Hazelthorn

by C.G. Drews

FOR THOSE WHO HAVE BEEN MADE TO FEEL MONSTROUS.

what is love if not devouring

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, who goes to school and kisses an appropriate amount of pretty people and isn’t bothered by things like an odd seam in his clothes or the very existence of socks. He wishes his brain moved in one direction, not a dozen all at the same time, and that he didn’t pull apart in a panic if even one thing goes wrong.

He tries, but somehow even trying means he’s failed.

The unfairness of it all adds to the growing agony pulling him apart...

Excitement, or maybe panic. He can’t tell the two apart.

Somewhat functional. He hates those words. Hates how they degrade.

“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.”

“Pretend,” Evander whispers, “you’re somewhat functional.”

Because sometimes the snarl, the insult, the teeth marks cut into the nearest person are so often a reflection of the bruises you already wear.

Evander hates the rasp in his own voice. “No, you didn’t. You just don’t know what it would be like if it was soft.” “Show me.” His words are a breath of spun spider silk and fairy dust.

All he says, his voice soft and reverent and broken all the way through, is, “God was stronger than me when he made Adam and didn’t fall in love with him.”