Chapter Text
John wasn't normal. That was something that he would hear a lot from people. Ever since that day in the hospital, when his parents were told by doctors that he would never be able to live a normal life, that fact seemed to follow him like an inconvenient bug he couldn't get rid of. Whether it came from doctors, his parents, classmates, teachers, or even friends of his mom and dad, he would always have to hear SOMETHING related to his condition.
"Your condition makes you different from other people."
"His condition just freaks me out..."
"His condition won't let him regret what he's done."
"That stupid condition of yours just makes you heartless!"
Always with his condition... He thought it was odd that people always wanted to point out his condition, especially the adults. As if his condition made him some sort of freak that was worth talking about...
He understood that he wasn't normal. That he was broken. That his condition made him different from other people. He understood. So why did they all bring it up so often?
His dad especially was one of those people. His earliest memories, if you overlook all the memories of the examinations and tests that were done on him by doctors, was his dad explaining to him what made him different. His dad would explain what each emotion was supposed to feel like in extreme detail, always making sure to bring up instances where he felt said emotions so he could understand them better, even if he couldn't feel it.
He remembered his mom's words... "One day, you will meet someone special... One day, someone will come into your life, and make you feel complete."
John remembered his mom and dad arguing over those words, his dad not wanting to listen to what his mom had to say.
John remembered his dad crying. His mom was nowhere to be seen, and John had never seen her again. All photos of them with his mom were taken down by his dad, and he wouldn't speak about her.
So John didn't either.
After all of that, his dad tried everything to make him happy. Spending time with him, teaching him how to defend himself, taking him to places, giving him gifts... None of it ever worked.
It was pitiful. Watching his dad try so hard to make him feel something, only to once again fail. He could tell it was upsetting his dad that none of his efforts worked. He saw it in the way his dad looked at him. Like he was an injured puppy that needed assistance to do anything.
He didn't want to make his dad upset anymore. He could tell that the sadness was tearing his dad apart. He started turning in his writing work just on the verge of being late, he stopped taking care of himself as well as he should've...
And so, John started going up to the mirror in the bathroom in his spare time, getting a reference photo of a facial expression from his phone, staring at it, and would try and mimic that expression. Happy, sad, angry, fearful, disgust, all of them he would practice a bit every single day, even going as far as to try and make himself cry on command so the sadness could seem convincing when the time came for it.
He would also observe regular interactions with people, whether it be his classmates conversations, online conversations, or just whatever social interaction he could see. He would make note of certain things in conversations, write down what he thought was important from those conversations, and would look up social cues and laws so he could be as accurate as possible. Then he would practice having a conversation by talking to himself. He would use social laws and cues in his conversation, and depending on the senerio he made up, he acted how a normal person would act.
And it worked. John began using more facial expressions when necessary in conversation, and he could understand what emotion he should be expressing or what opinions he should have based on what the conversation was about or what would be considered socially acceptable. And after a certain point, people started to believe that he was normal.
When he pretended, people cared less about him, and started picking on him only for his lack of an ability. When he pretended, his dad was finally happy, and they both could be a normal family. Though, he had a small suspicion that his dad, deep down in his heart, knew that he was just pretending...
Everything felt easier if he just forced himself to be normal, even though it was tiring to have to keep that up every day. Even if it felt odd having to conversate with people he should consider his friends, like Claire or Adrion, when he couldn't feel anything for them. Adrion knew, and didn't seem to care about his condition, and just wanted to be friends, but he knew that Claire wouldn't feel the same way.
Then, one day, he finally got his ability. He wasn't excited. He couldn't be excited. But Claire and Adrion seemed happy, so he would be happy too.
He didn't really care to train his ability, but Adrion and Claire insisted that his ability was amazing, and that he should strive to be on top. So he did. He trained day in and day out, training with Adrion and other people until his level managed to surpass the king of his school.
But then came a problem.
He wanted to feel something. He knew that he couldn't feel any real drive in his heart to do so, but he knew he wanted it.
He wanted to feel what others felt. He wanted to understand and feel both inside and out what it felt like to be happy, or sad, or angry, or anything like that. He didn't care if the feeling he got wasn't positive. He just wanted SOMETHING...
No one bothered to challenge him anymore. The usual physical pain he would feel from injuries wasn't there anymore because no one wanted to mess with him. The one thing he could feel that was ANYTHING besides the emptiness in his heart was gone.
Normal people felt guilt, or shame, or regret after hurting people. He never did, but maybe, just maybe, if he hurt enough people, he would feel something...
So he began hurting others more. He was more violent during turf wars, he beat the sh*t out of anyone who so much as bumped into him in the hallway, and fought the adults if they got in his way.
They told him to stop. He didn't listen. They would never know the feeling of nothing. The want to feel something, but are never able to no matter what you did.
They told him that he shouldn't abuse his power like that. He couldn't care. It was what everyone else did, so why was he any different? Because he sent a few more kicks than other people? Because he didn't stop even when a classmate was unconscious? He didn't understand. He couldn't care to understand.
Claire and Adrion distanced themselves from him. He noticed, but couldn't care. His dad told him that what he was doing with his ability wasn't responsible. He didn't listen. His dad was a cripple. How would he know the responsibility of having an ability?
No amount of beatings he gave were working. It didn't matter how much he punched, or kicked, or headbutted, or broke bones, he felt nothing.
He wouldn't say he felt desperation, because he wouldn't understand if it was desperation, but that seemed accurate to how he was behaving during those times.
He would pull his own hair until he had a headache, bite himself in the arms until he bled, bent one or two of his fingers backwards until they snapped, ANYTHING to feel pain that would distract him from the empty void in his heart!
... His dad noticed and made him stop. He still hurt himself. He just knew now to hurt himself in a way where he wouldn't leave scars or marks.
Even after all of this, he still remembered his moms advice. That one day, someone would make him feel complete. He didn't know exactly what "complete" meant, but that was his only reason to keep going. To one day meet this person. To finally feel complete...
He never fully understood his actions until he was faced with them. In the spot where Turf Wars was, was all of his peers staring at him, looking... Mad. Claire was there too.
Adrion warned him ahead of time. Said that Claire never really cared about him, and just wanted to get close to him because she knew he would be powerful from her ability.
He didn't care. He couldn't care. And he still couldn't, even when his peers were all lying unconscious on the ground around him, bloodied and hurt, he couldn't care.
He couldn't care when Claire called him a monster, and she wished she never met him, and how much of a tyrant he was.
The words meant nothing to him. Maybe if he had a far more important ability, like having actual emotions, he would've given a sh*t.
But he didn't. And he hoped that Claire would realize that too as he knocked her out with one final blow to her head.
The authorities got to him and dragged him away shortly after he dealt with Adrion, who had called them. He hoped that this would finally make him feel something. That after all of that, maybe, just maybe he could feel guilt or shame or regret...
It never happened. John stopped hoping that it would happen. It clearly will never work.
The next three months were just a blur. He remembered pain, and a man named Keon making him see the bloodied students he'd hurt, and all the times he hurt himself, and Claire's words, and all those days of trial and error to feel something...
"Late bloomers like you are doomed to fail."
"Something like you doesn't deserve mercy."
"All you've ever done is hurt other people."
"A heartless creature like you should've died a long time ago."
He couldn't disagree with the last one... He had no reason to be alive. Other than what his mom told him so long ago, he had no hope to keep going. No true purpose to exist for.
But his dad wanted him to be alive. So he kept living. His dad gave him a book that was dedicated to him...
He understood where his dad was going. That his ability was something good, and that he just needs guidance.
But he knew that was bullsh*t. He couldn't help other people. He didn't even know what other people felt, so how the f*ck would he be able to help others?
And his ability felt no different. All he really used it for was to hurt other people. He knew he could use it differently, but Keon's words kept ringing in his ear like an inconvenient buzzing fly every time he used his ability anymore.
He didn't care about what he did. He couldn't care. But he could pretend to care. He always did. He was told his ability was nothing but harmful... So he won't use it.
The role of having a powerful ability should be saved for someone who can use it properly. Who knows and feels what others feel, and can use their ability to help lead.
Sometimes it's better to step away from responsibilities that you can't do yourself. Sometimes...
Sometimes it's best to just blend into the background, and let the ones who can understand fill that role for you...
