“I knew, I knew what was happening. And I’m sorry I didn’t help you, I’m sorry I didn’t acknowledge you. I’m sorry I turned a blind eye to your pain.” She paused before she continued again

She didn’t look at me, wouldn’t meet my eyes. She knows that if she did, I would see the guilt on her face.

The vulnerability.

I wasn’t upset that she didn’t help, at first I was. Who wouldn’t? It was in her house, her walls were thin, so thin you could hear a pin drop.

“If you came here to vomit out guilty words, I’m going to ask you to leave” It seemed harsh, it was harsh.

But I can’t help feeling..angry, I knew she knew. We made eye contact every time I came over. I talked to her about it.

When I pressed charges I knew what I was doing. She was an accomplice, a bystander.

I let out a shaky sigh before pushing back on my chair and standing up “Why didn’t you say anything? Why did you tell the cops I lied?”

She looked at me as if I had just punched her in the gut.

But she didn’t have the right to feel that

She’s didn’t have the first to feel guilty.

She made her bed, and now she needs to sleep in it.

“Because if they figured it out, they’d know I knew. I was quiet but I was not blind, that would be the conclusion they’d draw if they new.” She let out what could be described as a sob

She was crying, why does she get to cry? Why didn’t I get to cry when I was on my knees?

Begging for her help, asking her to save me.

“I don’t need your excuse, or your tears. I just hope the next time, you’ll be able to stand up for your own child. And not believe another over him.”

There were so many things I wanted to say, I wanted to tell her how sorry of an excuse she was. How her child deserved better, how her child was the one who saved me.

Her child did the one thing she couldn’t do, and I suppose that’s what hurts the most.

They always said to reach out for help, but the one time I did, she turned me away.

“I’ll be leaving now, I hope you..forgive yourself in time”

I wasn’t upset anymore, I just wanted closure. And I wasn’t going to let another persons regrets ruin my chances of getting it.

And just like that, I got up and left.

(Sorry for the bad writing today, I had no motivation to write at all)

I was quiet, but I was not blind

I always knew what They would say

No matter How silent

But I stayed And listened

I never said a word Bad about y’all

I was always there for My supposed ‘Best Friends’

Did whatever to make yall Happy even if it hurt me

It did hurt me mentally in a Way I never believed it could

Haven’t seen or heard From yall in over a year

Quite refreshing I have to say

Trying to Heal everyday

Four years of putting up with Yall has made quite the impact

You were already beginning To turn on each other

I’m glad I have much Better friends now

And is in a bit better Mental place

Your words Mean nothing to me

I can sometimes look at Myself and think I look pretty

Not stare at the imperfections You would point out

Whether it was too my Face or behind my back

I always knew What yall said

But I never said Anything in return because

I was quiet, but I was not blind

“Mothers, most anyway, are the start and end of their child’s future. They nurse, teach, and take care of their children. It is nature.” — Hidden Dew

Age 12

Mommy was acting suspicious.

I couldn’t tell it from her face, of course, but when ever Father got near her, she tensed up like a spring coil.

It should be me acting that way, though. I was the one with something to hide.

I was on draft two of my short story—I hadn’t thought of a title yet—but the main character was going to be mute. Definitely mute. I didn’t want a “normal” person to be the main character. Miss Amy said that the best and truest stories come from the heart, and my heart isn’t on the “normal” side.

Around lunch time I wanted to sneak myself off to my room to continue writing, but suddenly, Mommy was by my side and gripping my arm tightly. I didn’t startle, though I was confused. I would have startled more if it was a lighter touch, and she knew it. It pleased me that even if she was distracted by whatever was going on in her mind, she still had space to make me feel comfortable.

“Tull, sweetheart, do you want some ice cream?” I peered over the table to where Father was working on his newest website. Even though it was the weekend, Father still had plenty to do. It pleased me, seeing him rumpled and bleary-eyed.

I liked to see him suffer.

I nodded, procrastination taking over me. Miss Amy told me that the call of it was loud, but I never knew until then.

Mommy looked at Father, her face slack and a smile—not her happy, I-love-you smile, her fake, please-believe-me smile. I’d seen the latter too many times and the former not so much.

See, even I can tell the difference of these things. Only Mommy, though, no one else.

Father waved, his hands going back to typing and moving his mouse after he completed the motion. “Yeah, go have fun.”

That was all she needed.

“Come on, Tull,” her voice was quick and excited as we exited the house and went into her car, “I met someone new at my job, her name is Mrs. Kaylie, can you remember that? And she has a son who—oh! I won’t spoil the surprise.” Mommy seemed excited, but I was disappointed. If we weren’t getting ice cream, then this outing was a waste of time. I could be upstairs in my room, pen in hand and my notebook in the other, finishing the section I was working on.

I had no choice but to go along, as Mommy was smiling and my seatbelt was already on.

Tight.

Tight.

The tightness never felt so vile.

“Autism, or ASD (Autistic Spectrum Disorder), is not one simple thing. It comes in many forms. The common stereotype of a quiet, but intelligent White male child with headphones in just that: a stereotype.

I am a Black female, who is intelligent (though it is not my nature), hums, but speaks, I stim by drawing—though I do flap my hands—and I can look you in the eye, though I prefer not to. The state of the “normal” mind, sees in one view: stereotypes. They block anything else that paths away from those stereotypes.” _ —Hollow Oaks_

Age 12

There was a multi-colored Asian boy on the bench of Rose Park. Twitching, twisting, and making a strange, long noise as he rubbed the back of his hands along his cheeks.

The sight terrified me.

Mommy pulled me along, her grip on my wrist never growing slack. “Come on, Tull.” Then to the woman beside the sight she yelled: “Hey, Kaylie!” The sight looked up at her voice and waved. To my surprise, Mommy waved back, dragging me closer. And closer. And—

Is this how my Father sees me?

That was the thought in my mind. That ugly, ugly thought that had me straightening, tensing. I would not be like that man. I would say hello, I would look at the sight. I would be kind to the sight.

“Kaylie, this is my son, Tull.” Mommy pulled me in front of her. I gave her a glance, head tilted towards her but not looking at her, she nodded. I held out my hand and Mrs. Kaylie gave me a firm shake of the hands. I clapped in delight. She was the first grownup outside of Miss Amy and Mommy to give me what I needed.

“Hello, Tull, it’s nice to meet you.” Mrs. Kaylie had a pleasant, unsymmetrical face that was framed by her short hair. Her hair was sort-of black, sort-of brown. The same as the sight, who was cooing as he studied me and my mom. “And this, is my pom-pom Peter. I tried to get him to wear something different because of the weather, but he wanted to look his best to meet you and Tull, Patty.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet, Peter, thank you. You look…like confetti.”

“So, you know what the boss—“

“Which boss, the Tramp or the Devil?”

“The Devil.”

“Oh! What did she say?”

And then the grownups were to themselves, butting us out with their grownup talk. I had no choice but to face the sight—Peter, I told myself, think his name—and to walk towards him. I kept my gaze on a feather on what I saw was a rainbow sweater with swirls and pom-poms and glitter and buttons and every single decoration in every single color that you could imagine. It was blinding, and confused my eyes for a moment, and made me panicky, before I adjusted to it and thrust out my hand.

I barked.

He grabbed my hand and nodded his head deeply, more bobbing it really. His touch was soft, and before I could stop myself, I tried to shake it off. He tightened his grip just as a tried and cooed in apology.

He lifted his head back to mine, I noticed his eyes were brown, and rolled his neck with a small noise. “Roses?” He asked, letting go of my hand. His voice was less than a whisper, but my ears heard it. I looked behind me at the park and shrugged.

Peter hooted and launched himself off the bench towards the group of children that had piled up as we greeted each other. I stalked after him, a feeling I had never felt before rise up in me.

_How dare he leave me. Did he really think those kids would play with them. _

And then: I suppose that I’ll just have to play with him. That’s the most logical answer to his stupidity.

I had forgotten about my short story. Then, anyway.

(Yes, there will be a part three. I could never end the story on such a short note. I’ll probably make a PT. 2.5 on when Peter goes home with his mom and thinks about the day he had. As always, thanks for reading and have a wonderful day!)

“‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend.’ What a truthful saying. And sometimes, even further, that enemy of your enemy can become more. That’s what I see in the storybooks, anyway.”

     _— Double Down Under_

Age 12

“They said no?” Miss Amy looked down at me sadly as I wrote harsh lines in my notebook to calm myself.

Hatred. That was what was flowing through me. My face did not show it, but my body hummed and shook with heat. Father was the Devil, that was the only way he could be so wretched and evil.

Normal? Of course I wasn’t “normal”.

I barked when happy, flapped my hands when distressed. People ran from me and called me retarded. I wasn’t oblivious; I just wanted to write, to show the world a little bit of my head.

I stopped writing with my pen, and twisted my head to the side to show Miss Amy I was looking at her.

“What is it, Tull?” She asked, something close to relief on her face.

I held the notebook to her and pointed to it.

I’m going to do it, it said, it not only said a parent signature, it also said a teacher could do it as well.

Sneaky would be the game I’d have to play.

——

_(Heeey, my people. I missed ya’ll so much. Long story short, I got grounded. 💀 But, I started on my LIAST manuscript and got a bookshelf—finally! _👍🏾👍🏾_My hands have been itching to write, so I’m glad I’m back. I’ll finish this in a little while. I need to get back into the flow of this app. _

As always, love you all and thanks for reading! ❤️)

I was quiet, but I was not blind. I saw my reflection in the mirror, and every time I did, I wished I didn’t. The image I saw was scarcely kind, but couldn’t be any clearer.

I was quiet but not blind, I was silent and you’ll find, That silence isn’t nice, You start seeing things eye to eye.

Whispers echo along the walls, A reminder to lock the doors, Because once you realise I can hear, You may be in fear, Fear that your words, Your promises, Your lies, Are now mine.

I can still see clear as day, When you struck blood because it was the only way, You deceive, You act, But they are not the facts, Your words are just acts.

You think nobody will realise, That what you say will catch up to you, Because I hear, I see, I act, Those are the facts. Because I am quiet not blind, And I do not play nice.

Railyn sits there as they talk. Still holding his hand. He was her boyfriend but the way that he talking to Tracy brought doubt raining all over her parade.

They went to highschool together so it wasn’t odd for them to chat but normally you would talk to an old friend like you haven’t seen them in a while. The way Aiden talked to Tracy seemed like they have been talking to each other a lot recently.

Railyn says nothing. She stands there holding his hand. He doesn’t add her to the conversation and she excuses herself to get a drink. They were standing outside a coffee shop after all.

Aiden raised no opposition to her depart. She doubted he even noticed. Rai bought herself a latte and sat in one of the booths, staring out the window at Tracy.

She prettier than me.

“Excuse me.” A man stands at her table looking to be around 20. (Same age as her) “Do you mind if I sit here?”

Railyn glances to Aiden. “Go ahead!”

He sits down and she swore he was practically glowing in the dim lighting of the café.

He’s fiiiiine

“Hi.” He smiles brightly. “I’m Carter. What’s your name?”

“Railyn.” She smiles, her attitude brightening along with Carters smile.

They got talking about books because Carter noticed that Railyn had a book pin on her bag. After chatting a while Railyn mustered the courage to ask for his number.

I can’t believe I’m doing this. I have a boyfriend!

She glances to Aiden and Tracy and they’ve sat down and have their hands suspiciously close together.

“Can I get your number?”

Carter looks over at Tracy and Aiden as well, scrunching his nose.

“Do you know Tracy?” Rai ask because Shes stupid.

“Shes my girlfriend.” He winces because he’s even stupider.

“Oh sorry I didn’t mean to come off too strong.” She panics waving her hands in dismissal.

He tilts his head, looking at her. “Arent you Aiden’s girlfriend though?” Carter smirks.

“Uhm. Yeah.” She replys, embarrassed that she asked for for a taken mans number while she herself is also taken.

He smirks again. Looking even more devious this time. He slides a paper across the table with a phone number scribbled on it.

“Text me.” He rests his head on his wrists.

Railyn laughs. “I will.”

• ~ - * - ~ •

A few months later Railyn sits there on the couch smiling at her phone while texting Carter. Aiden and Tracy have both disappeared and theyre most likely together.

Neither Carter nor Railyn confront either of them about this. Simply observing and taking note.

Rai gets a new text from Carter.

“Can I come over?”

“Sure. Aiden said he wouldn’t be home till like 11.”

“Omw.”

15 mins later Carter is sitting on Railyns couch. An akward distance between the two.

They decide to watch a movie but halfway through it Carter pauses it and Railyn finds that over the first half of the movie they had moved closer so that their legs were touching.

“Why’d you pause it?” Railyn looks to Carter who is staring at her.

He pushes her over on the couch, pinning her to the cusions. He presses his lips against hers. Railyn panics and she doesn’t kiss him back at first. He continues kissing her regardless and when her few brain cells connect she kisses him back.

Rai pulls away, pushing him off of her.

“Why- why did you kiss me?!”

“Why did you like it?” He smirks.

“We’re both dating someone else!”

“We can change that.” He counters, sitting in the floor by the couch where she pushed him off.

“But we just cheated…”

Concern grows on Carters face. “And where do you think Tracy and Aiden are?” He pulls up a photo of Aiden sitting on a couch at some party, Tracy snuggled up on his lap. Her lipstick is smeared across his collar and lips.

Railyn freezes. “When was that?”

“10 minutes ago.” He sighs.

She bites her lip. “Should we confront them?”

He shrugs. “Nah. They’ve got their secrets and we’ve got ours.”

Railyn sits on Carters lap, straddling him. She cups his face in her hands. “You’re a way better kisser than my boyfriend anyway.”

She presses her lips against his again feeling actual emotion rather than the empty feeling she experienced with Aiden.

Carter was a MUCH better kisser than her boyfriend.

• ~ - * - ~ •

Notes:

Okay that was special.

1. I’m just a girl it’s not my fault they were both cheating.
2. It’s like 1 in the morning. Leave me alone
3. I’m not sure how I feel about the fan fiction format.

Thanks for reading!! If u want more with these characters you can comment recommendations :)

She sat there in the corner every afternoon. While the rest of the world carried on its necessary functions, she simply stilled and silenced herself. She wasn’t waiting for anything. She wasn’t hoping to share her thoughts or planning some grand scheme to save the world. She simply watched.

She learned about life from that corner. Occasionally she’d turn her attention to a book when the chaos around her seemed to dull and her agitation had nowhere else to settle itself.

She learned about those around her. She learned about their fears, their biases, their habits, their loves - she learned about their contradictions and their thoughts. She saw stark contrasts between lovers and striking similarities between enemies. She saw the way others looked at each other and how they looked at her. She could read their opinions in their eyes and in the way they held their bodies. She could see the indignation of someone facing their postponed responsibilities as if the entitlement would last forever and the relief in the eyes of those who finally accomplished their tasks.

It was there, in that corner, where she grew up. Barely noticed by anyone, while she noticed all. She needn’t engage the din to understand it. She worried she’d lose herself in the noise if she tried. It was much safer to observe from afar.

It was there, one afternoon, when forced from her reverie, that he told her.

“You know, I always take comfort in your silence. Its because of your silence that I know you won’t cause me problems.”

To this, she broke from her trance and stared unseeingly up at her father. The silence had always been for herself; she hated how he somehow made it his own.

She smiled with a mixture of deviousness and coquettishness, a kind of sarcastic sneer made more innocent by the vacant intention-less eyes she showed to him.

And in that moment she knew that whether she were silent or screaming he still wouldn’t hear her.

It was in that moment that she decided to put all she had learned to good use.

I was quiet, But I was not blind. I never said a word, But I saw the signs. Whispers become loud When they echo in your mind. Screams are still there When they’re hard to find.

Wings still flap When they’re in a cage. Scars still hurt When they heal with age.

You never saw My disastrous fall. You never heard My unspoken word. You never knew What I never let show through.

It's amazing how little attention people pay to you when you're the quiet kid. How deeply you melt into the background, how quickly they forget your presence. Particularly when you're both the quiet and good kid. The kid who never screams for attention, lashes out, or sneaks around. Especially when you're the quiet, good kid in a large family of not-so-quiet, not-so-good kids, who all scream, lash out, and sneak. It's shocking, almost, how easily you disappear.

When you are remembered, it's with a shrug, followed by an underbreath muttering of 'oh, don't worry about her, she's fine.' Fine. That word, that stupid word, has followed me around my whole life. It has engulfed everything I am, everything I think, everything I feel. It has been used to absolve my family of their guilt, as an excuse for their neglect; a way to both favour and dismiss me. It has become the only answer I can give when asked how I am. My own personal adjective to describe myself, my accomplishments, my innermost workings — my whole life.

But I was not fine. Everything is not fine. Because while they were focusing on the loud, problematic, demanding kids, while they were ignoring me, overlooking me, forgetting about me, while they were letting their attention lie elsewhere, I was watching. And I was listening. I heard everything. Every hushed, whispered argument behind closed doors. Every secret spilling from the lips of one sibling to another. I observed it all, drinking it greedily. They may have known nothing about me, but I knew everything about them. I was quiet, but I was not blind. Wrapping myself in the soft certitude of my storage of secrets, I was safe.

Or so I thought. But as they say, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. I had always scoffed at that, thinking myself nothing like my family. I did not neglect. I did not live in a bubble of ignorance, unaware of those around me. I noticed it all, perceived everything, contemplated my family's attributes as though they were main characters in my own book of life. But while I was so immersed in surveying the existence of my siblings, he was watching me. As I obsessed over the others, I paid him no mind. I had decided he was nothing. Despite his angry outbursts and his control over the household, I had felt he was no threat. Maybe that, along with my own invisibility, was why he chose me. Maybe my fixation with the others encouraged his fascination towards me. Who is to say?

All I know is once he struck, I was never whole again. Once he moved in on me, my quietude overtook me, certainty fled, and that word, that unrelenting word that has followed my whole life, kept me from ever being able to tell someone about the unmentionable things that had begun. Not that they ever asked. After all, I was the fine one. But I wasn’t fine anymore. My life was changing in ways I could not understand. Ways I still don’t understand. Suddenly, because of him, I no longer felt safe in the cocoon of my sibling's secrets. I had thought myself perceptive. I had thought myself the most discerning. Turns out, I was blind after all.