Free The Smaller Evil by Stephanie Kuehn

being
anxious
fucks things up?”
    Arman’s head grazed a tree branch as he walked, dumping a flurry of dead leaves into his hair. “No. I mean, it’s not just being anxious. It’s my whole brain. Who I am. I can’t do things sometimes. I get overwhelmed. So I don’t do anything. It’s gotten me in trouble since I was a kid. My mom’s had to deal with that, I guess.”
    â€œHow’d she deal with it?”
    â€œTook me to a doctor.” Arman held a hand in front of his face. He didn’t want to run into anything else he couldn’t see.
    â€œWhat’d the doctor do?” she asked.
    â€œPut me on medication.”
    â€œAnd now you don’t get overwhelmed anymore?”
    â€œNo, I still do.”
    â€œThen what’s the point of the medication?”
    â€œThe point is that I don’t get in trouble as much. I can focus. I can finish things that I start.”
    â€œSo you take pills, not to feel better, but to finish things that you start and to stay out of trouble?”
    â€œI guess.” Arman squinted into the darkness ahead. “Are we almost back now? My legs hurt. I’m tired.”
    â€œJesus,” someone behind him muttered. “What’s with this kid?”
    â€œHow’s school for you then?” the woman asked. “Is it better? Now that you’re on medication?”
    Arman snorted. “
No.
I hate school.”
    â€œWhat do you hate about it?”
    Was there something
not
to hate? “It sucks. People don’t like me. And I don’t mean they
dislike
me either. They just don’t notice me. Do you know how many times someone’s turned off the classroom lights while I’m still in the room? Students. Teachers. It doesn’t matter. Theydon’t see me.”
I’m a ghost
, he longed to add but didn’t. Even he knew how pathetic it would sound.
    â€œAre you only worth what other people see in you?” the woman asked.
    â€œYeah. Sure. How people value you determines how they treat you, right? Well, people treat me like I’m invisible. And you know what? Maybe I am.”
    â€œHow do you treat yourself?”
    â€œThe way I deserve to be treated.”
    â€œWhere’s your dad, Arman? Your real dad?”
    â€œNowhere good.”
    â€œWhat does that mean?”
    â€œIt means he’s in prison at the moment. He’ll be there for a while.”
    â€œWhy’s he in prison?”
    â€œUh-uh,” Arman said, and one of his legs was really hurting now. The left one. He’d banged it climbing up that rock. “No way. I’m not going to talk about my father. He’s not important.”
    â€œWhy are you bleeding?”
    A surprise: It was
Beau
who’d asked this question. He’d even turned around to do it, and unlike the rest of the group, he held his lantern up to his face as he spoke, showing the warmth of his expression. The wisdom in his eyes. For a flash of an instant, Arman met his gaze.
    Then he looked down.
    Fuck.
He’d scratched open the scab on his arm. Not only that, but he’d dug deeper into the wound. Without even realizing it. Blood dripped freely down his wrist. Arman yanked his shirtsleeve down and pressed hard on the gash. Tried to get it to stop.
    â€œWhy are you bleeding?” Beau asked again.
    â€œI don’t
know
,” Arman snapped. “I just am.”
    No one responded to this. Not verbally, at least. But the groupstopped walking, their glowing lights coming to a sudden halt. This meant Arman had to stop, too. He stood in the center of all those watching eyes. Kept pressing at his arm.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” he asked. “Why aren’t we going anywhere?”
    Still nothing.
    â€œHello?”
    One by one the people around him sat in the dirt. They held their candles and flashlights and lanterns beneath their chins, so that the lower halves of their faces were visible. It was