Benji

The next morning followed my usual routine, only I was up an extra hour or so earlier. I’d only gotten a couple of hours of sleep and I couldn’t stand lying in bed any longer – it just gave me more time to think and I didn’t want to be thinkingabout Benji about certain things.

“Reid!” Kyle yelled, pounding down the stairs to find me sitting at the kitchen table. “Seeing as you’re ready, can you please go with Benji to his house?”

I raised an eyebrow at my brother and then turned to give the same expression to the small boy standing behind him with a sheepish smile on his face.

“And why does Benji need company?” I asked.

Kyle rolled his eyes. “Because there’s no one home at his place and he’s still creeped out by that movie last night. Just go, please, else we’ll be late.”

I sighed dramatically, rising from the table. “Come along, young padawan.”

Benji followed me quietly outside and didn’t speak until we were on the footpath.

“Um, about last night...”

I gulped. He was talking about when he kissed my cheek. He was going to tell me that it meant nothing, that he didn’t think of me like that. “Uh, yeah?”

“I really didn’t mean to put my hand there and I’m so sorry and I hope you don’t think I was trying to, like, make a move or something because I really wasn’t and I wouldn’t do that and I’m sorry,” he said quickly, rushing his words so that they almost blended together.

I chuckled slightly. “Yeah, I get it. Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s just, I don’t want you to think I’m some kind of pervert,” Benji continued, “because I’m not. And I really wasn’t trying to feel you up, and I didn’t even know my hand was there until you mentioned it and I’m super sorry.”

“Benji, I get it,” I smiled. “Stop apologising.” I chanced a glance at him as he unlocked his front door. His cheeks were bright red and he was avoiding looking at me. I had to grin; he was too cute.

I followed the blushing boy inside, chuckled internally as he shuffled from room to room, peering into all of the shadowed corners.

“What are you doing?” I inquired as he knelt on the floor in his room, looking under his bed.

“J-just checking,” he stammered, seeming embarrassed.

“For...?” I questioned further, though I had a good idea as to what his answer would be.

He shrugged, turning away to rummage through his drawers. I observed him as he pulled out clothes for the day, watching his small frame as he hid his face from me. He was so tiny, almost fragile-looking. I wanted to hug him, keep him in my arms forever and protect him from the world.

I shook those thoughts out of my head.

“Benji,” I pressed, “what were you checking for?”

He glanced at me, his cheeks still tinted red. “That movie last night scared me,” he admitted quietly.

“So you were checking under your bed in case there was a serial killer?” I chuckled.

“Shut up,” Benji muttered, but failed to keep the shy grin from his face. “I’m going to have a shower.”

I laughed as he left the room and I sat myself down on his bed, staring aimlessly at the blank walls surrounding me. After only a few minutes, I was bored already. I got up, wandering aimlessly around his room before sitting at his desk. I flipped through a couple of school books, but they were mostly blank due to the fact that he’d only just started school here. However, underneath the school books I found what looked like a sketch book. I could still hear the sound of running water so I pulled it out, looking carefully through it.

It was a sketch book, and apparently Benji liked to sketch. Simple, almost childlike, drawing filled the first pages: stickmen, dinosaurs, smiling faces, scenes of happiness. I flicked through the pages, letting the book fall open. I frowned, running my fingers along the centre of the book where it looked as though a wad of papers had been violently ripped out.

I wondered why they’d been pulled out, wondered what could have been drawn on them that had frustrated or angered someone so much that they’d destroyed them.

But the image on the next page blew those thoughts out of my mind. It was beautiful, in a simple kind of way. Sketched lightly in pencil, and not entirely finished, it depicted an innocent scene: a small boy, grinning as his father pushed him on a swing. As I looked closer, I noticed something odd about it though. The father didn’t look happy at all, in fact, he looked angry; there was a frown on his face and his body language suggested he wanted to hurt the boy.

I didn’t know what to do. What did it mean? Was it a real scene, or was it made up?

“R-r-reid?”

Wide-eyed, I turned to face Benji, his open sketch book in my hands. I didn’t speak as he reached out with shaking hands to take it from me. He hugged the book to himself tightly, as though he refused to ever let it go.

“It’s not finished,” he whispered, his face unusually white instead of the red I was so used to seeing.

“I’m so sorry,” I apologised. “I didn’t mean to pry, Benji. Really, I’m sorry.”

He nodded slowly, hiding his face behind his wet hair.

“I’m really sorry,” I repeated. “But, those drawings are really good...”

Benji shook his head quickly and stepped away. “W-we should go.”

I sighed, knowing I wouldn’t get anywhere with him at the moment, and agreed. He collected the things he would need for school and I pretended not to see when he shoved the sketch book under his bed.

Likewise, I put the sketch book out of my mind for now. I was obvious it was a taboo subject but I told myself that I would get to the bottom of the ripped pages and the boy on the swing.

One day.