The Lonely Ones

Hey you, thank you for checking out this story and I hope you'll stick to the end of this book. This book contains mature themes like, mention of suicide, abuse, drug use, homophobic slurs, depression, anxiety, and curse words.

Have fun reading.

THE LONELY ONES 1

" You worthless piece of shit." Anthony Reed cursed, as he kicked his son, Norman, on the stomach.

Norman hissed and coughed out blood as he clutched his stomach. It was times like this he wished he was dead. He wished he could just take his own life and end his misery. But no matter how far he had gotten himself to just end it, to put an end to all of his pain, and misery, he just couldn't.

He was a coward. He had thought countless times.

" Dad, stop." Norman managed to speak, but that didn't stop his abusive father from hitting him.

In fact, the more he pleaded for his father to stop, the more his father kicked him, beat him, and slapped him. He was used to all the pain his father constantly inflicted on him. He wished he was stronger, bigger, like his older brother, and then, maybe then, he wouldn't have to go through this all the time.

As he sat there crying, wheezing, and coughing at every of his father's punches and kicks, he wondered what he did to deserve this pain. He wanted it all to just end. He wanted to end everything.

But he couldn't. He just laid there and let his father hurt him. He knew better than to resist, talk, or fight back. His father would just hurt him more. He was weak and powerless and he hated himself.

" You're a fucking disgrace. Just like your stupid brother and he's going to rot in jail." Anthony growled, kicking his son one last time.

He took a deep breath as he brushed his hair out of his face. He stared at his son on the floor with disgust, staggering backwards as he left the house.

To get more drunk with his fellow alcoholics. Obviously.

It was Monday morning and Norman was almost late to his first class. Norman, like every other morning, stayed in his bedroom for safety as he got ready for class. He'd skipped breakfast, afraid he was gonna run into his father in the kitchen. Anthony was barely sober. Norman could count the times he was ever sober. So that morning, he got dressed in one of his few pieces of clothing, ready to leave for school happy, he didn't have to see his father that morning. But luck wasn't on his side.

Anthony Reed had gone out the previous night to get wasted and there were times he wasn't home until 10:am the following day. But, luck wasn't on Norman's side that morning. Anthony had barged through his son's bedroom door, drunk out of his ass that morning and started yelling at his son. Blaming Norman for every bad thing that's happened to him, including his job loss and the death of his wife. Norman had tried to back away, only to get punched in the gut by his father.

Norman watched, as he listened at the front door being shut loudly. His father was gone. He was safe. For now. He slowly sat up, clutching at his stomach and wheezing in forced, deep breaths. He was hurting as he pressed his back against his bed. He'd sprained his ankle when he was trying to get away from his father, but his father had dragged him back with his ankle, before stepping on it with force.

Norman stood up, hissing at the pain in his ankle as he limped towards his small bedroom mirror. His face was bruised, and there was a handprint left by his father around his neck. He had a split lip from the impact of his father's punch. His eyes were red, with bags underneath his eyelids.

Norman could barely sleep at night, afraid his father was gonna come into his room at midnight to hurt him. Also, he had mild insomnia. It has gotten worse lately.

Norman stared at his reflection, exhaling a breath of relief that his father didn't hit him in the eye today. His eye bruises always took time to heal and it was difficult for him to cover it up with makeup. And nobody seemed to notice, because nobody knew Norman Reed. Except for his childhood friend, Melissa.

He wasn't the most popular kid at school. In fact, he was the invisible one at school. He was nobody, just another lonely loser, and he was okay with that. He didn't have to dress to impress anyone. Hell, he barely even had any clothing. Norman was okay with that. He was okay with the fact that nobody cared about him. The only people in his life who really gave a shit about him were his mother, and his delinquent older brother who was in jail.

No matter how much Norman tried to forget how his mother left his life permanently, he just couldn't. He could still remember the day like it was yesterday. He could still picture it clearly. How he had just got back from his therapy session that Friday afternoon, accompanied by his brother. His mother just laid on their couch, cold, and out of life. With different bottles of hard drugs on the small coffee table. She'd killed herself. Took her own life with the help of heroin. He was only 15.

Norman could never forget the scene. He hated the couch and never sat on it without it reminding him his mother died on that couch.

His older brother, Nixon, was always in and out of trouble. Norman knew if his big brother was around, his father wouldn't dare hit him like his own personal punching bag. About two weeks ago, his father walked in that afternoon and told Norman his older brother was in jail in New Jersey. He was convicted for hitting a cop and they've refused bail, seemingly to keep Nixon there till he learned his lessons.

Norman was alone and he was at the brink of just ending it all. His family was fucked and he knew that. His older brother was in jail in New Jersey, a city far away from the small town they live in. His father was an abusive alcoholic, and he himself was suffering from social anxiety. He was diagnosed with the disorder at a very young age and he knew there would be a time when he would overcome his cowardice and just end it all. The pain, the suffering, the loneliness especially, he couldn't take more of it anymore.

After covering his facial bruises inflicted by his father with makeup, Norman ran his hand through his curly brown hair. He removed his gray t-shirt he was wearing and replaced it with a turtleneck sweater. He was already 15 minutes late to class when he stepped out of his house. He knew he would definitely have to miss his first class.

Having no means of transportation, Norman began his walk to school, limping a little as he tread forward, with his backpack on his back. The spring weather didn't do Norman any good as he stopped outside his school's big gates, wiping his forehead off his sweats.

Norman thought about his sophomore year when he nearly quitted school because of his anxiety and his sensitivity to noise as he strolled down the empty hallway of his school towards his next class since he was already late to his first. With the help of his therapist, he was able to avoid the noise from his classmates by just focusing on a particular sound or listening to music with his earphone. It helped.

" Norman." A familiar voice called his name.

Norman turned around and he was faced with his AP Biology teacher, Mr. Brian. He was a good looking, tall man with dark skin tone, and bright green eyes. He was one of Norman's favorite teachers and Norman was partially comfortable with the man. He understood him.

" Mr. Brian." Norman greeted him, trying as much as possible to hide his limping.

" Why are you just coming to school? Are you okay? You're almost late to your first class." Mr. Brian asked, staring at the fragile boy with golden curls.

Mr. Brian had always been observant and he knew Norman wasn't like every other kid in school. Aside from the fact that the blue eyed boy was extremely brilliant, he was obviously abused at home. Mr. Brian noticed that the day he found him crying at the students bathroom. He'd tried to talk to the boy, but he was always closed off.

" Yeah. I woke up late." Norman lied and Mr. Brian could tell the minute the lie rolled off his tongue.

Norman liked Mr. Brian. He saw him as the teacher who cared too much about everyone, and Norman thought sometimes he was too nosy and he hated it. He couldn't tell his teacher off, that might come off as rude and Norman was far from rude. So the way to avoid Mr. Brian was by being closed off all the time, avoiding the teacher's persistent questions about his well-being.

He was fine and he wanted no one to worry or care about him, especially his teachers.

" Okay. Well, let me walk you to your class. It's English right?" Mr. Brian inquired, staring at the boy like he could see through him and noticed the boy was hurting inside.

" I'm fine. I'll be fine. I can walk myself to class." Norman said. It came out a little sternly, and Mr. Brian noticed.

He felt like something must have happened at home again. Even if Norman never talked about his family or what he was passing through, Mr. Brian knew something was hurting the boy. He could see through his mask.

" It's not an offer, Norman. I'm walking you to class. I know you're late and you need to get to your first class."

Isn't it weird he cared too much about me? Norman thought, as he allowed his teacher to walk him to his English class. Class he was avoiding earlier.

He stopped outside his first class with his teacher as his teacher opened the door. Norman stepped in, with Mr. Brian behind him.

" Mr. Brian." Ms. Fatima, Norman's English teacher, greeted his Biology teacher.

Norman wasn't paying attention to the conversation between his two teachers. He stared at the floor, zoning out his fellow classmates who were talking amongst themselves and acting as if he wasn't standing in front of the class. He was used to it. With none of his classmates actually aware he even existed.

" Go and take a seat, Norman." He heard Ms. Fatima say.

Without wasting any time, Norman walked towards his seat at the front row and sat down. His childhood friend, Melissa, wasn't here. She'd texted him last night that she wouldn't be at school that morning. He was used to loneliness, the emptiness. And as he sat down and pretended to listen to what Ms. Fatima was teaching, Norman just sketched on the back of his sketchbook, zoning out the world and the quiet chatter from his classmates. He loved art, it was a way he could easily drown himself and forget about his pain as he sketched or drew something fascinating that just crossed his mind.

The door to the classroom opened again, stopping his sketching. He noticed the room fell quiet and his teacher had stopped teaching all of a sudden. Someone stepped into the classroom. It was a boy, dressed in black, ripped denim jacket, with a dark gray t-shirt and black jeans.

Norman noticed half the class was staring at the new boy, including himself. The more Norman stared at this new boy, the more he took in his features. He had dark brown hair that was slightly tousled with the sides shorter than the middle. His eyes were amber, and Norman thought his eyes looked like the sun. He was fascinated by the new boy, something that has never happened to him before.

The new boy was good looking, and without looking twice, Norman knew the new boy was bad news and trouble. With his hand still clutching his pencil that was paused half sketching something on his book, golden-amber eyes scanned the classroom and fell on Norman. Blue and amber eyes locked for a second.

And for a minute, Norman's heart skipped a beat.