"Everett?" a voice called out. "Everett, are you here?"
It was his mother, Rosalie, dressed in her daily attire - a brightly-colored blouse, loose-fitting jeans and an apron draped around her body. She was a cheery mother of two, who always looked out for her boys when she could. At this point in time, she had a cooked meal ready for the family, and Everett was nowhere to be seen. Rosalie noticed the flickering screen of Everett's computer, and was drawn to it out of pure curiosity. She was assuming that he was doing some homework, but when she read the first line, her cheerful smile devolved into a melancholy grimace almost instantaneously. She began to read further.
"I don't want you to believe that I'm any bit of the special snowflake that you make me out to be. I'd only wish that you'd stop buttering me up with lies in order to make me feel good about myself. What kind of friend are you if you just sugarcoat your feelings? Last I checked, I never lied to you about anything, but now, how am I even supposed to trust you? If you would dare to call yourself my friend, then I'd expect you to have some balls and actually be one to me. Tell me that I embarrass you every time I go up to you for a quick conversation, but you speak to "that weird kid", or that I managed to get in your way when you tried to hook up with that girl you kept telling me, or even when I awkwardly shuffle around campus aimlessly, looking like a lost little puppy. I may be considered as a special case, but that doesn't mean that I want people to keep giving me a free pass just because I do things like that. I probably can't even help it myself that I'm like this. I've had to put up with it for years upon years of my life - my mother buzzing around like some sort of helicopter, my dad not even caring that his son was being treated like a newborn infant, and of course, my wonderful older brother having to use me as a way to make himself feel better for being "normal". The least you could do is just tell me these things."
"Was he having an argument with a friend?" Rosalie had thought as she read. She carefully read over the line where he referred to her as a helicopter parent, her husband as a woefully incapable father, and her eldest son as some sort of a bully. She could only hold her hand to her heart, and read on.
"Or maybe, I'm just being too hard on you. Maybe, I've been the one who's been at fault since the day I was born. My mother supposedly loved me, but then she became such a parasite that I can't even stand to look her in the eye, and tell her to get out of my life. My brother is already fine as he is. After all, he's still the same douche who tormented me throughout public school. Dad's not even a part of this - he never was a part of anything to begin with. He just sat there, did nothing, and barely spoke a word to me - his son. Why am I even re-iterating this? Because maybe, I should be felt sorry for. Maybe, I should be grateful to even have a friend at...