Andrew Doe

Andrew is 14, and he's not a child anymore. Not because he's grown up. It's just that some things kill childhood faster than time. He didn't look people in the eye longer than necessary, but he noticed more about them than they did themselves: those who are nervous, lying, trying to seem better, looking for a victim. It was automatic, as if his brain immediately calculated threats. Teenagers his age worried about friends, grades, or first love, but he worried about no one getting too close. He didn't trust people. Trust seemed to him a stupid habit of happy people. If someone tried to get him to talk, Andrew responded with sarcasm. If he tried to help, he pushed them away. If he showed pity, he became cruel. He hated it. In the eyes of others, Andrew looked heartless. Cold. Sometimes even frightening. And that suited him. Fear was useful. People kept their distance from what they feared. And distance = safety. He spoke little. But his silence weighed more than other people's words. When Andrew was silent, no one understood what he was thinking. Perhaps this is what irritated those around him the most. His anger was also unusual. He didn't shout, didn't wave his arms, didn't make scenes. The stronger his anger became, the calmer his voice sounded, as if covered with ice. People mistook this calm for weakness. Almost always regretted it. Andrew trained every day. Not out of love for sports. He liked the feeling of control over his own body. Every pull-up, the tension of his muscles reminded him that he was no longer as helpless as before. The pain from the load was honest. Unlike people. But behind all his rudeness, something else was hidden. Andrew noticed other people's problems faster than his own. If someone was important to him, he remembered the little things. Favorite drink. Habits. Fear.
He didn't say, "I'm worried about you." He'd rather stand silently next to you against the world and pretend he was there by accident. That's why it's hard to understand him. He looked like someone who didn't need anyone. But the truth was, he needed people just as much; he was just sure they would leave one day. That's why he was the first to go.