This one took me a long time to finish. When I first started writing it I lost my spark quickly, but somehow gained it back a few days ago. This isn't my favourite of the series because of the writing, in fact, even though I edited it at least four times after I 'finished' it, I still don't think it's perfect, but something about this I love. Maybe it's the end, or maybe its the idea in general. But I love this. It's sad, and heartbreaking, but I love it.
I hope you do too.
Noah was five the first time he saw his father hit his mom. At first it was just once, and his father had woken in the morning hysterical, begging on his knees like a starving man for Ruth Puckerman to forgive him. The second time was two weeks later. The next time within a week. Then within five days. Three. Two. Until it became a daily occurence. But Puck was seven when he last saw it, and he remembers the day perfectly, because that was the last time he saw his father.
Ten and half years later, and Puck's become the martyr, going out of his way to help others, especially after the year beforehand. He figured out after a while that chucking people who couldn't defend themselves into dumpsters is almost as bad, if not worse, than hitting a woman, and he's not cool with that.
Puck remember's the instance when his seven and a half year old self snapped. He had just been sitting on the steps, his mom had sent him to bed a few hours beforehand, and when he had sulked upstairs to change for bed it had been quiet. Almost too quiet.
Back then, sneaking out after his mom had tucked him in had become habit. The top step had developed an indent from where he would sit on it every night, his teddy bear Gage tucked tightly under his left arm. It didn't hurt that the air vent from the livingroom also led past the top step, amplifying anything said tenfold.
Puck probably remembered this instance best, not because of it being the last time, but because it was different. It was too quiet. There was no yelling, or heated words, in fact, it was deadly silent. Unnervingly silent.
When the first loud slap was heard, along with his mother sobs, Noah's fingers itched to help. He craved it, but he stayed where he was, obeying his mother's wishes. She knew what he did, how he came to listen, and always told him to stay out of it, to hold back no matter what, that his father loved them, that he was just stressed.
"I hate you." A slap "I hate them." Another.
The next few words and the thump of a body hitting the floor afterwards were what changed everything.
"I wish you would die."
Everything went crazy after that.
Somehow, Noah remembers everything he did, but he doesn't quite remember doing it. He remembers dropping his bear on the stairs. He remembers running full speed down them and into the living room. He remembers grabbing the nearest object, a lamp, and running towards his father. He remembers breaking it over his head, and he remembers watching the man slump to the floor. He remembers running to his mother, tears in his eyes when he sees her lying on the floor unconcious.
What he doesn't remember is anger, or sadness, or fear. Just the motions. The movements. He doesn't remember anything important. Doesn't remember the feelings.
His father is never spoken of again. Puck doesn't even know if he lives from the head wound, all he saw was the ambulance leaving with the man inside, and he doesn't dare ask. He get's hard, tough, cold. He doesn't show anyone anything anymore, and after a while he realizes he really doesn't care what happened to his father. He doesn't care.
He's different after that. He fights at school, he picks on people weaker than him, but only men. He tries to toughen them up, he tells himself, so they can protect their own mothers, and as they grow older, girlfriends.
Puck makes a vow to sleep with women but not date them. He doesn't get attached. He can't. He picks women that are married so that he won't get too close. So that they become a fuck instead of someone. He makes sure to treat them well when he's with him though. He doesn't push them to do anything, and it eventually becomes common knowledge that a date with Puck equals a fuck with Puck, so he never has to leave a date once it's started. No, not a date, it's sex. Just sex.
The second most important day of his life breaks him. He doesn't bother trying to cope, because he knows he can't, not now. Not now that he's become his father.
He didn't mean to hit Brittany. He just got frustrated. Got angry. Got tired. Got physical.
She didn't even know what she did, and honestly Puck's not even sure he knows what it was. He just hits her, and instead of just hurting her, it breaks him.
Because he loves her...
He hates it. Hates how he knows that the instant the back of his hand hits her face that he's done. Hates how he runs from the room because he knows theres nothing he can say to make it better. To ease his guilt, and her pain. The heartbreak.
His father's silver revolver is where its lain it's entire life, in a small case in his father's desk drawer, in their old office. The two items are all that are left behind from the man, and they're the two items that see the last of his son.
No one uses the office, so it's not until the next day that anyone finds his body.
Most would say, if it weren't for the hole through his right temple, you would think he were just sitting there, in the office chair, crying. The tear tracks on his face had dried and left streaks on his cheeks, and the hatred and the anger is written all over his stony face. So is the sadness.
It's the most anyone's seen him feel since he was seven.
Brittany asks to see him. No one mentions the bruise on her cheek, and the instant she meets Ruth Puckerman for the first time, they both cry. Brittany only says one thing, and Ruth doesn't ask. She doesn't need to. She knows.
"He didn't mean it."
As I've said before, in my Mad World series, if you ever feel like killing yourself, get help. You can talk to me, or a friend or family member, call a helpline. One of my friends has tried to kill herself twice and twice I have managed to somehow talk her out of it. Please talk to someone if you feel this way okay. I promise that no matter how shitty life seems it is worth living.
Suicide is not a way out, it's a way to hurt those around you and yourself. Please talk to someone if you need help. My inbox is open to anyone who wishes to post in it.
Read and Review. :) I love you guys!