Just as I expected, Mr. Smith made me do extra chores. I normally have to sweep the bedrooms, but today he made me clean the toilets and wash the dishes as well.

"Hey Cassian!" The orphanage bully, Sullivan starts. "How are you feeling? Bored? Happy? Oh wait, I can't tell!" He and his band of jerks laugh and walk away. I sigh, but move back to sweeping the floor.

"Just ignore them," Sammy says. "I can't see color either." He said the second part more quietly as if he was scared of the outcome.

"What?"

***

We're sitting at the dinner table when my father asks me how my feeling control went today. I study him as he stares at the newspaper, his color mostly silver, but I can see a hint of light purple. Concern. Again. I'm tired of this.

"Fine," I mumble. "Ms. Lee is nice."

"I'm glad," Mom replies, pitching in. "You need the help."

I can feel my anger boiling as I struggle to not turn bright red. Instead, I smile and turn to my food, as if nothing has happened. I even sneak orange into my skin as if I am proud. I'm not.

Feeling control is like therapy. Most people can somewhat hide emotions, and some people are really good at it, like my father. But others, like me, struggle with hiding emotions. We take what's called feeling control.

I hate it. I wish I could just feel what I want, but it's people like Cassian who are stopping us from showing emotion. The ones who show nothing.