As strange as it sounds, I was actually looking forward to starting a new year of school. Anything beats being in this hole that I call my home. Every year I'd desperately try and deny the fact that the summer holiday's were approaching and that I'd have nothing else to do but be forced to stay in the house and listen to the constant drunken, bellows from my father as he backhands my defenceless mother to the ground, claiming that 'she was a no good whore and I was a pathetic excuse for a boy, who held no particular use to him at all. I was a mistake. I should have been a forced abortion instead of having to have the shotgun wedding.' The words were hurtful, but having to put up with him for 17 years of my life, I've managed to block out anything he threw at me. Mentally, I mean. Physically was different. No matter how long I'd have to put up with him, I'd never be able to form some kind of superhuman force field, allowing me to feel no pain.
Even if my mum was beaten profusely more so in the summer, she said she preferred the summer break to any other holiday. 'Work was best in the summer' she'd tell me. Not once, however, did she tell me what she did for a living, although I'd never actually asked her. I think she just assumed that I knew what she did, which was a correct assumption. I wonder if she chose to use her own name 'Heather' when working, or if she made up some exotic alter ego for the men's pleasure. It was hard to find a job in Gotham, especially when you live in The Narrows. Yes, the prostitution industry was positively thriving nowadays.
My dad on the other hand, did nothing for the family. I hated having to share the same name as him. Jack was such a dull name, but it made it even worse to think that he was named that too. I was constantly reminded of him whenever someone would call my name, and I hated it. He'd spend all the money made from my mom to pay for all the booze he drank. Then after all the money had gone he'd complain about not having enough money, so he'd take out his aggression on either me or my mom (sometimes both of us if we're lucky) until he got more money to buy more booze. The whole thing would repeat itself when the money was low. It was like one big vicious circle.
The neighbourhood I lived in was rough and overflowing with sex, drugs, violence and any other illegal activity you can think of. Not only was it full of living scum, but also some serious mental people who deserved to be locked away in Arkham Asylum lived nearby. If I was to write a book about all of the nuts who lived in my street, I assure you; it'd be a best seller. One old man who wore short denim shorts and green wellingtons on a regular basis enjoyed walking his ginger cat up and down the street repeatedly. Whenever he'd get the chance to, he'd ask if I wanted to stroke his pussy which just freaked me out even more than he already did. I went to extreme lengths just to avoid talking to him. Another man who lived just across the road from me opened his battered, garage door nightly claiming that he needed to let his car breathe. Maybe it wouldn't have been as strange if there actually was a car inside the garage.
As a younger child, I remember listening to the fights between my mom and dad coming from downstairs and I'd cry relentlessly, burying my head under the pillow as an attempt to block out the noises. I remember thinking that it must be the same in every family, until I started my first year of school. Everyone else's parents seemed relatively normal and loving towards each other, unlike mine. It was even tougher for me, being a lonely child. At least when you have a sibling, you'd have someone to share your feelings with who knew exactly what you were going through. Being alone left me to fend for myself and being troubled with my own unsettling, troubled thoughts. When I heard my dad leave the house in search for more alcohol, I'd creep downstairs to comfort my mom. She'd always have her face buried into her hands with salty tears rolling down her wrists. Every time she'd lift her head up, I was shocked at how messed up her face was because of him. I stopped trying to make things better for her when I reached the age of 14. Both her and I knew things weren't going to get better, so who was I trying to kid?
Although school wasn't a lot better than being at home, it was still an improvement nevertheless. I seemed to be one of those people at school who everyone hates. Every now and then you'll meet a person which you'll inexplicably hate without being able to give a reason. I fell into that category. I wasn't liked in school, but I didn't necessarily care. What could they do which was worse than what happened behind closed doors? I was kind of a trouble maker at school. Not intentionally; I was just the one who'd throw the first punch. It wasn't as if I went around punching people for no valid reason; they were the ones who antagonised me. I've never actually thought about why they treated me like they did; I just took it on the chin. It was because of all the fights I'd gotten in that the teachers didn't like me either. Because I was little out of the norm and I didn't abide by the rules and regulations of the school. Nor am I a very bright kid; or that's what they thought. My favourite subject is chemistry. I remember the first time I did an experiment; I set the lab desk on fire with the Bunsen burner by accident. Hmm, maybe that's the reason I'm failing the subject. The inclusion room was where they sent all of the troublemakers and I spent the majority of my time in there.
I suppose I could make friends if I tried. But that's the problem; I didn't try because I didn't care. I was a loner. I couldn't blend with the Goth kids who'd protest that they're not Goths; they're Emos. I didn't want to listen to any of their stories on how living's just a waste of death and talking's just a waste of breath. It's a cry for attention if you ask me.
A lot of the teacher's in my school were just as twisted and as crooked as the street I lived on. None of them had any moral fibre in their body. I never knew that creeps like these were able to get a job teaching teens and prepubescent kids. Funny world we live in. Whenever I did spend time in my classes, my mind would be distracted by the thought of how much longer I'd had to endure the possibility that I could be raped any second by this fucking twisted creep.