Bryce Xavier: The Boy In Yellow, Chapter 2
You’ve read Chapter 1, now it’s time for the next installment of The Boy In Yellow. Scroll for Chapter 2!
Jump forward six years. February 11th, 2014, also known as the day I went insane.
I didn’t want to see a therapist, but my parents insisted. They said I’d never been the same since the day Ty disappeared, and they weren’t wrong. I wasn’t the same boy anymore, losing Ty had changed me for good. The new me was jumpy, paranoid. I almost never slept, but when I did, all I dreamed about was Ty, cold and alone and begging for me to save him. I woke in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, screaming. Six whole years of sleepless nights can really mess with your head.
The first day of therapy, well, it wasn’t exactly a success. With my parents in the room, I couldn’t help but feel ganged up on. Nothing I said was good enough for my parents, and the therapist just took their side. Frustrated, I cursed, and my mother reprimanded me.
“Don’t use that language!” She warned me, “I raised you better than that.”
“Are you kidding me?” I reminded her, “You use that same language and much worse on a daily basis.”
An argument broke out, which my dad and the therapist tried uselessly to settle down. We were getting further and further away from the reason I had to be here in the first place: Ty was gone and none of us knew if we’d ever see him again.
Back at home, I could hear my parents arguing through the walls.
“You don’t really think that, do you?” I heard my father saying.
“Why not?” my mother replied, “He was the last to see Ty alive.”
“That doesn’t mean he had anything to do with it,” my dad defended me, “This is your son you’re talking about.”
“That boy is not our son,” said my mother, “There’s nothing left of him. He’s been a zombie since Ty disappeared. As far as I’m concerned, when Ty left, our son went with him. His body may be here...but he’s gone.”
She must have decided I was beyond help, because she stopped making me go to therapy, stopped asking me how I was feeling. In fact, she stopped talking to me entirely, and so did my dad. They stopped hugging me or kissing me, stopped waving in the hall. Most days, they didn’t even look at me. We became like roommates, the kind who don’t care to know each other, living in the hell hole they brought me into.
Jump forward again to June 19th, 2018, exactly a decade after Ty vanished. I woke up for the last day of tenth grade, bright and early, ready to get it over with. I moved through my daily routine, which always began with waking up from a vivid nightmare, dripping in sweat, panting. I walked to West Lake High thinking how I should be happy looking forward to Summer, looking forward to all that time to spend with my friends and family. But I didn’t have friends anymore, and it thad begun to feel like I didn’t have family either.
Feeling bad for myself, I crossed the street, heading towards the school building.
“Hey, Ash!” Just then, I heard someone call my name.
Who could it be? I wondered, looking around. I couldn’t remember the last time somebody at school tried to talk to me. But before I could see who the voice was coming from, BAM! A car ran me off my feet, sending me soaring through the air and onto my back. I felt the blood draining from my body as I lay helplessly on my back. Before I blacked out, I saw one last thing: Ty’s blue hat sitting on the road next to me paired with a note that read, ALIVE.