The sun was too bright, glistening off the snowy ground and the cold air was making his fingers grow numb. The walk to school took longer than Jack would have wanted but he couldn't do anything about the piles of white, turning grey on the sidewalk. He blew into his hands and rubbed them together attempting to get the feeling back. When that failed he hugged them under his armpits, shivering as cold fingertips slipped past a hole in his jacket and touched warm skin.

A sudden itch plagued his nose and before he could properly cover it, he sneezed. Red splattered on the front of his jacket and between his fingers. A small groan escaped his lips at the pain. Gingerly he touched his nose, fingers painted red as he pulled his hand back. He pinched his nose quickly, feeling the cartilage crack even more under the pressure. He had to get to school and quickly. For a moment he allowed himself the privilege of cursing his father for breaking it and hurriedly continued walking.

When he finally made it he noticed that there was no one outside, meaning he had missed the starting bell. He took the stairs two at a time and threw open the doors. Stale, heated air greeted him as he stalked down the empty hallway. He entered the boys bathroom and the sight that greeted him wasn't pretty. His mouth and chin were covered in a bright red, a similar color to his mother's lipstick, as blood continued to slip past his fingers from his nose. He let go and the flow grew stronger.

He switched the faucet on, first rinsing his hands then grabbing paper towels and wetting them. He carefully cleaned his face, grimacing as the steady flow made it hard to do so. He ripped off pieces of the paper towel and wadded it up, sticking them up his nose. He almost chuckled at how comical it looked but soon the two white buds turned red. He sighed; apparently he'd have to go to the nurse today.

He left the bathroom and headed down a few more halls before knocking on the door lightly. A gruff 'come in!' was barked so he entered. The nurse looked up from her magazine eyes immediately looking to his nose. He licked his upper lip and cringed as he tasted the familiar metallic substance. She ushered him over to the empty bed before rummaging through the cabinet above the sink. He sat down, watching the elderly woman. Her curly hair was dyed an ungodly red-ish brown and the pink and white scrubs she wore were covered in some outdated cartoon characters.

"Door again?" She asked gruffly.

Jack just nodded his head and she sighed. She slipped latex gloves over her wrinkled hands and pulled the bloody wads out of his nose. The blood was still flowing freshly and she wondered what had really caused this. The old woman had seen a lot in her day and knew that doors didn't continuously break people's noses but kept her mouth in a firm line. Last time she had reported anything she hadn't seen the boy for two weeks and when she did, her eyes didn't miss the fact that the bruises had barely faded from his face.

"Lay back, son."

Jack obeyed like he always did and she brought out cotton swabs and a bottle of alcohol. He closed his eyes, willing himself not to make any noises. The cool, wet swabs met the inside of his nose and he hissed as the fire spread. He bit his tongue and wasn't sure if the blood he tasted was from his nose or from the bite. He laid there for a while longer and soon he felt fresh paper towel wads shoved up his nose. The nurse gently placed a brace on the bridge of it and he opened his eyes, in the background he heard the bell for the end of first period.

"I cleaned it out and stopped the bleeding. The bruising around it shouldn't take too long to heal." She didn't mention the fact that the purple marks around his chin and on his cheek didn't fit with his door story.

Jack just nodded and got off the bed. He made his way towards the door to leave but the nurse grabbed his shoulder, causing him to stop. He looked into her eyes and watched all of the things she wanted to say but couldn't. Finally she let go and his hand reached for the handle. As he turned the nob she began to speak.

"Jack?"

He inclined his head towards her.

"Ju-just be more careful son, okay? Try to stop picking fights with doors, yeah?"

His answer was to softly shut the door behind him, the bell for the start of second period sounding behind the shut door.

Jack walked down the hall slowly towards his locker. His brown sneakers squeaked and he wondered why he hadn't noticed when he first entered the school. He passed by a janitor, who scowled deeply. When he reached locker number 1003 he twisted the code in without so much as a thought, 79 38 81. The door swung open, revealing a mess of papers and books. Jack decided he could look for his books later, he needed to get to class. He slammed the locker door harder than needed and made his way to class, when he reached the door a heavy sigh escaped his lips.

Jack ignored the stares he got as he entered second period, he even heard someone gasp. He gave the teacher a knowing look and the portly man nodded, eyes looking concerned, before going back to writing math equations on the board. He took his seat at the back of the class and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and a pencil out of his jacket pocket. He began taking notes, something about Closed and Open Intervals. Soon his notes became doodles and sketches; at first circles and squares but as the class went on they became more detailed. Images of him shooting or stabbing his father to death, he even added his mother crying in the corner.

The bell sounded again and the class packed up their things, shoving them in book bags so they could mingle in the hall for the ten minutes between classes. Jack folded the paper back up and shoved it back into his pocket. He placed his pencil behind his ear and stood to leave. As he entered the hall people stared again, some going quiet as he passed them. He decided to make his way towards the library since his third class was study hall. His walk there was uneventful and it didn't bother him one bit. Jack liked the peace and quiet, he enjoyed the fact that he didn't have any friends, it made life simpler.

The trudge home was better and worse in some ways for Jack. It was better because the temperature had gone up at least 15 degrees since the morning and Jack could still feel his fingers. It was better because it allowed him to get away from the stare of his fellow classmates as well as the teachers. It was better because now he could go to the small convenient store, buy a pack of cigarettes and chain smoke his way happily into lung cancer. He hoped it would kill him.

But Jack couldn't forget that it was worse as well, he supposed the world worked that way. It was worse because that small convenient store was three miles out of his way. It was worse because his father would probably be at the bar, drinking himself into a stupor and he knew it was too much to ask God that his father die in a car crash-or at the very least be pulled over for drunk driving and arrested. It was worse because his mother would be getting off work, just to work herself into a frantic frenzy about what to make for dinner to please Jack's father. It was worse because he had to go back to all that. It was worse because that was just 'home, sweet, home'.

When Jack did finally make it home he noticed his mother's blue Toyota parked in its spot, as well as his father's black, rusting pickup truck. He stood in front of the brick house, finishing up his cigarette, before heading inside. He entered the house quietly as possible, removed his shoes and quickly headed to his room. He breathed a sigh of relief as he shut the door behind him, happy to have not encountered either of his parents. Jack decided a nap was exactly what he needed at the moment as he made his way to his bed. He lay down, stretching comfortably and allowed himself to drift off to sleep.

Harsh, angry bangs rattled his door and Jack felt as if he had only shut his eyes.

"Come on! Get your ass down stairs! Dinners ready!"

Jack complied quickly as he heard his father's heavy foot steps down the stairs. He reached up rubbing his eyes as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. His fingers brushed his nose and he almost let out a howl of pain. It was a good thing too, because he had forgotten that he had left the brace on, the last thing he needed was his father accusing him of going to the nurse and 'tattling like a child' as his father put it. He didn't need a reminder of what happened to 'tattle-tales'.

He dropped the brace to the ground and ran slim fingers through long, curled locks. He shrugged out of his jacket and straightened the old, ugly sweater beneath. As he reached the bottom of the stairs and entered the kitchen he noticed his mother's nervous, twitchy hands setting down a plate of steaks in front of his father. She seated herself on the right side of him and Jack took the seat to the left. His father bowed his head and Jack wanted to snort with amusement as a pray left his lips.

"Dear Father, thank you for this meal and for the income I bring in. We bow our heads to you in prayer. Amen."

"Amen." Jack mumbled along with his mother.

She quickly set to placing potatoes, steamed veggies and steak on her husband's plate, then her sons. Jack kept his hands in his lap until they were all served and his father had reached for his own silverware. Jack's mother was watching her husband intently as he stuck his fork into the meat and cut off a small piece. He placed it in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully before spitting it onto the plate with a disgusted scowl. He reached for his beer and finished it in a few short gulps. Jack's mother was now nervously chewing her bottom lip and Jack himself was twisting his hands in his lap in anticipation.

"That tastes like shit Cindy. I thought I told you to make it right this time."

His mothers head snapped towards the right and the sound of the slap echoed in the air for a few seconds. Jack waited calmly, hoping his father would forget he was even there.

"You stupid bitch! You can't do anything right! I go work 11 hour days and you think this-this shit is okay! Where the fuck does my hard earned money go-huh?"

Jack's mother began to whimper, feebly at first but it steadily grew until it was a full out bawl. Her narrowed shoulders shook from the force and one of her hands remained plastered against her cheek in an attempt to stop the pain. His father stood quickly, knocking the chair behind him over as he began towering of his wife. In the blink of an eye he had grabbed her by her hair, making her scalp sear in pain and lifted her up to eye level with him. Her own chair tumbled over and she wailed again.

"Dan! Please, Dan! Stop!"

"Shut up bitch!"

Jack flinched this time. His mothers head bounced off the wall behind her but the impact had cut her cries short. She lay on her side, curled in a ball and clutching her head. Jack felt his leg jump with nerves and it collided with the underneath of the table. Fuck. His father turned towards him. Eyes gleaming something dangerous. Jack stayed still but could feel a sweat break over his brow. His father righted his seat and reached for another beer, using his teeth, he opened it and gulped it down quickly. When he finished he picked up his fork and knife, cutting into the steak and began eating.

Jack's mother recovered after a while and fixed herself to sit back at the table. Jack could see she had bitten her lip, probably when she hit her head, and wiped it away with a napkin hurriedly. She looked dazed and in pain but made a show of taking small bites and eating. She apologized profusely to her husband about the quality and told him she would never buy steak from 'Robert's Meat House' again. He said it wasn't Robert who had fucked up and left it at that. Jack looked at his silverware that lay untouched. His father had noticed.

"Aren't you going to eat you little bastard?"

Jack shook his head 'no', he wasn't hungry anymore.

Remember Everyone! Reviews (no matter the content) are a writers best friend!