Chapter 1: Click here
The Mask of Indifference
Aidan sat at the kitchen table, flipping through his textbook with a mechanical precision. The numbers and formulas blurred together, but he kept his focus sharp. Outside the window, the distant sound of raised voices punctuated the stillness of the evening. Another argument. Another storm brewing in the house he was supposed to call home.
He didn’t flinch. He didn’t even look up.
A year ago, he might have tensed, waiting for the inevitable slamming of doors or the cold, suffocating silence that followed. Now, he barely acknowledged it. His body had learned the art of detachment, his mind had mastered the trick of tuning it all out. He told himself it didn’t matter. Not anymore.
“Aidan, did you hear me?” His mother’s voice broke through the haze of his thoughts.
He blinked, looking up at her blankly. “What?”
“I asked if you’re eating dinner,” she repeated, her expression unreadable.
“I’ll eat later.”
She studied him for a moment longer, as if searching for something beneath his casual indifference. Then, with a small nod, she turned away. He exhaled silently, relieved that she didn’t press further.
Indifference was his armor. If he didn’t react, nothing could hurt him. If he didn’t feel, there was no pain.
At school, he played the same game. He laughed when expected, responded just enough to avoid suspicion, but never let anyone get too close. No one needed to know that his mind was a battlefield, constantly navigating between numbness and the occasional flicker of something deeper. Hope? Longing? It was easier to shut it all down.
But then there were moments of solitude. Late at night, when the house finally settled into uneasy silence, he would sit by the window, staring into the quiet darkness, allowing himself to feel—just a little. A single memory could stir something he didn’t allow himself during the day. A quiet realization could hit too close to home. And in those moments, he wondered if the indifference he clung to so tightly was really strength, or just another kind of weakness.
Was he truly unaffected, or just afraid to face what lay beneath?
___________________________________________
Does the mask of indifference protect you from pain? Does it truly shield you, or does it only make the loneliness grow?
The Mask of Indifference
Aidan sat at the kitchen table, flipping through his textbook with a mechanical precision. The numbers and formulas blurred together, but he kept his focus sharp. Outside the window, the distant sound of raised voices punctuated the stillness of the evening. Another argument. Another storm brewing in the house he was supposed to call home.
He didn’t flinch. He didn’t even look up.
A year ago, he might have tensed, waiting for the inevitable slamming of doors or the cold, suffocating silence that followed. Now, he barely acknowledged it. His body had learned the art of detachment, his mind had mastered the trick of tuning it all out. He told himself it didn’t matter. Not anymore.
“Aidan, did you hear me?” His mother’s voice broke through the haze of his thoughts.
He blinked, looking up at her blankly. “What?”
“I asked if you’re eating dinner,” she repeated, her expression unreadable.
“I’ll eat later.”
She studied him for a moment longer, as if searching for something beneath his casual indifference. Then, with a small nod, she turned away. He exhaled silently, relieved that she didn’t press further.
Indifference was his armor. If he didn’t react, nothing could hurt him. If he didn’t feel, there was no pain.
At school, he played the same game. He laughed when expected, responded just enough to avoid suspicion, but never let anyone get too close. No one needed to know that his mind was a battlefield, constantly navigating between numbness and the occasional flicker of something deeper. Hope? Longing? It was easier to shut it all down.
But then there were moments of solitude. Late at night, when the house finally settled into uneasy silence, he would sit by the window, staring into the quiet darkness, allowing himself to feel—just a little. A single memory could stir something he didn’t allow himself during the day. A quiet realization could hit too close to home. And in those moments, he wondered if the indifference he clung to so tightly was really strength, or just another kind of weakness.
Was he truly unaffected, or just afraid to face what lay beneath?
___________________________________________
Does the mask of indifference protect you from pain? Does it truly shield you, or does it only make the loneliness grow?
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