Failed Misanthropy (Part 12: Dean)

He grew up privileged as f*** but he never gave a single one.

At least about the things he was "supposed to".

Friends of course.

School, because he wasn't an idiot.

Girls, definitely.

Everything else was sort of up-in-the-air.

His parents moved so much, it was tough for him to really care.

Caring meant emotional investment which meant getting hurt.

He found that getting hurt was something he wanted to avoid for as long as he could.

So here he was back in the district he had left some time ago.

Some of his old friends remembered him and others had simply let him go. 

He understood that though.

He failed to recognize all the people he once knew now sporting the faces of young adults.

The baby fat in their cheeks,

the glint of innocence in their eyes had both disappeared,

replaced by a definition of features with no time to fantasize.

He knew their expressions all too well.

The lethargy, the stress, the emotional turmoil of being young.

He knew the expression because they weren't the only ones.

Stoic, and self-contained, he existed, if only to make sure he didn't lose himself.

Self-aware and self-confident he always wanted to debate.

Built like a linebacker with immaculate coordination, he always wanted to tackle someone or be the one to run to home plate.

Though not the most attractive guy in the world, he had a specific charm, but never got to take a girl out on a proper date.

But, how could he do any of these things?

His life was too unstable for anything so concrete.

He simply watched and waited, indifferent to all that surrounds.

He would….

d-double-take…

as his heart…

began…

to pound.

What is this life without attraction?

Can it be that the feeling,

is easily ignored,

that it fails to strike a well-founded cord,

or is it something more profound?