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Edward’s head was pounding.
He could barely remember what the teacher was saying. Maybe it was something about rhetorical structure, tone, or maybe the structure of tone? The words blurred together in a buzzing cloud, blending with the scratching of pens, the hum of fluorescent lights, and the ever-present thoughts from every student in the room.
This was the only class he had alone. No Alice with her quiet giggles. No Bella passing notes or pressing her hand to his knee under the desk. No Rosalie to glare anyone into silence.
Just him.
And all of them.
Big boy. I’m a big boy, he repeated in his mind, trying to hold on. He clenched his fists in his lap and stared hard at the textbook in front of him. He couldn’t even track what page they were on.
The words were swimming. His breathing was too shallow. His collar too tight. He could still feel the softness of his morning onesie and pacifier and the quiet lull of being rocked.
Big boy, he thought again.
But his body didn’t believe him.
---
He didn’t notice when he brought his thumb to his mouth.
It just… happened. A quiet instinct. His shoulders slumped, forehead tipped forward, his eyes gone glassy.
His mind finally slowed.
Safe. Fuzzy. Quiet.
But the room wasn’t quiet.
Not for long.
“Um… what is he doing?”
Someone whispered it first, just loud enough for another to snort.
Then someone laughed.
Then—
“Ew, Cullen’s sucking his thumb.”
“Is he, like, okay?”
“Is he seriously a toddler? What the hell?”
Edward blinked.
Then froze.
His thumb was in his mouth.
His entire body locked up as the words sank in- loud and cruel and echoing in his ears, even though no one else knew just how much louder they were for him.
All their thoughts rushed at him at once.
—gross—
—what a freak—
—he’s supposed to be the cool one—
—is he special or something?—
—wait until this gets to lunch—
His desk scraped back suddenly.
Someone said his name, but he couldn’t hear them.
He ran.
---
Edward didn’t know how long he was running.
He didn’t see the students he passed. Didn’t feel the cold of the hallway. Didn’t register the pounding of his own footsteps until he was twisting the rusted knob of the janitor’s closet and slamming the door behind him.
Dark.
Musty.
Safe.
His breath hitched.
Then the first sob broke loose.
He sank to the floor, arms wrapped around his knees, shaking so hard his teeth would’ve chattered if he were human. He couldn’t stop the cries- big, aching, body-wracking sobs that had no words, just sound. Pain. Shame.
He sucked his thumb again, this time knowing what he was doing, but unable to stop. It was all he had left.
He pressed himself into the corner and sobbed into his knees, muffled and trembling.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
He knew better. He’d been alive for decades. He’d played the role of teenager so long it should’ve been second nature.
Why couldn’t he just stay big?
Why couldn’t he control it?
He felt so little now.
Too little.
Like he was disappearing inside himself.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered to no one. “I’m sorry I’m like this.”
The door stayed shut.
The closet stayed dark.
But somewhere, deep inside, he still hoped.
He hoped someone had seen him run.
He hoped someone would come looking.
He hoped his family would find him.
Because he couldn’t stop shaking.
And he couldn’t do this on his own.
Not anymore.
ElliotLuvsStuff Fri 11 Jul 2025 04:25AM UTC
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Rude_And_Not_Ginger Mon 14 Jul 2025 12:30AM UTC
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