A rough draft of a short story

[quietdragon]

Unloved Child

Content warning: mentions of bullying, child sexual abuse, incest, internalized victim-blaming.

“So, would you mind telling me what that was about, what you said to your teacher?”

“I’m not a little kid, I meant what I said.”

A raised brow, before 2 set the book down on the table. It was ridiculous to hear from someone that much younger; even while seated, 1 still hardly came up to 2’s chest. The confident tone, exaggerated posture, and the smugly challenging smirk only served to highlight how young 1 was. It was ill-fitting, although 2 was certain 1 saw no difference between them.

Saying “No, actually, you’re still a kid, this is ridiculous, you aren’t anymore convincing than two kids in a trench coat or a toddler in heels” was only going to make things worse and prompt them to do or say more ridiculous, potentially dangerous things to prove themselves.

“… the way you think you’re not and see no difference between us is actually perfectly normal for your age, you are growing into an adult…”

At that word, 1 seemed almost satisfied, if a bit eager to correct, not growing into, but an adult already! But 2 finished the sentence in a way that made 1 frown again: “—what’s not normal is how you’re acting. Imitating the way an adult walks and talks is one thing, but flirting with them or cracking dirty jokes is another thing.”

“That’s just it—you were wrong about me. I’m not just growing into an adult, I am one,” 1 finally interjected, crossing their arms.

This wasn’t going very well, was it? 2 couldn’t help sighing, but again, just denying them was only going to add to their impression that everyone else is failing to see what’s so obvious to them.

“Can you explain what you think that word means? Because it seems to me we’re using it differently. The way I see it, you aren’t there yet in years, you’re still in school…”

Pleased with the chance to prove themselves, 1 strode confidently over to the desk, 2 unthinkingly edging away in their seat from the sudden intrusion.

“I know I’m as young as the kids in class, I’ll agree with you that others my age are still kids, but I’m different. I’m an adult, because I know things they don’t.”

Is that it…? Is that what they think an adult is? 1 sighed. “There’s a lot more to being an adult than just knowing that. You need more life experience, wisdom that only comes from living your life as an adult in the world, interacting with other adults—you won’t get the chance to do that enough until you’re an adult. Your mind is still—“

“I already do, though,” 1 cut them off again.

“… what?”

“Online. There, I’m the same as other adults, I talk about the same stuff they do, read the same news, discuss the same topics… and all my friends are teenagers and adults too.”

This was starting to sound even more concerning and confusing than it already did, so 2 had to ask a few more questions to be sure.

“… what sort of topics?”

“Things like the problems in society, injustice, sexism, racism…”

This was a relief! 2 started to smile a bit. “So, you’re into politics! You could join a debate…”

“Most of the kids aren’t on my level and you know it,” 1 said, a bit irritably. “Besides, they don’t do debates for my grade or it’s all stupid stuff I don’t care about.”

“Well, that wasn’t very nice to say…”

Although, it might be true that 1 would fare better in debates with the higher classes, the subjects chosen for each grade were based on the average student, not the exceptional ones.

“… you don’t need to be as smart as someone to be friends with someone, though. They just have to be nice, don’t they?”

1 kept their gaze on the floor and sunk into the seat on the opposite side of the desk. 2 realized they might hsvd hit a sore spot.

“… they’re never nice,” 1 mumbled.

“Have you actually spoken to all of them?”

“Maybe? I don’t know. I can’t remember their names and faces, they blur together. I just know most of them laugh at me. Some of them act nice, but then they spread rumours about of steal my stuff.”

“It sounds like you’re having trouble making friends…”

1 stared at 2 as if they’d just stated something stupidly obvious, but 2 persisted.

“… is that why you prefer making friends with older people? Ones that will treat you kindly, who won’t bully you like your classmates might?”

As if exposed, 1 flushed, looking stunned.

“I-it isn’t just that!” 1 shook their head. “It’s also because we can talk about stuff kids won’t, they can understand me better…”

“Things like politics?” 2 asked.

“Yes, important things like that, they won’t look down on me, but see me as an equal.”

“You’re a very principled person, I see. You seem very concerned with justice and equality,” 2 mused. “Do you suppose adults are an oppressive class?”

1 looked surprised, not expecting 2 to come around to their point of view.

“Yeah… I don’t want to be looked down upon, I can handle more than they think I can! There’s adults who know less than me, so why should I be excluded?”

“You certainly are very well-read, you might be smarter than many adults! But being an adult isn’t only about learning from books or how clever you are. There are things that only come with life experiences and the physical development of the brain.”

1 started to frown, while listening to 2 speak, thinking they’d been tricked and hating the feeling; 2 hadn’t really changed their mind! They needed to do more to prove themselves.

“… what if I already had some of those life experiences early?” 1 quietly asked, glancing at 2.

The phrasing of that question chilled 1, but they hoped it wasn’t what they feared. They couldn’t mask the fear or shock they felt, unfortunately, as they weren’t very trained for this sort of conversation—or had they been? If they had ever covered this before, they’d forgotten it in the moment.

1 caught the deeply disturbed look in 2’s eye and it was entirely unlike the usual embarrassed shock their comments earned from adults or the amused interest from teenagers; it wasn’t fun or rewarding in any way, it just made 1 feel like they’d said or done something horrible and they quickly glanced at the door, thinking they should leave soon.

“… um. What kind of life experiences?” 2 asked, trying to sound non-judgmental, but failing.

“It’s nothing. Forget about it,” 1 said quickly, embarrassed and barely able to speak.

“… did you ever…”

Actually do any of the things you joked about? Were your older ‘friends’ involving you in sexual conversations?

A million questions swam in 2’s head, but 1, feeling awkward enough, started rising to leave.

“Did anyone ever—do anything to you? Touch you?” 2 finally managed to ask.

“… what?” 1 asked, blinking, and turning back. “… like that? No. I don’t—”

But thinking back, did that count…? They’d thought it normal at the time, something all parents did, and they didn’t resist, so it wasn’t like the cases they read about, if it wasn’t forceful or violent, then…

“… maybe?” 1 finally said in a faint, bewildered voice, taking a few unsteady steps before regaining their balance.

That explained it. That’s what 1 was trying so desperately to prove. Having lost that, they likely felt their childhood and innocence had come to an end and needed to prove to everyone how unlike child they were—although they still were, undeniably.

“… you didn’t do anything wrong and you aren’t in any trouble,” 2 said, trying to assuage 1’s fears. “You can leave if you want to, of course. No one will force you to stay here. But you’re still a child. You still deserve to be protected. Even if you went through that and more…”

1’s nervousness seemed to lessen, hearing that, but it was still a heavy shock, that left 1 feeling numb. The stories they read weren’t like this. They never could imagine themselves a victim. They truly thought they were more aware than that… this realization upset everything they thought they knew. They had never felt more young and clueless and they hated it.

They thought they were just mature. Or maybe just perverted by nature, born that way, with an imagination that faded like the others, except they could always viscerally and clearly feel how sexual acts felt. They didn’t know why they had such a keen imagination only for sexual matters.

“… if it… doesn’t hurt or bother me, why should I avoid it? Isn’t it better that people go after me instead of some kid who isn’t willing?”

The question made 2’s heart hurt because it sounded like 1’s ideals about justice fed into some sort of martyr complex where they thought they could save other kids from being abused by making themselves a willing, “acceptable” target. It was never going to stop predators from preying on the innocent and vulnerable—1 still needed protecting, even if they weren’t innocent… and that sincere desire to avert harm from others was innocent, no, beneficent in itself! But it also betrayed that 1 saw the only value in themselves as how much abuse they’re willing to take.

“You might think so, but remember what I said about the brain and even the body still developing? There are problems you’ll only notice later on if you do that now. Your mind and body aren’t ready for that, so it can cause addictions or injuries. You’ll miss out on experiences you’re supposed to have at this age, and you won’t realize how much you missed out on until you’re an adult… it’s a very sad and lonely thing, to become an adult without having gotten your fill of childhood.”

“I feel like I’ve had enough… I can’t relate to anything those kids want to talk about. Everything else I used to like feels boring, I can’t enjoy it anymore. That’s why I think I must be an adult,” 1 said.

“… that’s what an addiction is. Hypersexuality is often a symptom of trauma.”

2 wondered how much of 1’s avoiding of other students was based in arrogance and how much of it was fear of bullying or even of tainting their innocence…

1 wondered how much of what they thought were signs of maturity were actually symptoms of trauma—the word still felt alien and ill-fitting to 1, like they belonged to someone more innocent, unwilling, an ideal and sympathetic victim like the ones in stories.

Both said nothing.

But 1’s words earlier question brought another fear to 2’s mind.

“… is there someone still—”

Don’t use ‘hurt,’ 1 is stubborn and doesn’t like to be contradicted, 2 thought to themselves, cutting themself off. 2 felt furious, but managed to stifle it, so it won’t frighten 1 or make them feel like the target of it.

“Doing that to you? Are you still speaking with them?”

1 shook their head, but immediately regretted doing so. They felt lightheaded already, hollow and empty, like that day, even though they believed it to be normal then…

“Sit down. You can sit anywhere else you like,” 1 said, as gently as they could, but felt terrible they couldn’t rush over to catch them.

2 worried 1 might fall, but getting up right now might frighten 1 even more, approaching them, much less touching them, might worsen matters all the more.

Maybe it wasn’t wise, but 2 didn’t want to increase 1’s discomfort and suffering.

Fortunately, 1 managed their way to another seat, further away. They sat and stared numbly at a wall.

“… your parents separated… was it the one who left?”

A quiet nod, eyes still glassy.

There was that much, at least. Now at least sure of 1’s immediate safety, 2 thought of what to say to 1’s remaining parent, about keeping them away at all costs, and the importance of getting 1 therapy, regardless of “what people might think.” It was going to be an uphill battle with that type, but if they could be at all some source of support for 1, 2 wanted to be that.

“That’s all for now. You can stay as long as you like.”

Author’s note: this is far as I wanted to write it, continuing from that point had me writing myself into a very distressing corner with their fears about the other parent’s reaction. So, I think this is the best place to stop it, even if it feels incomplete. It was originally only going to be dialogue, because that’s how it came to me: snippets of conversation.

I couldn’t really think of names for these two, I didn’t even ultimately want to give them genders (in my mind, 2 is mostly a man, but at times, a woman, although I always saw 1 as one gender), because I wanted anyone who might need this story to be able to read this and see themselves in the characters. Just a wish that we had someone who cared and someone who would have at least tried to discuss these things.