The Risen - chapter fifteen

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I turned off my lights before pulling in the driveway, shutting off my car before it could wake up anyone. My house looked like a charity case, probably why no one knew where I lived. It was embarrassing. It was hard to find clothes that made it look like I was richer than I was, didn’t need that cover blown by this dumb. I took a deep breath in, holding it for a second before letting it out. I was still high, which helped, but if Dad was awake, nothing could prepare me for what I would face.

I closed my car doors quietly as possible, locking it and walking towards the front door. My mother tried her best to make the house pretty with flowers on our front porch, but then let them waste away and die from lack of water and care. The house was dark in the front, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I unlocked the door slowly, twisting the knob all the way before opening it, and then closing it quietly behind me. I practically tiptoed to the stairs when I heard, “Son, you get your ass in here,” from the kitchen. Shit.

I braced myself as I walked into the kitchen where my mother was sitting at the table and my father was drinking what was probably his eighth beer. I refused to speak, scared to say something wrong, as they both stared at me.

My mother spoke first, “Where have you been?” She looked worn although she was young. She was only 16 when she had me, and although she was 35 now, the wrinkles by her eyes made her look older.

“Kendall’s. I told you I was going over there,” I muttered, crossing my arms protectively over my chest.

“Stop your muttering boy, speak up!” My dad stepped in, and I cowarded, stepping back slightly.

“Michael, don’t pick at him tonight,” My mother begged.

“What did you say to me? Are you trying to tell me how to talk to my son?” He raised his hand as if he was going to strike her.

“Dad, stop, don’t hurt her!” I yelled, standing in front of my mother. I tried to stand like a man but I knew the fear in my eyes gave me away.

He studied me for a moment as I braced myself for the back of his hand. To my surprise, he started to laugh, “I would never hit a woman, son.”

I gritted my teeth, lies, I wanted to say. However, he didn’t say he would never hit someone, which would be even more of a lie, I guess. “Is that everything you guys needed from me?” I asked, trying to speak clearly but respectably.

“Yeah, get up to bed. And don’t try and sneak out tonight, I really don’t feel like teaching you another lesson tonight.” My dad answered as if it wasn’t his favorite pastime to hit his kid.

I nodded, turning towards the stairs. I tried to keep my steps evenly paced as I walked up and to my room, hoping he wouldn’t come up with something else to argue with me for. My room was painted dark blue with blank walls. I used to hang posters of my favorite music artists up but my dad decided they were trash last year and threw them all away after tearing them apart. I didn’t have much else to show for my room, just a dresser, closet, desk, and bed. The only expensive things I had were clothes, which I got from selling on the side. I tried to keep my more expensive looking clothes in the back of my closet, fearful of what would happen to them if my dad every though they weren’t living up to his tastes.

I closed the door, locking it behind me. I walked over to my desk, grabbing my sketchbooks out of the drawer and my pencils from the jar. I started to draw Kendall as I had with all the girls I slept with. Sometimes I would draw how they looked naked, other times just their portrait. I kept them all, I’m not completely sure why. It was an outlet of some sorts. But tonight, I decided just to work on her portrait. She had a square jaw with plump lips and big almond shaped eyes. She could’ve probably modeled if she wanted to, it was hard not to notice her beauty.

No one really knew I could draw, it was my little secret. All my friends weren’t into that kind of stuff and I was honestly scared that if they knew they’d think I was one of those weird art nerds in school. So, they were for my eyes only. I kept the finished ones in a locked drawer, always nervous that if my dad had found them he would be livid. He had always wanted me to do something like him with my life, engineering or some shit. If he knew I had already applied to some art schools, he would kick me out for sure.

I hadn’t gotten replies from these art schools, which put me on edge. I put my address down as my friend Eddie’s address, to avoid my parents finding the verdict letters. I’m sure my mother would love my sketches, a drawer herself, but she would never dare show that she liked something my father didn’t.

The sketch was flowing seamlessly, but I couldn’t seem to get the eyes right, something about them just didn’t show the depth of Kendall. Then again, I never seemed to be able to get the eyes right. Something about eyes was just so deep and complex, the only person I had ever gotten them right on was-

No, I wouldn’t think her name. I wouldn’t. I shook my head, frustrated with the eyes. “Fuck the eyes,” I muttered, putting the sketch back in the locked drawer. I grabbed my weed from under the sketches and began to fill a bowl, lighting and inhaling its toxins, trying to forget the girl that broke me.

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chapter word count: 1,019

total word count: 25,031