The Lonely Ones

he end of this book. This book contains mature themes like, mention of suic

un rea

ONELY

nthony Reed cursed, as he kicked

e was dead. He wished he could just take his own life and end his misery. But no matter how far he

. He had thought

speak, but that didn't stop his

ped him. He was used to all the pain his father constantly inflicted on him. He wished he was stronger,

ather's punches and kicks, he wondered what he did to deserve this

e knew better than to resist, talk, or fight back. His father would

upid brother and he's going to rot in jail." A

of his face. He stared at his son on the floor with

with his fellow alc

e'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 morn

e 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 b

ching at his stomach and wheezing in forced, deep breaths. He was hurting as he pressed his back against his bed. He'd sprained his ank

His face was bruised, and there was a handprint left by his father around his neck. He had a spli

was gonna come into his room at midnight to hurt him.

today. His eye bruises always took time to heal and it was difficult for him to cover it up with makeup

h 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 no

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, c

ed the couch and never sat on it without it

like his own personal punching bag. About two weeks ago, his father walked in that afternoon and told Norman his older brother was in jai

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

own hair. He removed his gray t-shirt he was wearing and replaced it with a turtleneck sweater. He was already 15

he tread forward, with his backpack on his back. The spring weather didn't do Norman an

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 w

miliar voice ca

good looking, tall man with dark skin tone, and bright green eyes. He was one of Norman's

d him, trying as much as po

You're almost late to your first class." Mr. Brian

act that the blue eyed boy was extremely brilliant, he was obviously abused at home. Mr. Brian noticed that the

ed and Mr. Brian could tell the mi

o 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 w

o one to worry or care about

right?" Mr. Brian inquired, staring at the boy like he cou

elf to class." Norman said. It came out

an never talked about his family or what he was passing through, Mr. B

ng you to class. I know you're late an

thought, as he allowed his teacher to walk him to

s teacher as his teacher opened the door. N

orman's English teacher, gr

zoning out his fellow classmates who were talking amongst themselves and acting as if he wasn't standin

at, Norman." He he

orning. 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

et and his teacher had stopped teaching all of a sudden. Someone stepped into the classroom. I

took in his features. He had dark brown hair that was slightly tousled with the sides shorter than the middle. His eyes were amber,

ouble. With his hand still clutching his pencil that was paused half sketching something on his book,

e, Norman's hear