(Zack's POV)
I lost my parents at the age of five. I was kidnapped as a kid and my parents were killed as ransom. I witnessed the death of my parents at such a young age, and it had a great effect on who I was. The doctor told my grandfather that I was mildly autistic, but my condition could be managed so that it wouldn't escalate. My grandfather was the only relative that I had left after my parents passed. After what I experienced, I refused to speak with anyone, but my nanny and I often had nightmares of that day. I refused to leave my room and would often throw a tantrum. My grandfather already had so much on his plate to deal with, and he didn't want me to be another one of his problems. He left me at my parents' house all alone with my nanny, a driver and a gardener. Since I only spoke to my nanny, he didn't see the need to live with me and my condition wasn't that serious anyway. I had weekly appointments with the doctor and the treatment results showed that I was recovering day by day. But there's no cure for autism irrespective of how mild it is.
I still couldn't forget what I saw but because I had a strong desire to recover, I decided to open up a bit to others who were around me.
Over the years, I became closer to those who worked in my home, and I was very comfortable around them. I wasn't used to strangers since I never left the house. I spent my days reading books and getting familiar with things in the outside world from the comfort of my study. Reading was something I loved doing ever since I could. My parents often told me that I was a genius and that kids my age weren't as bright as I was. I realized later on that my parents were actually right.
One day, at the age of ten, a series of thoughts came to mind, "Why won't grandfather ever visit me? Is he too busy to see me? Did I do something wrong? Is he angry because my parents died because of me? Is he angry because of my sickness?". I kept questioning myself that day, and I finally concluded, "I need to make grandfather proud of me so that I would get his attention". I decided to visit my grandfather that day.
My grandfather was surprised to see me. It had been five years since I last saw him. He had gotten older and looked like he was on the verge of death. He had been handling all the company matters for the past five years and it took a toll on his health. I felt bad for him. The reason I came to see my grandfather was simple. I wanted to go to school and face my fears. I needed to leave my comfort zone and experience the real world. I had been living in a world I had created so as to avoid reality but all that had to come to an end. I needed to grow with people my age and have a proper childhood like everyone else and maybe one day, overcome my fears and trauma.
My grandfather was happy to hear my request and gave me permission to go to school, but only when I turned eleven years of age. I was happy that he granted my request and because I hadn't seen him in a long time, I decided to spend the days I had left with him, before I had to go to school.
I stayed by his side all day as he worked and assisted in the way I could. He was surprised that I could grasp things very quickly and he praised me for my ability. I have always been one who is open to learning new things. That's my strength as an autistic child. It was quite easy to open up to my grandfather during the days I spent with him because I felt like I could rely on him as he was my only family, and I felt a bit guilty because he lost his only son because of me. I had the urge to make it up to him, so I did all I could to make him happy.
After a few months I had another mental breakdown. It was the day of my parents' death anniversary. Since I had lived away from the family house for a long time, I never experienced the commemoration of their death anniversary. My grandfather tried to make the preparations as quiet as he could, but I felt something was off and realized what it was. I couldn't help but break down. I saw the scene of their death flash through my eyes and my mind went blank. I couldn't recall anything after that. When I became conscious again, I had made a mess of everything. I had destroyed a lot of things around me, and I had cuts all over. I burst into tears and all I could do was keep apologizing to my grandfather. I was sent to my room, and I wasn't allowed to leave till the day was over. I kept beating myself up, thinking that it was easy to overcome the things that torment me. The day went by very slowly and I couldn't help but think of ways to forget what I had gone through. I couldn't help but hate myself for what I had become but it wasn't my fault that I had become this way.