Glitch - Chapter 1: Numb

Chapter 1: Numb

First of all, here are all of the reviewers and editors who have made an notable impact who I would like to thank for making this story what it is now.

- pcguyiv
- Amethyst Angel
-Prier
-betsie
-MayDay
- K5Rakitan




The first thing I feel when I wake up is a tingling numbness rippling through my body and wisps of cold hitting me all at once. I wake up drenched in my own sweat, my heartbeat tossing back and forth like a boat in a storm. It’s only been a month since Father died, and I’m still getting nightmares. My emotions are snakes in my head warping my thoughts, threatening to sink their fangs into my skin any second they catch me off guard. But I can’t let them out. Not when Mother’s watching me like a hawk.
I can’t fall apart the way I did during Father’s funeral, but the pain never comes in a single blow. It comes in crashing waves of flashbacks, forcing me to relive the painful truth over and over again—Father is gone. And no matter the hopeful wishes or stupid fantasies I may have, he’s never coming back. But… I can keep dreaming, can’t I?
I wipe the tears beginning to well in my eyes and crawl out of bed before Mother can scold me for “leaking emotion”—for simply being human. She’ll never understand me the way Father did. I fight back my tears and open the door.
The wind weaves through the frost-blanketed pines and wanders past my hoodie. Shivering, I run the whole way to my school, Evergreen Academy. It’s the one place that even pretends to be kind to me; though, it’s kind of like when your friend attempts something, fails miserably, but you say good job because you don’t want to hurt their feelings. My school is like that. It should get an A-for-effort-attempt-at-school medal. But what would I know? How could I dare to imagine true friendship when I’ve never had anything like it?
The morning passes in a blur, and the details get fuzzier by the second. All the words my teacher says pass through one ear and out the other. “So this is how the blah, blah turns into the double blah and oh, look at that! Congrats, class! Now you must figure out the blah to the power of infinity! Have fun!”
I pinch myself to keep awake, while others gawk at the lesson in confusion, taking notes of the lesson. The teacher’s scowl flickers across my eyes, and I grin just to see the signature spark in her eye lashing out at me. I bite my fist—already filled with teeth marks—to stop laughing as hard. Already used to my behavior, my teacher delivers a well-rehearsed “OMG, I’m so disappointed in you” speech. I roll my eyes when she turns her head.
“... of course, family—”
“Could you repeat that?” I blurt out. My voice isn’t the carefree, silky tone it always is. For the first time in my life, I’m shaken up and at a loss of words.
“As I was saying, Mr. Swann, our class is like a small, happy family, brought together by friendship and our shared love of learning. And because you are so keen to interrupt, maybe you can share a story about your own family.”
I feel like I can’t breathe. The word is prickly on my tongue. “My… family?”
My teacher gawks as if I had asked her for the answer to one plus one. “Yes.” She narrows her eyes so much that they turn into slits. “You know, a father, maybe a sibling, a mother…”
My eye twitches as I swallow a lump in my throat. “My mother loves me, as she loves my sister. No favoritism there. No siree!” The class begins to giggle, but I know as well as everybody that my humorless sarcasm is only a hollow mask.
“Very funny, Mr. Swann. But don’t expect special treatment for being the mayor’s son. I am a very unbiased teacher.” And, to make the crystal point even clearer, she winks at her favorite student, a nerd named Beatrice Brown.
I roll my eyes and stick out my tongue, disgusted. My teacher scolds me for being immature, but this is the hundredth time I hear this speech, and the hundredth time I don’t bother to listen. She continues to rant on and on as I begin to nod off. Some students notice my balancing act and begin to snicker.
The rest of class creeps along without a hitch, but I still can’t stop thinking about the teacher’s question about my family. “Mother loves me.” The lie gets caught on my tongue before the whole sentence can make its way out of my mouth. I swallow. She does, doesn’t she?
I close my eyes and finish writing my equation, biting on my tongue until I taste blood. I can’t cry. Crying—and all feelings of despair and misery—are for the weak. And the great Luka Swann is not—and will never be—a weakling.
I think long and hard before saying something else so idealistic. Even if that’s what everyone, even my parents, tell me. I think bitterly, but I won’t be someone they look down on. I look down on others. I… won’t cave in like I did once…
“… dismissed.”
The restless children spring from their chairs and race outside, clumping together like a stampede, rushing over whatever gets in their way.
“Please come play soccer with us, Luka!”
Leonardo spins a soccer ball on his finger, grinning from ear to ear as he notices the surprise written across my face. “Yeah, bro, join my team! I need ya to carry my team.”
Perfect. Another victim—I mean, friend. “Go carry your own weight first. Cut down on the cake, or you won’t even be able to fit through a door frame.” He storms away fuming, and I cover my mouth to smother a laugh. He looks offended, but I know he’ll come back begging for more. They all do.
“But you’re such a wonderful goalie,” praises a grinning boy. “Don’t waste it on that jumbled ragtag team!”
“How absolutely flattering.” I snort, feeling clever. “‘That team?’ My talent would be wasted on any of your teams.” The boy frowns.
I roll my eyes, and a flock of girls glance at me with wide eyes, looking like they’re about to swoon. “Oh, my goodness, like, Luka just blushed at me!” I stifle a laugh as I imagine her eyes inflating into heart emoji balloons.
“Yeah, I did. What, no boy blushes at you? No wonder you don’t have any friends. Your stupidity makes everyone run the opposite way,” I say, smirking as dread crosses her face and her heartfelt smile morphs into a scowl. She runs away with a wet sleeve, burying her eyes.
“You do know that only idiots would blush at girls like you, don’t you?” I add, just to rub salt on the wound.
I glance around the school and see Nora settled quietly in the corner, alone. She notices my gaze and manages to smile back. It’s a hasty, halfhearted smile, pained at the corners of her lips—one of her better attempts. I know she didn’t really mean to point her smile at me, so why did it still make my heart leap?
I continue to the soccer game. I get every single shot in the net, and before long, my team is leading by forty-nine points. “Nice work, team Luka,” I say, holding out an open palm for my teammates to high-five. They look away. “Anyone?” I lower my hand and walk up to a lonely boy. “Hey, great job supporting me,” I tell him, patting him on the shoulder. He furrows his brows and walks away without even glancing at me, muttering something brazen under his breath.
“How… how rude! Come back and apologize to me right now!” But now, with nobody left to listen to me, I know I’m only wasting my breath. “Die, lowly peasant!” I continue, completely enveloped by rage. “You’ll fall in a pit, and nobody will notice! Forget about anyone wasting their time to grieve, too!” I don’t want them to be scared. But without even trying to, I grin at the same time. Yes, they are throwing the game away, but the most important part is that it’s no challenge for me. I cross my arms and frown. No fun. Conclusion: Life’s easier when I’m intimidating.
I glance at Nora again. The sight of her makes me blush. I turn my head away and scold myself under my breath, yet my head keeps swiveling back to her. Her blonde hair sparkles like gold in the sunlight. Her eyes are a deep ocean blue. A satin bow rests nestled in her frizzy hair, while two diamond earrings hang from her ears.
What am I thinking? While she is absolutely glamorous, I can’t let some petty little girl ruin my life. It’s too valuable to throw away. So why am I still thinking about her? My sister’s voice rings in my ears. “You think your sad, little life is worth protecting, or even have the guts to think it’s something people should envy? In my nightmares!”
Still, I muster the courage to sit next to her. “Nice day, am I right?” I ask.
Her face is dull as a blank sheet of paper, and she sits there, sketching the sunrise, unblinking. I scoot closer, and my heart sinks as she ignores me, sketching happily with a turned head. I feel like a shadow, like a forgotten boy chasing sassy girls—which may be closer to the truth than I’d like to admit.
Perhaps she is only shy. Nonetheless, she’s acting like a rude jerk like all the people in my school, but I’m a kindhearted person. “You’re supposed to reply to me,” I remind her patiently, nudging her on the shoulder.
She turns her head, continuing to ignore me. In the dim light, her piercing glare reminds me of Mother’s. I bare my teeth. I won’t be kicked aside like I always am. My fingers tighten into a pale-knuckle fist.
“You’ve been staring at me the whole ten minutes. What’s your problem?” she asks while keeping her eyes locked on her sketching pad.
I flush. “I was staring at the thing behind you, of course, because, um… Beautiful day, am I right? So—”
“You know,” she says in a huff, still keeping her eyes locked on her stupid sketch, “it’s not so polite to keep bugging someone over and over when they clearly don’t want to pay attention to you. Why are you even so awkward?”
“What a creep,” she adds under her breath. “Bothering with the world when nobody bothers with him.”
“That… that’s it!” I snap. “I demand you tell me why you think you have the authority to talk to me like this! I’ll have you know that my mother is the mayor of the city! She has the wealth, leadership, and intelligence to lead this city.” I glare at her, waiting for her to come crawling back with her head hung low and a heartfelt apology.
“Well, all that ‘skill’ doesn’t seem to run in the family,” she mutters and goes back to her notebook, drawing on without a worry in the world.
As she continues to ignore me, I bark at her, “Put down that pencil and stop sketching some stupid sunset. Look me in the eye and say that! I’m… I’m not less important than your stupid paper that stupid people use to draw stupid things!”
She’s completely expressionless like she was before. “You’re a spoiled brat, Luka.” She leans close to me and adds, whispering, “And by the way, I wasn’t drawing a sunset. I was drawing you.”
I blush. “Finally! I’m flattered that someone, like everyone should, has acknowledged my cleverness, my cunning, my—”
She turns her sketchbook to show a perfectly shaded potato with an evil V wrinkle on its forehead, two button eyes, and a pathetic arch frown. I open my mouth in shock. What disrespect! When Mother hears about this, Nora will be rebuked so hard she forgets which way is up. “But of course, my paper would be wasted on another abomination,” she says and rips out the page.
“You’re calling your own drawing an abomination? Well, you’re right!” I stand triumphantly as a crowd gathers, but they’re so tense they don’t laugh. I wink at them and urge them to join me, but it’s so quiet I can hear my own breathing against my chest.
“Oh, I wasn’t talking about the paper. I was talking about your face.” The carefree smile falls off my face as the audience giggles like preschool girls.
“Fight! Fight! Fight!” I can barely hear my own thoughts as the audience’s cheers ring in my ears. “Fight! Fight!”
“I won’t waste any more time on you, Luka. Oh, uh, one last thing.”
My eyes begin to sparkle.
“I would rather like a rock than you. Just saying,” With a shrug, she ignores the crowd’s pleas for a fight, dusts herself off, and leaves without another word. I’m left gawking at the empty corner where Nora last stood.
“Ugh!” I pick up a rock and chuck it away with all my might, fuming. It hits an unsuspecting teacher on the head, and I break into a sprint. I’m gone before she notices me. Usually, I would’ve collapsed on the ground with a mischievous grin glued to my face. But today, I’m quiet, without a hint of joy in my eyes.
What does it take to impress a girl?! My voice softens, my lip quivering. “All I want is Nora’s hand in mine… I want a life of fame and luxury…” I resist the urge to say, “with Nora,” knowing how Mother would be catching me with nobodies. I am superior to all people. Nora, that old, wrinkly hag, is simply in a lower class than me, even though she’s younger than me!
“Is she?”
My eyes widen. “W-who’s there?”
“Oh, stop getting ahead of yourself! You’ve heard my voice ring in your ears a million times by now! I’ll give you three clues: ‘You’re useless!’”
“You’re…” I flush and let out a well-deserved sigh. “You’re nothing more than my thoughts, aren’t you?”
“Lucky first guess. And yes, I am your thoughts—but to be precise, both you and Mother’s.”
“Which means that I’m talking to myself, aren’t I?” I groan.
“Simply put, yes. Does this give you an idea of what type of person you are yet? Or do you really need the embodiment of your thoughts to rub it in? How sad, little Luka needing himself to confirm that he’s a nobody.”
My thoughts boil down to a simple, “I’m useless.” Everyone else knows it. Deep down, even I know it. So just accept it, Luka.
Another voice cuts in. “But I’m still the mayor’s son. I have all the money I want.”
So why am I so lonely it hurts? Why does my heart weigh like bricks of gold? I have all the friends I need in a lifetime. What’s missing? Not money. Not valuable supporters. Being popular is what I always wanted. But what good is fame if I’ve lost my soul getting there? All I want is for Mother—and Sofie—to love me for who I am.
The rest of class doesn’t matter to me anymore. The teacher’s words blur together, and so does my classmates’ laughter. Everything dies down to white noise. I don’t care anymore; all of these feelings are for the weak. I scrub away the thoughts from my mind before I can relish the idea of being loved; knowing the feeling would only make not having it worse.
I trudge along the sidewalk, my feet dragging on the ground, head bowed low as welled-up water tickles my boots. Raindrops pour from the sky in rhythm with my trembling heartbeat. Lightning pulses between the smokey clouds. A full-on storm is stirring. I’m cold and soaking wet, but that’s the last thing on my mind. Shutting my eyes with all my might, I break into a sprint.
Listening to the click of my boots down the cobblestone, I can’t stop thinking about my sister. She’s a prodigy, and I’m… nothing compared to her. My eye twitches, as it always does when I’m thinking about my past. I remember Mother’s disapproving scowl piercing through my body. “If only you were like Sofie…”
The rain seems to fall faster. I’m on the brink of bursting into tears when Nora’s face pops into my mind again. One tear slips. I wipe it away hastily, thinking about how insignificant it—and I—am. But then, down comes another.
Then another.
And another.
“Don’t cry… Don’t cry… No!” I squeeze my eyes shut and try to keep my head up. For a second, my mind is wiped clear—no pain, no sorrow—only a lingering numbness as I block out everything else. I manage to take two more steps before Mother’s voice rings in my ears again. “If the adoption center were open, I’d dump you there myself—only it’d look bad on my next job application. Pity.”
Tears blur my vision.
One tear splashes onto the ground.
“... And because you’re so keen to interrupt, maybe you can share a story about your own family.”
“My… family? Mother loves me, as she loves my sister…”
“You think I love you, Luka? Who would love someone weak like you, who clings so tightly to their so-called ‘emotions’ that you’ll never live a life worth loving? It’s a disgrace to call you my son…”
And before I know it, I’m burying my face in my shirt and crying my heart out. I kneel on the grass and weep until I have no more tears left to cry.

*

*

*

I storm in, the wind whipping at my hair, and slam the door shut. I’m back home, but I barely care; nobody notices me anyway. The loneliness that pricks my heart always washes over me the same way every day, so emptiness is normal. I’ve become accustomed to the void in my chest, how my own family treats me like a pile of trash waiting to be discarded, the way I have to soak up my tears and put on a mask—the face of a perfect son—the person I never was.
When Father died, a part of me died with him. All the struggling, the misery, and loneliness I had to keep bottled up and never let them loose under Mother’s watch. It was like being in a cage with a dog who would kill you the moment you showed weakness. To make matters worse, all I hear is, “Wow, Sofie! Great job!” spinning around and around in my head, blurring my thoughts, chaining down all my hopes.
I bite back a sob and unpack my backpack. “Mother, I’m back!”
“Shush, my dear boy. Can’t you see that I’m working?”
“I had a good day; thanks for asking!” I mutter. “And—"
She doesn’t even turn her head to face me. “Nice,” she manages through bared teeth.
“Well, there was a purple potato the size of a mammoth sitting in the classroom today in my seat. So it means that I’m delusional—or I’ve got a really big bottom.”
“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” Her voice is expressionless, blank as a robot’s.
“Well, it looked just like you.” I pause. “Screw that. It looked better than you.”
Even though I’m half-sure she didn’t hear what I said, she barks at me, “Do you get the message, or do I have to spell it out to you? SHUT UP!” Her voice is rigid as she scrolls through her computer page. She slams the door in my face, and I’m left talking to a leather chair. That was that. Mother’s words are law in this family.
I’m left speechless. I don’t even have a sneaky pun to lift my spirits. “Oh well. I guess a ‘punch me, please’ sign on that chairback will slap the grin right off her face, too,” I mumble under my breath. I stumble over to my chair and pick up a pencil with my head so low, my nose is barely higher than my neck.
I turn my head, only to see Sofie’s toothy grin. “Ha-ha! Your face! Priceless! What did Mother say to you? She told me that my hair was just gorgeous today! And look! A new thousand-dollar watch. She’s planning on getting me a new room to store my thousand-dollar watches! Heck, she even gave me some romantic advice.” She turns her head just to gloat over my sickened expression and snort.
“What did she give you?” Her words are as sharp as the point of a needle.
I chuckle spitefully. “You’re probably gonna drag the IQ level of your new family into the negatives. Then again, I guess Mom and I are better off without you.”
She crosses her arms, genuinely entertained by the thought. “Very funny, hothead. I wonder, maybe we should ask Mother what she thinks.”
My eyes widen, and without an epic comeback to spew out, I stay quiet. My eyes drift to my shoes.
“And at least a boy wants to talk to me,” she rambles on, not noticing my iconic eye roll. “Who would want to talk to you, Luka? You know, other than to ask how to stop being drunk? Luka, who even bothers to even spit at you these days? Not even the geese by the side of the road that honk at everybody—oh dear! Please excuse my slipup. Everybody but you.”
I turn my head and cross my arms, refusing to give her the pleasure of seeing my cheeks flush. “Cat got your tongue?” she asks sweetly, her voice smooth as candle wax.
My reply is immediate. “Just shut up and leave me alone!” I snap at her. “You know nothing about me, and you never will!” I take a deep breath, listening to the echo of my voice without a hint of sympathy for Sofie. “Not everybody is like you, Sofie,” I state through bared teeth, glaring at her with threatening, fiery eyes. “Not everybody is so perfect or has the luxury of drowning in praise the way you do. Not everybody is so lucky to be accepted by a mother who cares.”
A flame ignites in her eyes. The satisfied smirk on Sofie’s face makes me want to puke. I’ve fallen right into her trap. “Oh, I suppose that’s true. You’re just a spoiled brat who’s jealous of a smarter, prettier, more charming little sister. Well, you should be.” She shrugs just to get on my nerves. I hate to admit it, but it’s working. “Of course, what beef-jerky-like older brother wouldn’t?”
I bite my tongue and ignore the remark. “You know, sometimes it is very hard to control the urge to punch you,” I say through bared teeth.
“Who’s stopping you?” she taunts as she twirls around me.
I close my eyes to block out her voice. Finally, I say slowly, “You’re my sister. I can’t bring myself together to do that. Even if sometimes you are a real idiot.”
She chuckles.
“What’s so funny?” I ask, fuming.
She keeps laughing.
“What?!” My own pique outburst catches me off guard.
She slaps her knee and grins. “Just the fact that you think you’re so strong that you can control yourself. You really are a hothead. Do you really think Mother will let you inherit the business?” She laughs so hard that it echoes across the room. “Of course you do, Luka. Like the stubborn, naive, simple-minded kid you are.”
I glare coldly at her in a desperate attempt to look unoffended. She knows that she hit me in a sore spot; the worst part being that she knows that I know it too. “I can see right through you, Sofie. You’re trying to cause a racket and get me in trouble.”
“Oh, please. Would people want to see two little girls arguing?”
I storm away, flushing. “You’ve gotten more creative with your insults, I’ll say that much. But I suppose that nothing you say will compare to me.”
She giggles like a pigtailed kindergartener. “You won’t solve your problems by running away. And you run at snail speed, so they’d catch up to you anyway.” She laughs at her own snarky remark. She puts a hand on my shoulder and presses hard. “Remember that.”
My voice is barely a whisper now. “Leave me alone, Sofie, please…” I purse my lips to mask a sob. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and scream at the top of my lungs, “Leave. Me. Alone!” I storm off without looking back.
I expect her to feel some sort of sympathy, but she’s only amused. She smirks, but I throw my pencil at her and run away before she can do anything worse. It’s days like this when I miss Father the most. Whatever I do—at school or at home—I can never escape. I’ve never stopped feeling empty and lost since the day he died.
“Remember that…”
I slam the door behind me as I enter my room.
“You are weak…”
I crawl onto my bed and scream into my pillow until my fears melt away.
“Stop running away from your problems…”
I rub my eyes and try to fall asleep. The nightmares were bad enough. Now I had to sleep with Sofie’s taunting voice circling in my head, over and over. I toss and turn until my eyelids are heavy. I want to sleep, but not to sink into the flashbacks again. Fear and stubbornness keep me awake. So I lie on the bed. Every time my eyes begin to shut, I punch myself hard in the gut.
Can’t fall asleep… Won’t fall asleep…
I sit up and slip on my socks. I let out a yawn as I realize that I can’t go on like this every night. Sighing, I plant my fingers on my keyboard and begin to type out the words, “sleep deprivation consequences.” I glance at the screen again, and the words written across are, “romantic advice.” I blink and freeze for a second. It takes a moment for the words to click before I start spamming the backspace, trying to erase it from my search history. “No, no, no…” I sigh.
A couple years ago, I found a backdoor that erases my whole search history. Parent filters made my life harder, but I’ve found loopholes in lazy code and ways to override parent commands. I even found a shortcut to Mother’s bank account—a little light on stormy days when I had enough of her. I prefer not to call it hacking, more like reasonable code changes. It’s given me everything my parents could never have. All these years, my pleasant memories were and still are made online.
Burying myself—including all my tears, my soulful cries, and all my hateful screams—in an envelope of code is the only way to let go of my feelings. I bottle them up and lock them away into the deepest, darkest parts of my heart and throw away the key. I squeeze out every bit of emotion from myself until I’ve got nothing left—a clean, blank slate.
One important thing I’ve realized is that the internet can’t betray you the way people can. When I stare into the screen, I can imagine a friend staring back through the curtain of glass and code like I’m worth listening to. A treasured feeling that I haven’t experienced since Father was alive washes away everything. And suddenly, all that remains is false calm and love.
Tears trail down my cheeks. I’ve gotten so desperate over the months. Father’s death has taken a toll on me. I know it deep within my heart, yet I still can’t bring myself together to accept it. I wipe them hastily, scolding myself under my breath. How stupid of me to cry like that.
My fingers fly over the keyboard as I try to erase that stupid message from my search history before Mother can find out, practically sweating. I tweak the code, but before I make a getaway, I see a message. My screen freezes. Three bold words appear on my screen, streaked across in lurid green.
I SEE YOU.

Another scammer. I rub my mouse to my cheek, wondering how I can scam the scammer. Maybe even make my way into another bank account. My mouse flickers on the screen, as if inviting me to type something back. I lick my lips—what a fun way to get back at a slippery scammer.
I AM NO SCAMMER.

I flinch. My knees begin to tremble—and not because of the cold. That’s when I realize the mouse flashing on the empty screen; right after I finish reading, the screen clears and leaves no evidence of a scammer—or a clever hacker. I’m dealing with more than a hacker. “Then prove it,” I type back.
VERY WELL.
YOUR NAME IS LUKA SWANN.

My jaw drops. My computer mouse clatters to the ground. It must be one of my many friends pulling a prank on me. So, you know my name. What’s yours? I type, amused.
YOU CAN CALL ME NIGHTSHADE.
A LITTLE BIRDIE TOLD ME THAT YOU ARE LOOKING FOR ROMANCE ADVICE.
ARE YOU, YOUNG BOY?

I glare at the screen, puzzled. Footsteps shake the floor tiles. My doorknob begins to shake. I resist the urge to write, “Shut your big fat mouth right now because you don’t know what I’ve been through with my stupid parents and my stupid sister and dealing with this stupid world.” I punch myself for thinking that. “Shut up, Nightshade,” I reply coldly. “I have to go. Get out of my computer.”
SEEMS YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND QUITE YET.
YOU WILL SOON ENOUGH.
I AWAIT YOUR RETURN.

With that, my screen unfreezes, and my whole conversation wipes off of the screen one letter at a time. A billion questions swirl around my head, but I know I have to wait until the next night to speak to this fellow “Nightshade” again. If I get caught by Mother or that pain in the rear, Sofie, it’s all over. Suddenly, I’m shivering now. I spend the rest of the night wide awake in bed, tossing and turning, restless.
By now, only one question remains: Who is this “Nightshade” that was just talking to me? It seems she knows a lot more than me than she will let on, assuming it’s a girl. I have to be more careful the next time I speak with her.
The moonlight peeking through the curtains lights up the clock. I strain my eyes to make out the time. “1:00 AM.” I groan and roll back onto my bed. My eyes begin to flutter close, but I resist the urge of sweet sleep and begin reciting my multiplication tables backwards. I can’t go on like this for the whole night. I can almost feel the nightmares waiting for me. And when they catch me dozing off, they pounce.
After Father’s death, I’ve been teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. Dreams have never seemed further, just out of grip. Even so, my head sinks deeper into my pillow. I can’t hold on forever.
Finally… I let go.
I fall into a deep sleep, even though my dreams are anything but pleasant.