Two boys were walking together by the side of a road. One was dressed in a simple brown t shirt and faded jeans. The other was wearing a black jacket and cargo pants. He looked much older than the boy. The slight crevices across his brow and the distance of his gaze aged him more than time ever could. To him, he had learnt everything there was to know about life already. He had gone on that roller coaster already, experienced its small thrills and laughed with full exhilaration. But when everything starts to slip away, in the end we’re all hurdling down towards the same place at the bottom of everything. The smaller boy turned to look at him. “Sometimes I wonder what’s going on with you.” The wind hummed past their ears with an eerie finality. “You come to school looking like shit, Tom.” He did a waving motion with his hand up and down Tom’s body. “I mean, look. You have bruises everywhere.” Tom’s eyes remained focused on the house up ahead. “Are you really going to make me ask what happened?” The boy asked. He had fallen behind, but Tom didn’t notice. The wind blew his hood back, but he caught it quickly and roughly pulled it back over his head. “I would tell you, if it was any of your business, Alex. If you could understand a goddamn thing I’m going through, I would tell you.” Tom spoke without looking back. Alex didn’t know what to say; he had always grown up around a loving family. He couldn’t tell him that he’d been there before, because he hadn’t. He didn’t know if there was going to be a bright light at the end of this tunnel, or if there was a reason for all of this. He was just a boy who believed in simple solutions. “Why don’t you tell someone? Like me, your best friend. I could help you, just let me in.” Alex said, “I can talk to my mom. She doesn’t know anything yet, and I wouldn’t give her all the details, but she could know.” Tom turned around on his heels and looked at him. “No. You don’t understand Alex, I can’t do it.”They were both standing on his driveway together. Tom could hear his step-father marching past the door. His footfalls were heavy, and it sounded like he was wearing his boots inside again. Alex heard him too, but he didn’t know what it meant. He was still looking at Tom, still completely oblivious.
“Look, I’m fine. Go home, I’ll text you tomorrow.”Tom said. He turned away and started walking towards the door.
“Tom don’t, I can-“
“Seriously, your parents are going to be pissed off if you’re late.” He gave his friend wide smile. He seemed to be putting this mask on more and more frequently, fooling his other friends and teachers with a facade. Pretending he was happy kept others from prying into his life layer by layer. With each layer pulled back, they would find another secret, another layer of uncertainty. They would ask him questions with no answers, and conclude what they wanted for themselves. No, he couldn’t let anyone get involved. He would glue an honest smile to his lips and hold back his secret until time ate at its edges like a caterpillar devours a leaf. “See ya.” He heard Alex take a step forward to follow him, but stopped. Tom waited. Alex muttered a goodbye under his breath, turned around and left.
As he heard the footsteps get farther and farther away, Tom couldn’t help but feel utterly alone. He almost wished that Alex had taken out his mobile and called the police. He wanted to sit with him on the curb and tell him everything as they waited. And as the police car turned onto his street, his step-father would stumble out the doorway in his pathetic drunken state just to realize that it was all over. He would’ve given anything to see the look of horror cross his face, to see him get pressed up against the cop car and hear the handcuffs lock with a satisfying clink around his thick wrists. Then he would stand right by the car window as the officer shoved him inside, grinning from ear to ear when his step-father shot him a murderous glance. The car would drive off and he would stand there in the street, relishing his victory. As he had seen many people in movies do, he would wave to the police car carrying him away, as if he was waving goodbye to an old friend. The irony made him laugh, and he was sure it was the one gesture that would make his stepfather claw at the windows like a wild animal. Maybe then he would realize how he made Tom feel the past five years of his life; a caged, worthless animal. The idea filled him with new hope that bubbled from his feet to his hands, and he took a brave step forward into his house with a real smile on his face.
The pain was almost immediate. His step-father hit him on the side of his face in full swing, and Tom fell to the ground hard. He looked up and saw the man staggering over him, trying to keep his balance with a bottle of vodka in one hand. “How come you’re so late, bud?” He snarled, accidentally spilling alcohol all over the floor. The smell stung Tom’s nose and made his eyes water. “You know I wanted you home an hour ago. A bloody hour ago!” “I’m sorry...” Tom muttered, trying to get up. The man just pushed him over again and his back hit the wall with a thud. He decided to stay down this time. “You aren’t sorry yet boy. Oh no, you aren’t sorry yet. See,” The man said as he raised his leg. “You still need to learn some respect!” He swung his foot down hard, and caught Tom in the middle of his stomach. All the air left Tom’s lungs and he grunted in pain. The man took another swig of the bottle and brushed his hair back with his other hand. “How many times do I have to tell ya Tommy? You listen to me, and this doesn’t need to happen.” Tears swelled up in Tom’s eyes but he blinked them back angrily. “You worthless jack-“His step-fathers foot came down again and Tom was caught mid sentence. He cried out. “Watch your tongue boy!” The man said. “You’re makin’ me do things I don’t want to be doin’.” Tom wiped the blood off his mouth with the back of his hand and kept his eyes on the floor. The anger he felt was so intense; but he had to control it. The man was so much bigger than he was, and trying to win a fight with him would be pointless. He looked at the man snickering above him with a wide toothed grin, drool dripping down the side of his face. No, he told himself again, he was definitely not worth it. “Now you just keep quiet now. I don’t want to have to tell your mom ‘bout any of this.” He paused. “Though there’s nothin’ the fat bitch can do about it I suppose, she’s just here to cook my dinner.”
Tom launched himself at his step-father, and they both crashed to the floor together in a mess of flailing arms and legs. He got a few punches to his face at first, but it only took a few seconds for the man to throw him off. Tom slid across the floorboards and hit a side table, knocking the lamp over and breaking the light bulb into a million glass shards. The glass stuck into his hands, and he gasped in pain as he staggered to his feet. The man was already standing, staring at him with blood-shot eyes. He was angrier than Tom had ever seen him. His breathing was heavy and labored, and the grin that had been there only a few seconds ago was replaced with a menacing scowl. Tom did not like the look in his eyes.
His step-father ran towards him. Tom dived to the side and missed his clutching fingers by only inches, but his feet slid across the ground and broken glass as he tried to regain his balance. The man had run into the side table too, but recovered quickly and charged at Tom again. Tom charged back and ran head first into his stomach, knocking the man off his feet and on his back. Tom had just enough time to turn around and run before he felt two hands wrap around his ankle and bring him down with a thud. He was dragged back across the floor as the man yelled in victory. “Now I’ve gotcha!” Tom saw the shaft of the broken lamp lying within arm’s reach and he snatched it quickly. He held it over his head like he was holding a baseball bat and swung hard, hitting the man’s arm. Shards of broken glass flew everywhere and landed all over the floor like snow. The grip on his ankle loosened enough to shake free, and he sprung to his feet and raced for the back door. It would only take a couple of strides to close the gap between them. The man screamed in a mixture of anger and pain as he scrambled to his feet and chased on. Tom just prayed that the door wasn’t locked as his hands closed around the handle. It turned without resistance and he swung the door open quickly, dashing outside into his backyard. He looked over his shoulder and saw the man coming through the same door. Blood was running down his arm, his shirt was stained with it. Hatred twisted the man’s mind temporarily insane.
Tom’s heart fluttered as he jumped over a bed of flowers and started climbing up the fence. The pounding footsteps got closer and closer. Panic shook every single part of Tom’s body as he climbed. He had reached the top and started to swing his right leg over when something grabbed the back of his shoe and yanked downwards. Tom tried kicking around violently but when the man pulled again, he lost his balance. He fell on his back on the same side of the fence, right at his step-father’s feet. “Ugh...” Tom moaned, turning on his side. The man threw his head back and laughed, but then looked down at Tom. The triumphant smile slowly left his face, and the corners of his mouth turned down. Reality hit the man like a brick, and the disappointment was almost crippling. He relaxed his arms by his sides, and knelt beside Tom’s ear. He could feel his hot breath against his neck as the man spoke. “You try a funny move like that again boy, and I’m going to kill you. Wife or no wife.” Tom froze. There was no escape. The man would always be there as a door, a door without a key. A door that would perpetually remain shut to the world outside. A door that wanted to trap Tom and his mother inside, forever.
“I’m home!” Tom’s mother shouted into the house. The front door shut with a bang, and he heard his step-father reluctantly get off the couch to say hello. The vodka must have worn off because none of the words he said were slurred lazily into one another. Tom was upstairs cleaning the cuts in his hands, there were a few pieces of glass still stuck, but he managed to get as many shards out as he could. He laid them side by side on the sink counter like souvenirs. He listened to his mom and his step-father start a casual conversation. Had the weather been nice? Yes, it was really hot outside. Would he like some coffee? Please, it had been a rough day and he needed a little caffeine, thank you. Tom turned on the tap water and bitterly stuck his raw hands underneath, gasping as the cold water cascaded over them. The water slowly turned warmer, and as it did it cleansed the wound, silencing the deep throbbing in his hands to a dull and minute thud. He closed his eyes and listened to the water fall from the tap and hit the sink below. The man had turned the TV back on, and his mom was fiddling around in the kitchen. He wanted to see her, but not like this. Tom opened his eyes and stared at himself in the mirror. His right eye was purple and swollen while the left looked tiredly back at him. A bruise was starting to form on the side of his cheek, and he touched it gently with his hand, letting his fingers fall down to his jaw line. The only thing he recognized was his straight black hair; it was something that couldn’t be marked. I’m a mess. Tom thought, turning off the tap. He tip toed back down the hallway and went into his bedroom, locking the door behind him.
He couldn’t remember a time where his step father hadn’t been around. Tom’s dad died in a car crash when he was only eleven years old, and his death still seemed to hang over his mom’s head like a dark cloud. He never really understood what had happened, only that one day Dad came back to grab his lunch for work, and the next he was fused in between two cars. The only way Tom could remember him at all was through old family photos and videos that were hidden in the storage closet. Looking at them was like looking at something from a movie, everything was sugar coated with that old Hollywood glamour that made reality unrealistic. Tom stared at the picture more. It was the strangest thing, how life could end for anyone at any time. It didn’t care how much you loved someone, it didn’t care that they was the first person to teach you how to walk. When life snuffed him out, no amount of begging or tears could bring him back. Tom remembered when he went on a walk by himself a week after his Dad died, and he found a bird who had broken its wing. It was a bluebird, and it lay on the sidewalk with its chest heaving with each intake of breath. Tom picked it up with his wool gloves and carried it all the way home, his eyes rarely leaving its broken body. His mother had already noticed he was gone and came running out of the house in a panic, screaming his name to the trees. When he came stumbling out of the forest in his red jacket all she wanted to do was wrap her arms around him. Surely if he was pressed against her heart, life couldn’t take him away from her. She ran to him. Tom’s gaze was focused completely on the bird lying in his hands, and he whispered to it. He told the bird it was safe now, and that some day it would be able to fly again. Then he could dive into the sky as much as he wanted, and feel the cool breeze float between his feathers and shake his hollow bones. When his mom saw the bird they brought it inside and placed it into an old shoebox with folds along the brim. His mom ripped up one of her own pillows and used the stuffing for bedding. Once they had placed the bird inside, Tom saw her eyebrows knit together and tears form in her eyes. He had never felt prouder of her. Together, they fed and nursed the bluebird until its two scrawny legs stood up straight.
Tom heard a knock at his door. “Tom? Are you in there?” His mother’s voice sounded worried, and he let a moment pass before he answered her. “Yeah, I’m in here.” She tried turning the door handle, but couldn’t. Having a lock on your bedroom door was one of the things Tom was grateful for, it made his room the one place he could have all to himself. “Well... are you coming downstairs soon? I’m just making dinner; Ralphie wanted chicken tonight if you’re interested.” She said. Tom never called his step father by his real name; he didn’t think he deserved it. But he would rather call him Ralph than hear his mother call him one of her pet names. She used ‘Ralphie’ most often, but whenever she called him ‘Darling’, well, that really made him cringe. His step father just absorbed her attention like a sponge, never giving any back in return. She was just another one of his prizes that he collected over the years, something to show off to his drooling friends at the local bar. He loved to take her there, he loved watching her drink as much as she could, loved to pull her close into him and whisper things into her ear, his putrid breath smelling like beer- “No, I’m a little sick. Start without me.” He said. There was a pause. “Okay. Well, I’m putting whatever Ralphie doesn’t eat in the fridge. Help yourself to it later if you’d like.” Her footsteps slowly made her way back downstairs, back to where he was waiting for her.
