Icarus felt like shit right now. He really feels like shit. He tried to quiet down his hiccuped breaths with his mouth, pressing his hand hard against his lips to force himself to breathe through his nose. God, what the fuck was that? Ala had never raised his voice like that at him before, he’s come close, but never that loud to where it almost shakes the walls of the house. He never knew that his father could be so loud.
He locked his door. He doesn’t want to be bothered right now, and he sat himself down before the mirror in his room. He took off his glasses with a shake, and rubbed at his eyes, trYing to make the tears disappear. Why couldn’t he understand? What the fuck is so much more important in that office than his own son? He relies on him so much, and the moment Icarus needs something, it’s the end of the world. Icarus was angry. He dug the heels of his hand into his eyes. So stupid. So fucking stupid. He hates that stupid office and whatever stupid thing his dad is so fixated on. He hates, he hates, he hates, he hates, he hates, he hates so much.
He gripped at his hair hard. He hates everything right now, he knows it will go away, that he will feel guilty for showing such an emotion later on, but right now, he's engulfed with just so much hate. He could feel himself get warm, his face and shoulders starting to burn. He hates this room, he hates this house, he hates how he feels like he has to hide to feel safe. Why should he be hiding? Why, why, why? Why is he here? He looked up at his face, his red, puffy face. He hates the way his face is so round, he hates the acne scattered on his face, he hates his stupid glasses, he hates the length of his nose, he hates his hair, he hates his braces, and he wishes he didn’t have to share the features on qhis face with his dad. He wishes he could’ve just been made by his mother alone.
And why should I feel guilty for having emotions anyways? Icarus thought to himself. He’s human, he’s a teenager, he’s growing, he needs help regulating these feelings from somebody. He shouldn’t be relying on medication just to feel some type of normal or guessing how he should cope with this. He needs help, he knows that, so why won’t he listen? He’s always listening to his father, he’s always been there since as longas he could remember. He can remember the nights Icarus would walk in on his dad crying in the living room, he was so young. He would sit with him, exhausted and half asleep, and listen to him rant on and on about his problems. He’s so sick of playing therapist all the time. He should be the one crying, ranting to his father about his feelings, he should be the one comforting. He should be the one half asleep, exhausted, worried about if it’s even safe to try and go back to your room, not wanting to hurt the other’s feelings. He shouldn’t be the adult between them. He’s fifteen fucking years old. So why? Why is this all happening?
Icarus looked at the open bathroom door. He got up and walked inside, turning on the light. He looks like shit right now, but he doesn’t care. He opens the medicine cabnit and grabs all the bullshit medication he has to take to be okay. He wants to be okay on his own. He wants to be okay. He wants to be a kid for once in his fucking life. Not an adult, not a superhero, not a student. A kid. He twists off the cap of the first yellow prescription bottle. He dumps the pills into the toilet and one by one, he empties every bottle he can. His breathing is heavy, his nose is so stuffed from all the crying he’s been doing.
He shouldn’t be crying. You shouldn’t be making your son cry just because he needs attention that you should be giving. You shouldn’t be making your son cry because he’s sick of taking care of you like you’re the kid. He looked at himself again in the mirror. God, he looks awful. He picked at his hair, it was getting really long. He started growing it out when he saw pictures of his dad when he had long hair. He wanted to be so much like him. Fuck.
He opened a drawer, grabbed a pair of scissors, and started cutting at his hair. Chunks of hair fell into the sink, he wasn’t going for perfection. He just needed this weight off his head, he needs it off of him, he can’t stand it anymore. He put the scissors down when he was done. It was okay considering the circumstances. He could feel the breeze of the AC on his neck and he started crying again. He threw the pieces of hair into the toilet along with the now dissolved pills and he flushed it. Good riddance.
He didn’t bother changing into pajamas. He slipped underneath the comforter of his bed and closed his eyes, shaking. Fuck. He still felt so angry, so upset, and so exhausted, and so scared, he doesn’t know what to do anymore with himself. He heard a scratch at his door and got up slowly to let Achilles in. Achilles plopped himself beside Icarus on his bed and started licking his face free of tears. Icarus couldn’t stop crying and Achilles kept licking. Eventually, Achilles went to sleep, his big head tucked into Icarus’ neck, and Icarus stayed awake.
He looked at the time of his clock.
2:00 AM.