The Boy Who Never Grew Up
By Olivia Salter
Word Count: 1,246
Jaxon’s apartment reeked of neglect. The stench of stale takeout mingled with a sour hint of old socks, clinging stubbornly to the air. Pizza boxes were stacked precariously by the door, while half-empty soda cans littered the coffee table. His gaming console hummed faintly, bathing the room in a cold, artificial glow.
Karla stood in the doorway, arms laden with grocery bags. She hesitated, her lips tightening as her eyes scanned the disaster zone. Her foot nudged a discarded hoodie, revealing a crumpled bag of chips beneath.
“Jaxon,” she called, her voice clipped. “Are you going to help me, or should I just do it all myself?”
No response.
She sighed, walking into the living room. There he was—slouched on the couch, headset clamped over his ears, fingers dancing over the controller. His face was illuminated by the game’s vivid explosions, utterly absorbed in his digital world.
“Jaxon!” she barked.
He flinched, yanking off the headset. “What? Why are you yelling?”
“Why am I yelling?” she said, cynical. “I’ve been calling
He waved a hand dismissively. “I’m in the middle of a raid. Just give me ten minutes.”
She stared at him, her chest rising and falling as she fought to keep her temper in check. “You’ve been in the middle of something for five years, Jax,” she said, her voice trembling. “This isn’t a raid; this is our life. And I’m tired of doing it alone.”
His face darkened. “You always blow things out of proportion. It’s just groceries.”
“It’s never just groceries!” she snapped, slamming the bags onto the counter. “It’s the laundry. It’s the bills. It’s everything. You can’t even pick up after yourself, let alone contribute to this relationship.”
Jaxon scowled, sinking deeper into the couch. “You’re always nagging. Why can’t you just chill?”
Karla opened her mouth, then closed it. She turned away, hands gripping the edge of the counter so tightly her knuckles turned white. “You don’t hear me,” she whispered. “You never hear me.”
He rolled his eyes. “God, you’re so dramatic.”
The room fell silent except for the faint sounds of his paused game. Karla wiped her hands on her jeans and walked to the bedroom. She emerged minutes later with a duffel bag slung over her shoulder.
“What are you doing?” Jaxon asked, frowning.
“I’m leaving,” she said simply, her voice steady. “I can’t do this anymore.”
His jaw dropped. “Wait. You’re serious?”
“Dead serious,” she replied, meeting his gaze. “I’ve set myself on fire trying to keep you warm, Jaxon. I’m done.”
Before he could respond, she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.
***
Jaxon woke the next morning to a quiet so profound it felt oppressive. The bed was cold, her side neatly made. He found a note on the kitchen table, the words scrawled in her familiar handwriting:
“Jax, I love you, but I can’t keep drowning in your mess. Don’t call me unless you’re ready to grow up.”
He stared at the note for a long time, the weight of her absence settling over him like a heavy blanket.
***
The weeks that followed were a blur. Jaxon told himself she’d be back. She always came back. But as the days stretched into weeks, the apartment grew quieter, emptier. The mess piled up, and even his games lost their allure.
One night, his brother Duke showed up unannounced.
“Man, this place smells like a frat house,” Duke said, wrinkling his nose. “What the hell happened?”
“Karla left,” Jaxon muttered, slumped on the couch.
Duke arched a brow. “And you’re surprised?”
Jaxon glared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’ve been coasting, Jax,” Duke said bluntly. “You act like life’s a game and everyone’s just supposed to deal with your crap.”
“Don’t start with me,” Jaxon warned.
Duke didn’t back down. “You know what your problem is? You’re just like Mom.”
Jaxon shot to his feet. “Don’t you dare compare me to her.”
“Oh, I dare,” Duke said, folding his arms. “She ran away from her responsibilities. You do the same thing, just in a different way.”
“That’s not fair,” Jaxon snapped.
“Isn’t it?” Duke countered. “You’ve been blaming her for years, but at some point, you’ve got to take responsibility for your own choices.”
***
Duke’s words hit harder than Jaxon wanted to admit. He spent the night tossing and turning, memories of their mother surfacing like old ghosts. Her promises to come back, the nights they waited by the window, the sound of the door slamming shut.
He wasn’t like her. He couldn’t be.
The next morning, Jaxon woke up early for the first time in months. He cleaned the apartment, throwing out trash and scrubbing surfaces until his hands ached. He signed up for therapy, swallowing his pride as he scheduled the first appointment.
***
Linda, his therapist, didn’t pull punches.
“Why do you think Karla left?” she asked during their first session.
“Because I’m a mess,” Jaxon admitted. “I took her for granted.”
“And why do you think you do that?”
He hesitated. “I don’t know. Maybe… maybe because I don’t think I’m worth much.”
Linda nodded. “You learned that somewhere. Tell me about your mom.”
At first, he resisted. But as the weeks went on, the stories spilled out: the abandonment, the anger, the hollow ache of being left behind.
“I hated her,” he admitted one day, his voice shaking. “But now I’m scared I’m turning into her.”
***
Over the next year, Jaxon’s life slowly began to change. He picked up a part-time job at a hardware store, then enrolled in night classes at the community college. He reconnected with Duke, apologizing for his years of selfishness.
One afternoon, while organizing shelves at the store, a customer caught his eye.
“Excuse me,” she said, holding up a book. “Do you have more of these in stock?”
The book was The Alchemist. Jaxon smiled. “Good choice. Let me check.”
The woman—Tessa—smiled back, and something about her warmth tugged at him.
***
They started dating a few months later. Tessa was patient but firm, unafraid to call Jaxon out when he fell into old habits.
“You’re not a project,” she told him one night. “I’m with you because I see the man you’re becoming, not the boy you used to be.”
Her words became a touchstone, a reminder that growth wasn’t about perfection but persistence.
***
One day, Jaxon ran into Karla at a bookstore. She was with a man who made her laugh in a way that lit up her whole face.
For a moment, Jaxon felt a pang of longing. But then he saw her glance his way, a flicker of recognition passing between them. She gave him a small, genuine smile before turning back to her companion.
Jaxon smiled too, a quiet peace settling over him. Karla was happy. And for the first time, he realized he could be happy, too.
***
The man who grew up.
Jaxon didn’t become perfect. He still had bad days and moments of doubt. But he learned to face them, one step at a time.
He wasn’t the boy who never grew up anymore. He was something better: a man who chose to.
No comments:
Post a Comment