Chapter 1: The Room as a Universe
At 26, Joey felt the weight of the world on his shoulders, an invisible burden pressing him deeper into his worn-out mattress. The room, with its walls an undefined shade between gray and beige, was his private universe.
There, silence was a shield, shyness wasn't an obstacle, and social phobia didn't tighten his chest like a gag.
Depression, however, was a constant companion, a shadow that crept in even through the sunbeams stubbornly crossing the half-open blinds.
He could hear the household noises. His father's voice, harsh and loud, likely complaining about some news on television or something his younger brother, Léo, had done – or failed to do.
His father, a man of strong opinions and a short fuse, was a constant source of tension and discomfort for Joey, who felt particularly uneasy around loud people.
Joey knew that in his father's eyes, he was a disappointment: a grown man still living with his parents, without a "real job," and with "all his fussiness" – as his father used to label Joey's silent struggle.
Often, doubt gnawed at Joey himself, wondering if his father wasn't right in his harsh assessments.
In contrast, his mother Clara's gentle voice was a balm. She was likely in the kitchen, the aroma of fresh coffee beginning to mingle with the smell of toast.
Clara was the personification of kindness and understanding, the only one who seemed to see beyond Joey's apathetic surface, touching the pain he tried so hard to hide.
And there was Léo. The younger brother was Joey's opposite in almost every way. Sociable, popular, always surrounded by friends, and radiating an energy that seemed inexhaustible.
Sometimes, Joey would watch him from his bedroom window, Léo laughing with friends on the street, and a mixture of envy and sadness would wash over him.
He wished he could be like him, free and uninhibited, but the mere thought of interacting with so many people left him paralyzed.
Joey sighed, turning over in bed and staring at the ceiling.
His true refuge was his dreams. Not the ones he had while sleeping, but those he nurtured while awake: a world where kindness wasn't the exception, where newspapers didn't scream about wars, and evil was just a distant memory of a dark past.
A world where people like him didn't have to fight so hard just to exist, a world where he could feel safe and perhaps even use his penchant for entertaining and storytelling to make people laugh.
He cherished the belief that everything would turn out okay, but he often found his own faith in it sorely lacking.
The sound of his bedroom door opening startled him. It was his mother, a tender smile on her face and a steaming cup in her hands.
"Good morning, my dear," she said, her voice a safe harbor. "I brought your coffee."
Joey forced a smile back, more for her sake than because he felt like it. "Thanks, Mom."
She sat on the edge of the bed, the worried look he knew so well in her eyes. "Your father is... well, you know. But don't let it get to you, okay? Léo already left for college."
Joey nodded, taking the cup. The warmth in his hands was comforting.
"You have an appointment with Dr. Helena this afternoon, don't forget," Clara reminded him, tucking a strand of hair that had fallen over his eyes.
"I won't forget," he murmured.
The therapy sessions were his private battlefield, the place where, with great difficulty, he tried to dismantle the barriers that isolated him, seeking to understand his own feelings and, perhaps one day, those of others. Every small victory, like managing to go to the supermarket alone or answering a phone call without panicking, was silently celebrated by him and his mother.
"How about trying to come down for coffee with us today?" she suggested. "I made cornbread cake, just the way you like it."
Joey's stomach churned. The idea of facing his father first thing in the morning was daunting, a confrontation he always tried to avoid to maintain his peace of mind.
But his mother's hopeful gaze disarmed him. He found it difficult to say no to her requests.
"I... I'll try, Mom," he replied, his voice barely a whisper, hesitating as he organized his thoughts on how to face the situation.
It was a small step, perhaps insignificant to the world, but for Joey, it was the beginning of another day in his silent, private war – a war to, perhaps one day, help build the safe and peaceful world he so dreamed of.
Joey took a deep breath, the aroma of the cornmeal cake mingling with the tension that always accompanied him when he left his room. He descended the stairs slowly, each step a small test of courage.
In the kitchen, his father, Roberto, was sitting at the table, the newspaper spread in front of him, grumbling about local politics.
Clara moved between the stove and the table, serving coffee, her smile widening when she saw Joey.
"Joey! So glad you came down, son," she said, her voice a counterpoint to her husband's scowl.
Roberto lowered his newspaper, his eyes meeting Joey's for an instant before returning to the news. "Humph," was his only greeting.
Joey sat down in silence, accepting the slice of cake his mother offered him. The atmosphere was heavy, as always.
Léo, with his morning absence, left a void that Joey felt intensely – his brother's presence, though sometimes intimidating with his confidence, also served as a kind of shield against their father's negativity.
"So," Roberto began, without taking his eyes off the newspaper, "are you going to spend the day locked in your room again, 'researching' your things on the internet?" The tone was laden with sarcasm.
Joey shrugged, a familiar wave of discomfort washing over him. He often felt people had difficulty understanding his line of reasoning, and his father's words stung, echoing his own internal doubts about his worth and decisions.
"I have an appointment this afternoon, Dad."
"An appointment. Right," he grumbled. "Back in my day, a real man faced his problems head-on, didn't go complaining to doctors."
"Roberto, please," Clara intervened, her voice firm but gentle. "We've talked about this."
A veiled argument began between his parents, something so routine that Joey had almost become immune to it, if not for the pang of guilt he always felt, as if he were the pivot of their discord.
He focused on the cake, chewing slowly, his gaze fixed on his plate, withdrawing into himself as he often did when stressed.
He detested confrontation and always tried to maintain peace, and these moments made him long even more for a world without such small, daily conflicts, a world where understanding his own feelings and those of others was the norm.
It was then that something strange happened.
Outside the kitchen window, which overlooked the small backyard garden, a quick, almost imperceptible flash through the air. Like lightning without thunder, so fleeting that Joey thought he had imagined it.
He looked at his parents, but they continued their low-voiced discussion, oblivious to anything.
Joey frowned, his analytical mind immediately trying to process the information. Had it been a reflection? A bird flying by too quickly?
He trusted facts over emotions to make decisions, and there was no immediate factual explanation.
He slowly got up and went to the window, peeking out. The garden was as it always was: his mother's rose bushes, the lawn needing cutting, the old wooden swing no one had used in years. Nothing out of the ordinary.
This adherence to the familiar was a small comfort, as security was a priority in his life.
He returned to the table, the strange sensation lingering. Could it have been fatigue? The side effects of his medication?
He tended to worry more than other people, and unexplained things often settled in his mind.
Later, on his way to his appointment with Dr. Helena, while waiting for the bus at the stop, Joey caught a glimpse of a hooded figure across the street.
It wouldn't have been noteworthy, if not for the way the person seemed... out of place.
The clothes were strange, with a cut and fabrics he had never seen before, and the way the person looked around, with a mixture of curiosity and utter disorientation, caught his attention.
Joey, who often felt like an outsider looking in himself, found the figure oddly compelling.
The bus arrived, and Joey got on, but the image of that person lingered in his mind.
There was something about them, an aura of confusion that, in a way, mirrored his own internal state and the feeling that something was profoundly missing in his life.
He couldn't shake the feeling that this was different, more significant than a mere fleeting observation.
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I'll be redoing the story. Many things will remain, some will change. I hope to count on your feedback to know if you're enjoying the story or want me to change anything. This is my first time creating a story, so I made several mistakes the first time around. I read one of the comments on the chapters and decided to redo the story to make it more pleasant for you all.
If you like the story, I'd appreciate it if you could check out my Patreon. I'll be posting 40 chapters in advance there. I believe this week I'll be able to create the chapters for paying members. Unfortunately, I don't think I'll be able to today as I'm redoing the chapters and deciding what direction to take the story. If you could comment on the chapters with your thoughts, I would love it. Thank you to everyone who added my story to their collection.
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