The end of school bell rang sharply in my ears. A spark of fear flipped my stomach and caught in my throat. Before I went home, I had to meet the boys. The boys aren't boys really, they're closer to men. One of them was waiting for me at the gate. He grabbed my arm and led me towards the empty warehouse where they hung out. He didn't speak to me the whole time. But that was fine. I'm used to being ignored. He pushed me aside, and I smacked into a wall and sunk to the floor. Rubbing the back of my head, I attempted to stand back up, but Dimitri put his foot on my chest and gently pushed me back down.
"House. You're late"
"I've got your money"
"Give it then" I pulled two hundred dollars from inside my pocket. I'd stolen it all from Father's safe. He thinks I'm stupid? He'll have to deal with it. I handed the money over to the man who had brought me there.
"Satisfied? Because I'd like to leave now"
"Oh I'm never satisfied, House, you know that."
"Can I have some more then?"
"You have more money?" I nodded at him, showing him thirty more dollars. It was enough for four grams of coke. He beckoned to another man, who took the money and gave me my drugs. I took them and stood back up.
"Thanks"
"See you next week, House. Don't be late" he said mockingly. I clutched onto the strap of my backpack and the little sachet of cocaine and ran out of the warehouse, the men's laughter chasing me down the road. I stopped just before turning onto my road. I didn't want to go home. It wasn't my home. I waited a few minutes, then trudged up the road, back into the house devoid entirely of happiness for me. Father opened the door before I knocked.
"You're late" what is it with people and being on time?
"Sorry" I wrenched the word from my lips. I didn't feel at all sorry. I just didn't want to cause another scene for my Mom; she hated it when we didn't get along.
"Is that all you have to say for yourself?"
"Yes Sir"
"Then you can stay outside tonight."
"But... It's dark already" I said uncertainly. He grabbed onto the sign of weakness.
"Why should I care?"
"Can't I at least come in to get something to eat?" he grabbed my arm tightly, making me wince. He gives me a look that says, quite plainly 'I don't give a shit' then shoved me away from him. He slammed the door in my face. "Father! Just let me in for a bit! I'm really cold! Please?" I begged. There was no answer. I turned and let myself into the back garden. It's not like it hadn't happened before. I just thought... Maybe I'd impress him today. Maybe someday he won't be so disappointed. If I can just get one more good grade, learn one more language, one more instrument, one more thing, then maybe he'll be happy. I went right to the back of the garden and sat down near the compost heap. Compost gives off heat. I breathed through my mouth to limit the stench. A single tear rolled down my face, but I wiped it sharply away. I never cry. I'm not weak, no matter what Father says. It took several hours and the entire sachet of coke to get me to fall asleep on the hard, muddy floor next to the rotting compost.
The sun rose gently from behind the house. I got up slowly, stretching every cramping muscle. It had rained; I felt the damp over my right side. As I stood up, I wondered if he'd left the backdoor open for me. He'd done that once or twice, usually on Saturday nights so that I could get changed in time to be forced off to church. But it's only Thursday. I didn't hold out much hope. As I'd expected, the door was locked. I couldn't change or get something to eat or anything. A sudden burst of anger swept through me and I kicked out at the door, releasing a shout, a confession of my failings, a desire to leave my Father and just run away. I turn and sprint down the road, following the path back to school, my only place of refuge. As I ran, I could feel the wind caressing my hair; I could feel the weight of the last few weeks lifting wonderfully from me. I'm happy when I run. Running is the only thing that really makes me better, that stops me from getting depressed. I turned into the school and ran for the chemistry lab door. Mr. Leo opened the door for me. I glanced at him, mumbling a thank you, and headed straight for my desk, no small talk. I didn't open the book; I just stared out into space, wishing I could be someone else. Or just not exist at all.
"Are you okay, House?"
"Why shouldn't I be?" I answered evasively.
"You have mud of your face" he said, calmly. I scrubbed at my cheek, embarrassment and shame flooding through me. I went over to the sink at the back of the lab and bathed my face in warm water. It's so unfair. Why do I have to come to school each day, covered in evidence that I'm a failure? Why do I have to be such an idiot? "Listen, House. Do you want to go to the music room today instead of doing chemistry?" he knew how much I loved the music room. I nodded at him, and we walked together towards the other side of the school. He took the keys from his pocket and unlocked the door. As I flipped on the light, stacks of instruments came into view. I exhaled softly, heading towards the old piano and moving the piles of ungraded essays off the stool. I gently touched the ivory notes, their sound glittering before me, eager to begin, to form music. I started with Mozart, swaying with the music, my eyes closed in the bliss of the sound. All thoughts of my Father, of the coldness in the garden, of the drugs that still lingered in my blood were banished, chased away by the beauty of the notes. As I finished the piece, I realised that Mr. Leo hadn't left. I turn to face him.
"You are a remarkable boy, House. I'm so proud of you" I can't help it. I cry. He comes over to hug me, but I don't want him to. I'm not supposed to cry. Don't let him see me cry. Mr. Leo hugged me tight, and I collapsed into his embrace. No one had hugged me for years. Why was he proud of me? I was a failure. No one could be proud of me. Father said I wasn't worth it. Mr. Leo let me go, and I wiped the tears from my face. "Would you like to use the teacher's bathroom? You kind of smell" I laughed. After my wash, I felt so much better, able to face another day of the other kids. I still wore the same clothes. You don't wear the same clothes two days running if you want to keep your dignity all day. Sure enough, it was only minutes after the bell rang before people were sticking their legs out to trip me, blocking my path and laughing at me. One day, they would all be fat and old and broken, and I wouldn't treat them. And it'd serve them all right. They all think I'm a freak because I'm smart and sporty and musical and yet I don't have any friends. I'll be gone in six months, max. We've been here a year already. My classes all slipped away in a blink of an eye, dull, dry, inadequate, and the final bell rang again. I detest that noise and its connotations. It means structure, other people telling me what to do. It's the signal that I have to go home. As I walked out of the gates, a boy in my grade steps out from behind the wall.
"Hello Greeeeg" he extended my name mockingly. I tensed my body, ready to fight him, ready to take any blow. "I saw you, snogging Mr. Leo before school today. House and Leo sitting in a tree..." he sang.
"I wasn't-" he interrupted me with more singing. Other kids joined in around me, a chorus of tormenting voices. I turned away and begin to walk home, but the boy grabbed me and slugged me in the gut. I doubled over in pain. Still doubled up, I charged at him, head-butting him in the balls. He yelled out, clutching his groin. Another boy grabbed me from behind, pinning my arms behind my back, leaving me completely defenceless. I struggled, not ready to just give in. I did enough of that at home. He was going to punch me. He didn't care about regulations, or other people seeing. I could predict his every move. He was going to punch me right in the nose. Sure enough, the boy stood up slowly and came towards me, kicking his knuckles. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see the fist as it came towards my face. A little girl gasped as the boy's fist hit my nose. I could feel the trickle of blood heading towards my mouth. Suddenly, overwhelmed with the same anger I see in my Father's eyes, I tore myself away from the boy holding me, drew back my fist and punched him back. Chants of 'fight, fight, fight' soon replaced the song. I was happy to oblige.
