| 3 | This Chapter Title Will Be Longer Than My Fucking Life Expectancy In This Airport As A 5'4" Hormonal Teenager Who Cannot See Over Crowds

***

All I could do was cry my eyes out until they decided to call me downstairs to leave the city I've called "a half-decent home" for the past sixteen years. My parents found me—they pried me out of the Psy household and forced me to say goodbye to the closest friend that I had and the best motherly figure that was out there for me. They forced me to pack up my things and they were forcing me to leave with them into a new god damned city. Once more, they've failed to take all my opinions into their account.

"It's for the company's own good," they'd claim.

"You're just overreacting," they'd claim.

"Fuck off," I'd 'claim.'

I would never expect a Friday mid-morning to be this gloomy, and I would never had expected such an emotional attachment to a fucking house that didn't even belong to me in the first place. I taped shut the last of the boxes that held my items and shoved them down the flight of stairs. The boxes tumbled loudly, eventually knocking over, and breaking, a couple of potted plants that were situated on the floor.

Seven points.

I laughed and sat on the top of the staircase. I reached into my back pocket and took out a cigarette box, followed by a cigarette, as well as a lighter. What happened next was easy—I just simply smoked another cigarette. The mansion didn't belong to my family anymore and was put up for sale for about, what, a million dollars? Might as well trash the place as long as I'm here, it gave me all sorts of shitty memories. Mother strolled out of her (ex)room and looked me dead in the eyes, I could tell she was disappointed in my behavior. All she could do was sigh, hold her breath, and jog down the stairs with a box that was labeled "CLOTHING."

"Seto, we're leaving in a couple minutes, put your shoes on and get in the car. The movers will be taking everything from here." Mother's voice sounded so bland and defeated that a stale potato chip could have a said it better. I simply just stood up, jogged down the stairs, and went to open the door. I slammed it shut behind me.

The air was dry, it made my lips feel chapped. I gave an exasperated sigh before getting into a small minivan that was parked on the gravel. I sat in the back, my headphones on my neck and my phone resting comfortably in my hand. I had already threw my cigarette away onto the lawn, and was ready to mute the world with my music. Father was sitting cross armed in the driver seat, looking at me from the rear view mirror. I awkwardly buckled my seatbelt, the clicking noise making me tense up for a brief moment. God, I didn't know how my parents could cope with my shitty behavior.

Mother eventually came into the car, sitting down in the passenger seat and buckling her seatbelt. Father started the car and began to drive towards the golden gate that I had managed to squirm through prior to this day. The gates slowly churned open, making an irritable creaking noise that reminded me of Isaac's staircase. I simply put on my headphones and prepared myself for the ever so long journey to the airport.

Bye shitty mansion.

Bye shitty neighbors.

Bye shitty life.

And hello to another shitty life that laid ahead of me like an open road.

I curled my fingers into my jeans and bit my lip, angry. I didn't want to go, and part of me just wanted to jump out of this car and run straight to Isaac's house—straight to his mother and straight to a loving "older brother." There was no possible chance, I was like a lion in a cage, trapped and just used as a view of entertainment. I wonder if my parents purposely sought after a woman that I would despise for their amusing entertainment.

"Seto." I heard mother's voice through my headphones. I put them down on my neck to listen to what she'd have to say. Mama by My Chemical Romance blasted through my headphones—ironic.

"WELL MOTHER, WHAT THE WAR DID TO MY LEGS AND TO MY TONGUE,
YOU SHOULD'VE RAISED A BABY GIRL,
I SHOULD'VE BEEN A BETTER SON!
IF YOU COULD CODDLE THE INFECTION,
THEY CAN AMPUTATE AT ONCE.
YOU SHOULD'VE BEEN!
I COULD HAVE BEEN A BETTER SON!"

I muted my headphones at this point. I had always wondered if my mother did want a daughter instead of a son. "Seto, I know you think we don't care about you but—"

"There are no buts, you obviously don't care about my opinions," being stubborn could be my daily job.

"Seto," Father's voice was stern, "listen to your mother."

"I'll listen when I'm dead." I put my headphones back onto my head and raised the volume to its maximum.

***

After an hour or so, the airport was in sight. My stomach churned with the squeamish thought demise. Until now, I still didn't know where we were moving and whether or not my parents were angry with me. I just held my breath, exhaled slowly, and hoped for the best.

I got out of the car, grabbing my backpack as I went. I stretched for a brief moment, the smells of gasoline filled the air. Putting my headphones back on my neck, the realization kicked in—it was silent, a putrid silence that reminded me of what I was going to lose. There were cars honking in the distance but that was pretty much it, no one talked and it had felt like the whole earth was coming to a slow.

Or maybe I was just some selfish sixteen year old going through a "phase" — in which supposed teenager thought the whole fucking earth revolved around them, but in reality that supposed teenager was just standing in a parking lot in Wisconsin; cold and frozen like a doofus on a Friday morning.

I saw my parents leaving the car there, which really confused me because if we were leaving, would the car be forever parked in that one singular lot? I scratched the back of my neck before rushing behind my mother and my father, not particularly happy that we were making our leave so soon. It was already 9:48, and I still didn't know what city we're moving to. Questions were left in the air like balloons that you could never retrieve. I didn't want to ask, I didn't have the courage to. I shook my head and continued to walk.

We eventually reached the airport's entrance. It seemed to be colder than outside; the feeling of that frigid, thin air never ceased. I followed my parents, blindly, to the point where I almost got lost, twice, because I wasn't paying attention. My legs were already tired from patrolling around like a lingering shadow behind their backs. I couldn't stop to catch my breath because the uneasy feeling of getting lost in an airport or being run over by tall people would be quick to settle in.

The crowd of people in the airport was suffocating, almost to the point where I felt like I had been drowning. I wasn't the tallest person, I usually lied about being 5'5" in the first place. With my shoes on, I would be 5'5", but without them I'd stand at 5'4". It's only an inch off, but to me, that inch means the world to me. It wasn't really good being short, most girls in my grade would tower over me. It wasn't the most practical thing to flirt with the most popular, and cutest, girl—who stood at 5'7". Not like I ever flirted with girls, anyway.

But, I remembered when Freshmen year came rolling in and I was the height of, well, 5". I expected to grow tall like the other boys in my grade, but then those expectations were dropped as the years went by.

Sophomore year? I grew two inches.

Junior year? Another two inches.

Senior year? Not anymore, buddy.

"Oh, you're just a late bloomer!" Yeah, right.

"You'll grow again—don't worry the expectancy for boys to grow would be 12 - 21!" Lies.

Fucking hell, there are some middle schoolers who are even taller than me!

I muttered to myself in anger and crossed my arms, not realizing I had stopped in the middle of the airport. My mind snapped back to reality as I gazed around, vigil and awake. I gripped onto the strap of my backpack as I tried to focus on where I was going. That's right, I was following my par—shit.

Where was I? Did I really get caught up in my own mind to get lost in this god damned airport?

I scrunched my nose as I shoved my way through the sea of different individuals. Most of the people there were rushing; holding their children by their hands as they dashed through the crowd like it was Black Friday. I managed to avoid some of them as I, one of those supposed "distressed" Black Friday shoppers, made my own way through the crowd. I figured I could have called my mother or father, but I cringed at the awkwardness of the phone call.

Hey mom or dad, your 17 year old son got lost in an airport because he was complaining about the genes you gave him for his height expectancy, could you please find me? Thanks.

God, the look on their faces when they would hear that phone call. If I had a kid like that, I would honestly leave them at the airport to fend for themselves. I felt my stomach churn in displeasure as I recalled the events that occurred yesterday. The timing seemed to had played in its own little favor, life really wanted to pull its strings today. I gave another exasperated sigh, trying to figure out my plan for what I should do—call my parents or look for them myself. I gazed around and went to go take a seat on the floor next to a trash can.

I swung my backpack onto the floor. I put it on my lap and hugged it, resting my chin on the bag. I forgot how my parents had dressed today, I mainly imagined them as a gray silhouette that I didn't need to pay attention to. My mother had always smelled of fresh vanilla, so that would be a start. My father didn't really smell like anything, not a scent that I would notice, anyway. I could imagine him smelling like a fresh pinecone, or an old book. Yeah, that seems about right.

My mother had brunette hair this reached down to her waist. It was curled at the end, and it had flowed eloquently as she walked as well. She clearly looked like a noble; her pale skin and bright green eyes always attracted stares. Some people found it hard to believe she was in her mid-thirties, she looked like she was in her early twenties. She would be usually be wearing some kind of sweater, possibly mahogany colored, and tights—or whatever you called those comfortable, stretchy black pants that could easily fit onto your leg. Her voice was light and feathery most of the time, so it would be hard to take her seriously when she would be angry. I had inherited most of my mother's physical traits.

My father, on the other hand, was hard to remember. He wasn't like those stereotypical strict fathers, he didn't really care about what I was doing or how my life was, he just wanted a successful kid. I usually see him wearing a business suit, a brown briefcase in hand. He had this coarse voice that always sounded sore, as if he had been yelling all day. He was the stoic type—chiseled, pale cheekbones and a perfect jawline to match. His hair usually changed color from time to time, he dyed it a lot. I remember he dyed it red, once, because my mother said she liked red haired guys. The most noticeable feature about him, however, were his eyes. They sparkled in the light and had been always shiny—a soft shade of hazel mixed in with a bit of green. I don't think I inherited any of my father's physical traits.

No idea where my bland, chocolate brown eyes came from, though.

Yet, here I was. I was a scrawny, pale kid who smoked cigars and had always varied their attire from black to pastel. My hair was rarely combed because of how lazy I mainly was—it just fixed itself throughout the day, and there were always dark bags under my eyes because I couldn't get myself to fall asleep. I couldn't compare to my parents; they looked stunning, almost like models out of a magazine. I ended up as, well, an average rebellious teenager with the "ever-so-brightest" of futures. God, I was so dumb for letting my thoughts get to me again.

I reached into my backpack and was tempted to take out and light a cigarette. I don't think smoking was allowed in airports, though. As much as I liked to break the rules, I was already stuck in one everlasting hellhole of a problem, anyway. I shook my head again and went to grab my phone. The cable was still attached to my headphones and still blasting music that could be barely heard over the buzzing of the airport. I stopped the song and entered my passcode.

There weren't any welcoming texts, nor worried phone calls from my parents. Isaac would probably be in school right now, so I couldn't vent out my problems to him. I didn't have Ms. Psy's number, either, so as much as I'd like her to pick me up from the airport, it wouldn't be possible. I had no other choice but to call my parents, the phone call couldn't be so bad, right? I could probably apologize to my mother within the call, anyway.

I scrolled through my contacts, then pressed on the certain one I wanted to call—mom. I pressed the phone against my left ear with my left hand, and used my free hand to cover my right ear in an attempt to block out the background noise in the airport. The ringing was taunting, I felt my heart pound out of my chest. It was just another day, another day of being a constant fuck up with the worst timings. Eventually, my mother picked up.

"Seto?" Mother chirped, "Where are you?"

"I was just about to ask the same thing." I replied, trying not my best to sass her. "I'm next to a gray trash can towards Exit C."

"Your father and I are nearby, I'm coming to pick you up while your father waits in line. Stay there, alright?" Her voice sounded like she actually wanted to come get me. I could imagine the dread on her face and her cheeks tainted light pink from the embarrassment of picking up some killjoy that sat next to a smelly garbage can.

"Okay, thanks," was all I said before hanging up.

I shoved my phone back into my backpack and leaned my head against the glass window. It was cold, obviously, and it made my neck tingle with goosebumps—which eventually travelled up my whole body. I rubbed my eyes, yawning. My eyes still stung from the tears that I was shedding this morning—sometimes I'm such a wuss.

The realization of the fact that it was, technically, my last day in Wisconsin. I didn't want to leave Isaac, I wanted to see him again. Talking on the phone was a huge difference than seeing the person in reality. The different environments would come into play—he would probably have some new friend to replace me, and I would, hopefully, find my own group of friends along the way. The unsettling truth of that was like a kick to the stomach.

Yet, within all this time, I didn't feel like it was happening. I felt like I was in denial, like the earth still revolved around me and this was just one big misunderstanding. Things like that didn't happen in reality, though, nothing like that ever would. No one could possibly save me from my fate, not even a true love. Again, my stomach churned at the thought of true love, for as that arranged marriage would always be haunting me no matter where I would go.

The arranged marriage would take place next month on my birthday—I had only one more month of school before I would be shipped away to some foreign country. School was the closest "normal" I could get. I wanted to taste the struggle of a regular high school student since I just freeloaded myself with the excuse of being some rich kid who can buy the whole school. Now, since that was over, maybe I could turn a new leaf.

That's when the idea popped into my head.

New place, new people, new school, new me. Posing as a regular student shouldn't be so hard, and getting rid of a snobby, rich kid attitude shouldn't be so difficult, either. Maybe, just maybe, that taste of being normal wouldn't be so far after all. Maybe, just maybe, I could just experience it for one last month, then disappear with a bang. The idea was perfect, it was completely perfect. I smirked to myself as I nearly banged my head through the glass without realizing it. Sure, I got odd looks from the strangers in the airport, but I didn't care, I had my plan now.

Never have I been so excited to see my mother walking up to me and dragging me by my wrist to my father to take our leave from a state I called "home."