Hazelthorn

by C.G. Drews

He wishes he wasn’t like this, wishes he could stand even parallel to normal and be someone who fits next to those his age,

The more anxious he gets, the more things become unbearable—like clothes and lights and shrill voices. Sometimes he just wants to crawl out of his own skin and peg it on a washing line to air out for a bit while he takes a long nap somewhere cool and dark. But those are not the sorts of things he can explain out loud.

He’s read enough mildewy books to be aware that the lord marries a lady without much variation—but he’s also struggling to care if his feelings are inside out.

“Who tells you to be quiet all the time?” Laurie’s words are a low, thickened spill of warm honey. “Pain is meant to take up space or else we wouldn’t know how to scream. Fuck making your agony silent to avoid disturbing others. Maybe they should be disturbed.”