Popped Bubble & Paper Skin

A short story that isn't really that short. Created for a short fiction assignment.

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Blood. Cracked glass bottles upon the walls which were remnants of his alcoholic endeavors, the smoky atmosphere was intoxicating. Suffocating my lungs. All the yelling and screaming crowding my skull. A fractured home, much like the bottles; much like my paper skin.

Late November, 8 am in school. Fusing myself into the crowds of a high school nightmare; a point in childhood which caused the most pain either mentally or physically, a place we called hell. I was considered your typical outcast. Being unable to fit into those social norms that teenage society had built up, so keeping a good reputation was thrown into the recycling bin. However, that did lead me to being the main target of one specific senior. Pushing me around like a rag doll, verbal daggers, and the after school battles; in which the daily routine as well as gaining the daily reminder of being a social outcast carried out. Adam, a buff man, probably 6’4, a giant with a constant scowl apparent amongst his features, constantly called for me. Cursing my name over and over. By the result of it all, I grew to hate the title that was given to me at birth.

“Yo freak! Meet me after school in the back” he said, his demand vibrated in my head.

I tugged down my sleeves beyond my wrists to conceal the truth.

A school’s backside wasn’t always as friendly as some people may put it. However, beyond human peripheral, there is always a hidden dark story.

Pummeling my face, fists flying left and right hitting direct bullseyes upon me. I collapsed and gagged as the air escaped my body. Soon enough blood dripped out of my nose. Trying to pull myself back up, off the asphalt to put up a fight, bringing up my fists. I spoke up.

“I’m f*cking done with this sh*t, Adam! If it’s a fight you want, it’s a fight you’ll get!”

A scoff was all I get in return. Just a scoff. Adam knew that my weak fragile physique was no match to the muscular build he wielded; making any of my attempts of fighting back, futile.

“You really trying to fight back now, eh Ebbers? Mighty brave of you to do so.” That response brought a spark, hope that maybe I can finally fight back against this brute in front of me. Damn. What an idiotic mistake. Like David and Goliath, but it was Goliath holding the sling and pulling the strings.

Deep in pain with my chest screaming for air, Adam continued his physical torment. The cold November air chilled and rattled my bones. I wanted to escape this continuous cycle day after day. No changes whatsoever, to make things worse, I slowly started to like it. On the daily, his main objective was to hear me writhe in pain and beg him to stop, to wait for satisfaction. However, that slowly started to change a few days ago. My pleas silenced; while I held a sick twisted grin underneath the drying scarlet bruises. I hated myself to admit it. Telling myself to stop the disgusting thoughts that kept growing. Zoning out from my surroundings, I was directed to only hearing the neverending hard pounding of my chest. The rush. The thrill. Hearing this muscle ring in my ears, was exhilarating. It cried for it to stop, but my mouth stayed hushed.

“Guess I finally broke you huh? You can go home for today. You’re also lucky it’s Friday, don’t think this the end though, there’s always next week. Now scram.” Adam flew from the scene, the crimson from his tightly gripped fists growing into a darker copper colour. Leaving me collapsed; breathes on edge, vision blurring.

Getting up was a definite hardship I came to accept, seeing the floor spin and stir beneath my feet spoke to me, meaning I was so close to the gates of death. ‘Maybe that wouldn’t have been that bad’.

6:47pm - One hand holding onto my arm while the other clutched the bag, this bird was dragging on the weight from two stones. The paved path was the same to me, how I used to draw colourful masterpieces up to hearing the jubilant laughter of playing tag. Those were happier times, where everything was carefree and my child mind was too naive; barely exposed to the despair of reality. Looking around to the neighborhood that practically raised me. I remembered how Ms. Haburton, a widow at 60; used to sit on her porch every afternoon with a cup of jasmine tea on one hand, and juggling to balance between petting her cat and reading a book about felines of all sorts. Now, her doors are boarded up, rocking chair bare of her figure, and her garden overgrown. Never really acknowledging the fact that the whole street was abandoned, nobody came out, no lights were on during any hour of the day. Quite a disappointment it was, for they weren’t able to witness the sight of beautiful autumn leaves cascading and hanging from the trees, piles forming beneath them. Warm soft reds transitioning to oranges and yellows, it brought warmth upon this cold season. A type of warmth to soothe any physical tension. If only that same warmth were able to reach the coldness that awaits me back home.

Grazing my hand to unceremoniously unlatch the rusty steel gate, I set foot on the untamed property. Slowly approaching the door the yellowed grass brushed my ankles. It's been years since the last time somebody mowed the lawn, then again, there’s basically no point to do so anymore. No flowers bloomed, weeds spread their arms to praise the sun, stretching themselves to leave this place. Lucky them.

‘An old run down crap hole’ is the only way I could describe my home. There wasn’t much to look at and was a sight for sore eyes. Peeling paint, flooded gutters with a hint of gloom and misery to top it all off. Much like it’s residence that occupy this place, the people within carry a menacing aura and appearance. Misplaced, different. Outcasted from all the other fanciful ivory white houses down the block with their mailboxes still in tact to their posts, and a shiny bronze knocker to add spirit on oak doors, also hinted with symmetrical perfect big windows to peer into. Yeah, not like my home at all. Lopsided, much like those haunted houses you would see at fairs during last month, broken, rickety, and drained from it’s life. Like it lost something or someone important that brought meaning to their life, someone who gave the will for them to keep moving on in life. Well, it’s just a house. As if an inanimate building can actually develop feelings. Perhaps those feelings reflected another source.

I closed the door behind me, submerging myself into the aroma of whiskey and cigarettes that lingered in the air. Dad was home. Even without his physical form being there, that smell had seeped into the wall’s insulation eons ago ever since I was a kid, so that smell will never be a surprise to me. In front of me was my mom who carried a look of concern, like any other mother would do.

“What happened to you this time? You’re all covered in blood and bruises. Please don’t tell me you tripped and fell down the stairs again. There is no need to lie to me, I’m your mother, you can tell me anything. I won’t take your false excuses anymore Michael.”

She gently put both of her hands to rest upon my shoulders. But all I got was cold air.

“Mom..I’m fine, just had some issues with dodgeball, you know how easily I bruise up” I responded painfully chuckling under my breath, “Please Michael, you can’t lie to me or yourself. You need to tell me what’s going on in your school, what’s going on with you. Who is hurting you”.

I didn’t want to tell her about Adam or the things I deal with; her pure fragile heart wouldn’t be able to take it, lying and dismissing the problem was the only way. I wish I could have told you. Shrugging my shoulders to free me of my mother’s grasp, I changed the subject. “Hey, what’s for dinner?”

A sigh escaped her lips “You will have to tell me at some point; go set up the table and dinner will be ready soon”. Nodding I passed her into the kitchen, having few minutes later to hear the 3 common words she pieced together, flowing beautifully from her thin chapped lips.

“I love you”

Those were the words that made me reflect on everything I did. Just like always, I kept my head low and continued walking. “I’m sorry…” a faint whisper from my subconscious bellowed.

Cold chicken on my plate was what I ate, frozen dinners have been the diet, I’ve only grew to hate it each day. The urge to gag was strong, but I had to keep the food in to gain any nutritional value it carries. Another day, another fight, and another challenge I have to face each day. While I was eating, my eyes maintained eye contact to the seat opposite to my position. A soft velvet lined wheelchair, with its accessories slowly deteriorating from uselessness, labelled as ‘unneeded garbage that should be thrown away’ according to my father. Differences aside, we both agreed on wanting to throw the thing away. Yet, there was still some connection that it held from it’s previous host that kept us from tossing it out to the curb.

Monday, 7 am. Adjusting my sleeves, pulling my hoodie up, I made sure to add more layers to my attire, to hide the smell of alcohol that escaped through my pores and skin. No matter how much I itch, the lingering scent from my father’s smoking habits will never come off. If I shake my hair, glass shards and ash would surely drop to the floor. Nonetheless, I continued getting ready for the upcoming hell I go to everyday, besides the one I always live in. Before heading out I heard Satan himself summon me.

“What is it...dad?”

He was intoxicated, slurring each word he uttered. “Get me another bottle and box from the cabinet will ya?” barely keeping his eyes open while he watched his sports.

I grabbed another bottle from the fridge, remembering to get another package of cigarettes from the bathroom cabinet. Moving aside the pills and bottles that overflowed the cabinet, I took them. Walking back to him, a blur was seen from the corner of my eye. Turning to see a set of crutches slanted upon an untouched door. Another unneeded item that held sentimental value in my eyes. I quickly placed the requested items beside him and left him.

Back in school I did the usual, blend into the background and face the social judgment and rumours about me. If accomplishments are rewarded, I should be getting the Nobel prize for surviving school everyday. That is, until the end of the day, where my position and recognition as an actual human being is ripped away from me, giving me the label of ‘a senior’s personal punching bag’. Same routine that followed, meet behind school, get beaten up, feel death behind my back, get spat on, repeat. Things keep changing however, there’s something on my mind.

“Ready for another thrashing Ebbers? I waited all weekend for this, you better give me a better reaction this time”. Adam recalled last week’s fight, where I held the grin during his physical abuse, bringing me to grin once more.

“Yeah I am, bring it on.”

He was slightly impressed. “Still got that fighting spirit eh? Well ain’t that good for me” Adam was powering a punch while I braced for impact, holding my sickening awful smirk, until.

My mother’s words echoed in my ear.

“I love you”

It was a quick blow to the nose until I realized I hit concrete, my nose severely broken and gushing a brightful red. What happened? Why now? Suddenly all her words flooded my mind.

‘Be careful out there, okay?.’

‘Take care and be safe.’

‘You’re a very brave and intelligent boy Michael.’

‘Don’t let anybody push you around, be strong.’

‘We’ll both get through this, all three of us will.’

‘I’m sorry he did this to you, it’s my fault. I won’t ever let him hurt you again, you have my word.’

‘Never forget...that I love you.’

‘I love you...’

That was it, that was my breaking point. Not from Adam’s brutal attempts to break me. Not from my father’s form of “discipline” caused by his alcoholic endeavors, but because of those three words from her thin, chapped lips. Those three words that helped me throughout the years. Those three words that made me feel special, loved, and told me that I was somebody. Three words that brought meaning to my life. That told me to keep fighting, to stay strong and never give up. For the first time since then, I cried. No sick grin on my face, just warm salty tears that blurred my vision as I screamed in pain from the extreme pulsing in my chest. I yelped, screamed, cried my lungs out, not because of the pain. But because of her. I pushed through all of it because of her. That was my reasoning. I had so many chances to end it all, but it was because of her I kept pushing to live. I’m sorry for all the things I’ve done. I’m sorry for not telling you all of this before. I’m sorry I kept secrets and lied for the sake of your health. I just wanted you to not worry about me; to stay healthy. To still be here.

By then, I knew Adam was getting tired of kicking me as I continued to wail out and his actions began to fade. Maybe, or maybe I’m finally letting go as I dive deeper into my subconscious. I stopped caring about how Adam kept beating me up, or how I face the same torment at home from another enemy. Right now, I’m crying out all the tears I was too afraid to shed during the last day. How I will remember her beautiful thin chapped lips. I will never forget her three words. Those three words she told me everyday. Those three words that she said as she held my hand. Three simple words, yet they meant the whole world to me as well as she was my everything. Three simple words that were so hard to say, to tell her. Those three words that I heard him say as he displayed the opposite. Three words that I oh so foolishly used to take for granted, but now hold on to more than anything. Three words that I regret not saying. As I fade into darkness on the cold concrete ground, tears in my eyes with no feeling left from my body; I say it now.

“I love you mom. I miss you and little sis.”