Lukas wondered if people could just will themselves to die. No messy suicide necessary- no gun, no noose, no pills. Just the right amount of thought and instant death. Though, if that were real, Lukas probably would have died ten times over the course of his life. Perhaps he was just being dramatic. Then again, Mathias was now halfway hanging out the window. So maybe not.
His mother had a motto, “grin and bear it”. One she would whisper to him during birthday parties and family get-togethers and weddings. Lukas didn’t grin, but he did follow through with the gist: do what you’re supposed to, not what you want to. It just so happened that he couldn’t bring himself to simper and giggle like his ditz of a mother. His coping mechanism was a lot less pleasant but a fair bit more discrete. His fingers, of their own volition, would press against the sides of his legs. It was inconspicuous, enough so that Lukas could hardly remember doing it when he saw all the bruises decorating his thighs. When that wouldn’t suffice, he’d scratch- once again, not even noticing. He’d rip at his skin until it bled, and the resulting wound would be swollen and sore, chafing against his sweaters before an unsightly black nub would take over.
Re: Untitled, Part 3/? B
all sense of priority he had?
Whatever. Now where’s the kid?
The kid happened to be sitting on his favourite tree stump, reading his favourite book while wearing his favourite blue boots. In other words, positively ecstatic. Of course, nobody could tell from his face. Lukas had over the years perfected his straight face- his mother was exuberant enough for the both of them, and now that she was marrying a politician, Lukas had all the more reason to shrink into the background. No, Lukas’ bliss was his little secret.
Lukas really hated his mother’s new husband. He liked quiet, and life with Mr. Oxenstierna was shaping up to be anything but. He didn’t know much about the man people said was his new father- Mr. Oxenstierna treated him more like a cat than a stepson, what with occasionally patting his head when he passed (which messed up Lukas’ hair, and then he’d have to fix it and that was really annoying) and feigning mild interest in his school affairs. He knew that Lukas was top of the class, and that he had placed first in the city wide science fair. But Lukas would bet his entire bookshelf that Mr. Oxenstierna didn’t know about his frequent trips to the library to read everything he could about Norse mythology, or how much he liked the beach, or even what his middle name was.
But that was okay. Lukas was perfectly fine. After all, he only liked questions that weren’t about him.
According to his watch, it was almost quarter past three, and Lukas wondered if his mother had forgotten. A quick glance at the sky told him that a storm was encroaching, and he really didn’t want his book to get wet. The janitor usually let him wait inside, so maybe- ugh, he could really concentrate better without that infernal honking.
Wait.
No.
-
Why wasn’t Lukas coming over? Silly boy. Mathias ignored the pointed glares that the other parents were giving him as he pressed down harder on the horn and stuck his head out the window.
“Lukas! Hey, Lukas! Over here! It’s me, remember me! C’mon, I don’t have all day, my boss’ll murder me if I stay out past four!”
-
Lukas wondered if people could just will themselves to die. No messy suicide necessary- no gun, no noose, no pills. Just the right amount of thought and instant death.
Though, if that were real, Lukas probably would have died ten times over the course of his life. Perhaps he was just being dramatic. Then again, Mathias was now halfway hanging out the window. So maybe not.
His mother had a motto, “grin and bear it”. One she would whisper to him during birthday parties and family get-togethers and weddings. Lukas didn’t grin, but he did follow through with the gist: do what you’re supposed to, not what you want to. It just so happened that he couldn’t bring himself to simper and giggle like his ditz of a mother. His coping mechanism was a lot less pleasant but a fair bit more discrete. His fingers, of their own volition, would press against the sides of his legs. It was inconspicuous, enough so that Lukas could hardly remember doing it when he saw all the bruises decorating his thighs. When that wouldn’t suffice, he’d scratch- once again, not even noticing. He’d rip at his skin until it bled, and the resulting wound would be swollen and sore, chafing against his sweaters before an unsightly black nub would take over.