I looked glumly at the clock in my classroom. My teacher was going over derivatives, and I had lost the will to pay attention halfway through. School was just… boring to me. There was nothing engaging to keep me entertained, no reason to attempt a more proactive mindset. If I maintained decent grades, graduated, and got into an okay college with minimum effort, so be it. The fact that I lived in the middle of Nowhere, Pennsylvania with lousy teachers that were wasting their degrees didn’t help either. Couldn’t they have taught their boring lessons somewhere else?
With this in mind, I did the usual and counted the ticks until the school day would end.
57…58…59…
Riiinnng!
The bell spurred me into action, and I grabbed my notebook, heading for the door. Ms. Rubia said something about homework, but I didn’t bother to remember it. It wasn’t like I’d do it anyway.
The trip up the stairs to my locker was short, and after punching in my combination, I slung my bag over my shoulders and fumbled in my pockets for my car keys. There was a tap on my shoulder, accompanied by the sound of too heavy breathing. I knew immediately it was Ron; no one else I knew would get winded by walking up a flight of stairs.
“Andre, you going to Sarah’s tonight? ” the pudgy boy asked, slightly red in the face from his minor physical exertion.
“I have practice,” I replied out of reflex, walking down the hall with him.
“Come on. Yesterday, you couldn’t hang out because of the gym. Now, it’s practice. You need to get a social life. And did I mention it’s a college party? A college party.”
There was some truth to Ron’s words. I didn’t have a social life, not really. It was school, working out, and martial arts. I tried the whole partying thing, and it wasn’t for me. Normally, I would have brushed off Ron’s words, but there was a unique factor this time: Sarah Manely, the only other friend I had other than Ron. Well, sorta friend? I didn’t know. Despite our obvious discrepancies in social status, she had always been kind to me, even after she graduated and went to college. No idea why, but I appreciated it.
I relented, “Fine, I’ll go. I’ll be late though, so don’t expect a ride there.”
Ron scratched his head self-consciously, ashamed that his plan was revealed, “Okay, that’s fine. I’ll get my parents to take me.”
“Seriously, dude, you need to get your license. You’re a senior in high school, everybody has one. And tell your mom I’ll take you home, save them some gas.”
Ron’s face became red as he followed me into the stairway, “You know that my parents won’t let me take the test. They’re too protective.”
I snorted, “In a few years, you’ll love that you have that problem. I sure wish I did.” The last part was a little too depressing, so I cut our conversation short and focused on walking down the stairs.
That was when I saw it: two kids in my class were cornering a freshman threateningly. The freshman was at least half the size of his soon to be attackers.
I sighed. This happened way too often. Whatever genius had designed my school forgot to put cameras in the stairways. This made it prime real-estate to fuck with some poor soul without getting in trouble. I didn’t know what exactly had started the disagreement, but I didn’t particularly care; there was something about taking advantage of someone weaker that made me furious.
Cracking my neck, I approached the altercation.
A hand stopped me before I could get far. "Don’t, Andre. You’ll get expelled this time for sure.” Ron looked at me with uncharacteristically hard eyes.
I brushed his hand off, “Don’t worry, I’m just gonna’ talk to them.” That was a lie. I was planning to beat the shit out of them. Well, assuming they didn’t stop first. I was generous like that.
“Yo, boys!” I jumped down the steps and clapped one of the seniors on the shoulders, “There a problem here?”
“A-Andre!?” The boy I gripped tightly gasped. I forgot to mention, I had a reputation.
“N-no problem. We were actually just leaving.” The second attacker started slowly backing away.
I smiled. "Good. Then on your way.” I pushed the kid I’d grabbed towards the exit, maybe a little harder than necessary.
The two seniors stiffly speed-walked out of the stairwell.
I turned towards the small freshman, “Don’t let anyone treat you like that, kid. Become strong enough to stand up for yourself.”
The freshman gulped and nodded, “Y-yeah, sure." He swiftly tore out of the stairwell.
Ron let out a breath, “You’re lucky they were scared of you. Come on, I’m going to miss my bus.”
*
The drive home wasn’t long, and I didn’t want to be there any longer than necessary. I barely registered the sound of my parents arguing when I walked through the door; it was just another day in paradise.
I mumbled a quick ‘hello’ as I went to my room, not bothering to make sure they heard me.
Throwing off my school clothes, I started dressing for class. It was just a T-shirt and shorts, but it felt awfully comforting. I always thought there was some proof in dressing in familiar clothes to feel better. I grabbed my duffel bag full of equipment and beelined for the door. My parents continued to argue furiously in the background.
A rough hand grabbed my shoulder as I walked by them, and my father questioned me, “Where you going, son? Aren’t you going to say ‘hi’ to your old man?”
I shook the hand off. “I’m going to practice like always. You and mom were talking, so I didn’t want to bother you.”
My mother chimed in, "You can leave. Your father’s in a pissy mood this afternoon.”
My father’s face contorted, “What did you say, woman? I’ll be damned when you get to give orders in this house!” He approached her dangerously, the back of his neck red.
“Dad, that’s enough!” I shouted.
He spun around quickly, backhanding me across the face, “Don’t raise your voice with me, kid. You may be eighteen, but I’m still the man of this house. I won’t be disrespected by a little shit that can’t pay the bills.”
I gingerly touched the throbbing spot on the side of my face. That hurt, old man.
Most people would get angry in a situation like this, not me. A sense of calm washed over me.
“You’re right, father,” I sneered. “I am eighteen now. That means hitting me is now a crime, not discipline. Mom might be too scared to do anything, but I’m not. I should have done this shit sooner.” I pulled out my phone.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he growled.
“Calling the cops,” I replied flatly, making a show of slowly pressing the numbers.
A look of realization came over my father’s face. Even after all he’d done over the years, he must have not considered that any consequences would come of it.
I paused for a second. “If you leave right now, I won’t call.”
My father cursed, “You little shit, after all I’ve done for you.”
“You’ve done nothing for me. Now, leave and don’t come back.”
The man scowled but didn’t say anything. He stormed out of the house and cranked the engine on his truck. A few seconds later, the sound of tires squealing away reached my ears. I sighed and put my phone down. I finally did it! I showed that abusive bastard that he couldn’t do whatever he wanted.
I felt a sharp sting on the opposite cheek that I’d been slapped on earlier. Looking dumbfoundedly at my mother with her hand up, a wave of confusion washed over me.
Why?
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?!” she squealed, “Get out! Get out now!” She pushed me out of the house, her voice full of hysteria.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
What did I do wrong?
The door slammed behind him, and I stood blankly. I knocked on the door, but she didn’t bother to answer. Great, I alienated my mother and father all within the span of a few seconds.
Whatever.
I readjusted my duffle bag and started my car. She just needed some time to cool off. After a few hours, I’d come back, and all would be fine. At least, I hoped it would be fine. The thought of permanently being kicked out didn’t bug me. After all, I was eighteen. The only reason I hadn’t moved out was because of school. If worst came to worst, I’d just join the military.
I made several more fallback plans on the drive to my mixed martial arts gym, mostly to comfort me; though, I had a feeling I'd actually need them. The worried expression on my face must have been obvious because my coach looked at me weird when I walked in.
“What’s going on, Andre?” Coach asked. He was setting up the punching bags for tonight’s class.
“Nothing much, Coach.” I brushed off the rest of the conversation and flung my bag on the ground. I pulled out my hand wraps and began tying them around my knuckles. The cool fabric slid around my hand, calming the incessant thoughts that filled my mind.
There was something therapeutic about tying wraps. The practiced motion felt as familiar to me as breathing. Perhaps it was the sense of purpose I got when putting them on. I knew I was about to experience one of the few things I found entertaining in this world, one of the few things that could help me forget, at least for a few hours.
There was no greater high than testing your limits. Fighting was the only outlet I had. Well, I did play competitive video games and read from time to time, but my parents arguing would often ruin that experience.
Finished with my wrapping, I walked over to Coach and began helping set up. We worked together in silence for a bit, the same way we always did. When all the bags were chained up, Coach motioned towards his office.
I complied and sat on one of the couches in his tiny, personal space. Various medals and plaques dotted the walls, some talking about his various black belts and others congratulating some win or another.
Coach was a short, bald man. He was easily in his late forties but bulging muscles could be seen through his shirt. I couldn’t help the feeling of intimidation I got when he sat down roughly, staring at me with his arms crossed.
After some time, the old man, with the body of someone half his age, began, “I’ll ask again: what’s going on?”
“Nothing, Coach-” I started, only to have a sharp glare cut off my excuse. With a sigh, I tried to speak nonchalantly, “I may have gotten kicked out. Maybe? -- I don’t know.”
Coach looked at me accusingly, “What did you do?”
I scratched my head, “Nothing bad. I just… threatened to call the cops on my father. My mom got mad, then kicked me out. I don’t know what I did. Shouldn’t she be happy? It’s not like I kicked the shit out of that old bastard. I could’ve, but I didn’t.” I realized I was venting too much and tried to calm myself.
Coach rubbed his eyes frustratedly but said nothing.
“So, we good?” I motioned between the two of us with a hand, standing up from the couch.
“Sit down,” he ordered.
I sat back in my seat, the fear of God in my heart.
“I think…” Coach hesitated, “You should take today off. Go talk with your mom. Leaving it until later will only make things worse.”
“What?” I couldn’t believe it.
“Just for today,” he replied calmly. “You’ll be back in here tomorrow, anyway.”
I shot up from the couch in protest, but no words escaped his mouth. Coach was right, putting this off would only make it worse. I mumbled a farewell then grabbed my bag and left. I wrapped my hands for nothing.
My father’s truck was back in the driveway by the time I got home. Part of me was furious, but the anger didn’t last long. I approached the door of my house, unsure if I could call it mine anymore. I rang the doorbell and waited.
The sound of raised voices met my ears as the door was opened. My mother greeted me, a fresh bruise around her chin. My father stood behind her, murder in his eyes.
“Get lost, punk,” he sneered. “I don’t know you.” He reached around my mother and slammed the door closed.
I rang the doorbell again, but no one answered.
I guess I am kicked out.
Sneaking around the perimeter of my house, I pushed my bedroom window open. My parents would sometimes lock the door if I got home late, so it was always unlocked. A brief squeeze later, and I landed on my bedroom floor.
I grabbed my school stuff and a separate bag for clothes. The TV was blaring too loudly for my parents to hear me. The last thing I did was write a goodbye letter to my mom. She loved me, in her own screwed-up, twisted way. She might not have been there for me all the time, but compared to my father, she was a saint.
My work finished, I took one last look around my room before diving out the window.
I didn’t really know where to go, so I decided to call Ron and take him to Sarah’s. My coach wouldn’t let me back in the gym, and the party was the only other thing I had planned for the day. Ron didn’t pick up, however.
Is he already there?
It had almost been an hour since school got out; it was entirely possible if he went immediately. Throwing my phone to the passenger seat, I made a turn and drove in silence to Sarah’s.
Her house was in a secluded area, perfect for parties. No neighbors to file a noise complaint and plenty of space to park. I rolled onto the side of her lawn. My guess was right about the party starting earlier; a couple dozen cars were already parked outside.
I walked through the wide-open front door, greeted by some college fraternity pledge stumbling out.
“Hey, man. Thish party rocksh.” He slurred, breath stinking of alcohol. He then proceeded to run over to the railing and barf.
It’s three o’clock, and you’re already hammered?
I frowned and walked past him. Sarah’s house was massive, but a throng of people mashed together in front of me. I struggled to push my way through, questioning why I even came here.
A voice shouted out from the crowd, “Andre, over here.” Ron waved, a huge smile on his face. The pudgy boulder of a kid stomped over and hung his arm around my neck. It was times like these I realized how big Ron was. He was fat, yes, but he was also like six and a half feet tall (198cm).
I looked him up and down, “Are you drunk?”
Ron leaned close as if to whisper, but spoke in a much too loud voice, “Maybe. Just don’t tell my parents.” He giggled.
I groaned internally. I had enough shit to deal with myself, and now I had to take care of my drunk friend? The idiot might choke on his saliva when I wasn't looking.
Ron frowned at my annoyed face, “Lighten up, bro. You’re too serious all the time.” He pulled me over to a cooler and removed a beer, “Here, drink this. It will make you feel better.”
I accepted the can as Ron shoved it into my hands and inspected the object hesitantly. Normally, I would have declined right away. But now, all the crap that had just happened today started coming to mind.
Maybe I should drink this? I’ll relax for a bit. Ron will be fine; he doesn’t need me babysitting him all the time.
I cracked open the can and downed it all in one go. Having never drank anything before, I frowned when I felt nothing. I grabbed another can and downed it just as quickly. The mountain of terrible memories was still there, so I reached for another. Weren’t these things supposed to make you feel good? They didn’t even taste good.
Ron slapped my arm away, looking at me stupidly, “Hey, man. Don’t drink so much right away. Wait a bit.”
I closed the lid of the cooler and put my hands up, “Okay, okay.”
“Man, I never thought I’d see the day you have a drink,” Ron grinned as he dragged me to a pair of empty seats.
We sat down, talking about random stuff. Eventually, the alcohol started kicking in, and I lost the will to control my speech. Though Ron already knew about my home life, I never went into detail. Now, I was pouring it on him like he was my therapist.
I must have sounded horrible because he brought me more than a few beers to get through the story.
A beautiful girl approached us while I complained about not being able to take my favorite pair of underwear with me after getting kicked out. I was too intoxicated to notice though.
“Andre?” she asked, staring in disbelief.
“Oh! Hey, Sarah!” I waved without proper motor function, “Come over here.”
“Oh, my God. You’re drunk,” She pointed accusingly.
I looked at her strangely for a second and briefly pondered why there were more than two Sarah’s in front of me, “No, I’m not.” I slapped my chest, “I’m perfectly sober.”
“Really? Stand up then.”
I put my empty can down before pushing myself to my feet, “Fine.”
To my credit, I managed to stand mostly straight for about three seconds before slightly stumbling. Ron steadied me with a hand and placed me back on my chair.
Sarah sighed, “All right, come with me.” She placed my arm around her and walked towards the stairs.
Half walking, half stumbling up to the second floor, I marveled at how the world was spinning. Sarah kicked open the door to a room and sat me down on a bed. I giggled.
“What’s so funny,” Sarah furrowed her brow.
“You. You’re pretty.” I giggled again, thumbing my hand through her hair.
Sarah’s face turned red and she pulled my hand down, “Stay here until you can count to five-hundred without getting distracted.”
“Five-hundred!” I exclaimed, “That’s boring. I’d rather do something fun instead.” I reached my hand over to hers and stroked it lightly. I continued moving my arm back and forth over her smooth skin and pulled her closer. Her quick and heavy breathing excited something in my current, primal mind as I brought my lips close over hers. Before they could connect, Sarah pulled away.
“No, we can’t do this. You’re drunk.” She stepped back further and moved towards the door.
“What?!” I growled, placing my hand around her arm, “You’re walking away? Do you have any idea the kind of shit I’ve had to deal with today!?”
She smacked me across the face, “Don’t touch me like that.”
Wow. Third time today. I thought. The slap had knocked some sobriety into me, making me realize the mistake I had made.
I dropped her arm suddenly, “I-I’m sorry. I’ll see myself out.” I didn’t wait for a response and walked past her. I stopped by the bathroom before I left, splashing myself in the face with cold water for a good thirty seconds. I sat on the toilet and stayed there until I could count to five-hundred without making a mistake.
“Okay…” I mumbled to myself, “Good to go.”
I wasn’t.
I slipped out of the party quietly and got in my car. I left Ron a text saying I couldn’t drive him home. I felt bad leaving him hanging, but I knew it was for the best; I just hoped his parents didn't crucify him for being drunk.
I drove around aimlessly for a bit, thinking to myself. I had nowhere to go, just ruined a relationship with one of my only two friends and broke my word with the other. I gradually pressed on the gas, increasing my speed. The speedometer started hovering around one hundred before I let off.
What am I doing? I’m drunk and speeding. Why am I such an idiot?
The car started slowing down and I rolled to a stop at a light. The light turned green, and I accelerated slowly. I heard the squealing breaks too late as a semi-truck sped towards my side.
Oh, shit.
I slammed on the gas, but the sudden acceleration caused the wheels on my car to spin; the tires stubbornly refused to gain traction. The semi-truck smashed into the left side of my car before I could think to do anything else.
Huh? I get into an accident after having the self-control to slow down. Ironic.
The world moved in slow-motion as my car flipped end over end. My vehicle skidded to a stop upside-down on the side of the road. The crash jarred my head, and I couldn’t understand what had happened; the impact seemed to temporarily remove my critical thinking skills. I reached for my seatbelt with an arm, confused as to why it wouldn’t move properly.
Ah, it’s broken. That’s why, I realized before passing into unconsciousness.
I woke up intermittently. When I was pulled from the car by paramedics, when they put me on the stretcher, and when they shoved me in an ambulance.
“Hey! Hey! Hold on, kid!” One of the paramedics shouted at me. The voices sounded distant and I could feel the warmth of sleep coming over me. It felt like a toasted blanket was being pulled over me, not that I knew what that felt like.
I hope Ron finds a ride home, I thought sadly, drifting into unconsciousness.