Tuesday
He hated leaving school today.
Well, he always hates leaving school, but today especially. He'd had a pretty pleasant conversation with Adam on the way back from McDonald's, and with the exception of gym (of which he cannot stand), the day had been normal. But now he's walking home again, and it feels a lot like yesterday. But this time he knows he won't be seeing a beautiful redhead storming out of his house. Adam had some after school activity going on and his parents were picking him up at three-thirty from the school. Tommy found this to be sweet, but it meant a lonely walk home by himself. Great.
He's walking in beat with the music in his head, something by Ace of Base, he can't really remember. Cecilia, maybe. Yeah— that's what it is. Cecilia, walk in the light, Cecilia, you're gonna live forever according to a well known song… Haha, yeah right. Maybe Cecilia will live forever, but Tommy's damn sure that he's not going to. No one lives forever, everyone has to die at some point in their life. He shakes his head and brushes the thought aside as he walks on, reaching his street with every step that he takes. His mood is dying out and he finds his slight smile curling into a mask of nothingness.
A breeze kisses his face and he's dying to take off his sweatshirt at any moment now. He will when he gets home, he tells himself. He pulls out his phone and checks it. Two missed calls, both from home, and it's quarter to five. He wonders what Adam's up to as he ignores the two calls and slides it back into the pocket of his jeans. He can't think about it now. He knows that he's running a little late again, but it's not his fault that he lives two miles from school and has to walk every day.
The heat is becoming slightly more than unbearable, and he's really wanting to rip off this fucking sweatshirt already. He will when he gets home. That is, if his dad lets him get that far before beating the shit out of him. 'Maybe he won't. There have been days where he's been passed out on the couch all day and you've had a time to rest and heal. Maybe today will be one of those days.' But he can't get his hopes up. If he does, the disappointment is even worse to deal with. He's already convinced himself that he can't pray for his dad to change. That kind of a thing will never happen, and he's had to cope with that knowledge his entire life.
He turns onto his street, finding himself in a déjà vu sort of moment from yesterday. The sun is beaming high, the sky is oceanic blue, and he's wearing the same clothes (he doesn't have much else). The only difference is he's not gonna see Adam coming out of his house. He's not gonna see the redhead until tomorrow, and this thought makes him a little sad, to be honest. He sighs heavily, running his fingers through his sweaty hair as his ratty Converse shoes slap the asphalt street. There's holes in the bottom, but since it rains so rarely, he doesn't really have to worry.
His pace slows and he climbs onto the sidewalk as a car rolls by. It's a Honda, light yellow. It looks familiar. Tommy's eyebrow raises slightly as he walks, watching the car swerve into the driveway of the Lambert house. Ah, that's why he knows it. He kicks at a rock, watching it bounce along the sidewalk before hopping down onto the street and rolling away. That's what he wishes he could do. Just roll away from his life. But he can't. He has to stay locked down until he graduates.
He hears car doors slamming and shouting. It's not a happy conversation, and he figures that it'd been going on in the car as well. The first voice he hears is Adam's dad— what was his name again? E—Eb-Eber! Right; interesting name, Eber. But he doesn't question it. The tone, though, in Eber's voice is more annoyed than angry. Tommy looks up through the short, frayed bangs of his hair (they just barely touch his eyes), and he sees Eber talking to the back of Adam's strawberry blond locks. They're home already?
"Adam— I'm not saying it's definite yet."
"I don't care, I'm not going to San Diego. I like it here." Adam retaliates, turning on his heel and staring coldly at his father. Tommy's heart freezes in his throat. They want to send him to San Diego? No, no, no! He can't go! Not when Tommy's just getting to know him. Not when he's finally found someone he can trust… Not now when he needs Adam's strength and charm.
"I understand that, son, but think about it. You're not getting anywhere with your singing lessons and you've barely maintained C grades. You don't seem to have any substantial friends— I think you're better suited in San Diego." Tommy wonders, very briefly, why they're having this conversation out here in the middle of the street. Their house is right in front of them, is it not? But that's not what his attention stays on. He becomes angry at Eber's words. It's not right for him to try to determine what Adam's future will be like based on the normalcy of his life now. Tommy isn't sure, he doesn't know Adam's life or his schedule, but perhaps…
"My singing lessons are just fine, as are my grades. And what does it matter to you who my friends are?" Adam's bright blue eyes are blazing and Tommy keeps his head low as he passed by the house. Eber's back is to Tommy, but he knows that Adam can see him. In fact, he can feel Adam's eyes on him as he passes by. He hates it, he hates that he can feel Adam's embarrassed eyes burning into the back of his head and he hates that he's heard what he's heard. His heart is thrashing in his chest as he disappears from Adam's sight— he can't feel the painful burn of those cobalt eyes.
"Son, your education and your future matter. I know you want to be a part of music, but you have to have good grades and good influences among your friends…" Eber's voice begins to fade as Tommy crosses the lawn. He doesn't like hearing Adam being torn apart by his own father. But he'd rather be torn apart with words than fists.
"The influences I get at school are better than the ones you provide." Tommy winces— ouch, that's harsh.
"Adam!" He's stepping up onto the porch now, the wood creaking under his light weight. He grabs the handle, almost eager. He doesn't like where he's at; between a rock and a hard place.
"Forget it, I'm not going!" He opens the door and steps inside, closing it behind him. He can't hear anything else, and for a moment he breathes a sigh of relief. But this relief doesn't last him long as he opens his eyes and sees an empty living room. It's even slightly cleaner than this morning. The furniture is arranged decently, the beer bottles are cleaned up the glass swept away. Fucking hell, the floor doesn't even look dusty any more. Tommy's throat closes up a little and he worries if he's stepped into the right house or not. The house still reeks as though someone has dumped a ton of beer and neglected it. So yes, he's in the right house.
His heart is heavy as he takes gentle steps further into the house. He usually doesn't make it this far without aching somewhere new. The house is oddly quiet and he's not sure what to expect or prepare for. It's too quiet and he swears he can hear his sweat gliding down the back of his neck. They can't afford air conditioning or fans really, so they boil in the L.A. heat. It's difficult sometimes. But he's learned to get used to it, since he's been here his entire life and hasn't left once. Peachy, isn't it?
Tommy shrugs out of his backpack, but keeps his sweatshirt on. If his dad happens to use something other than his hands, Tommy doesn't want the object of choice to be direct on his body. A little cushion (no matter how thin or worn out) never hurts, he knows.
He takes a step beyond the living room, reaching into the dining room when he hears his father cursing and Allison is screaming. His heart stops and he pushes into the floor, launching himself to their bedroom at the end of the house. He nearly trips over his own feet rushing through the kitchen and through the utility room. Their door is just twenty feet from him but twenty feet feels like a thousand and his mother is screaming so loudly that his ears are beginning to bleed, he's sure. His breathing is ragged and his chest hurts from Dad's beatings but he's too far gone to care about that right now; Allison needs him.
He grabs the knob of their bedroom door and turns it, ripping it open before stopping. Now, he's walked in on his parents having sex before, but this isn't an act of passion. This isn't remotely close to any of that and he wants to vomit right now. His mother's hair is clumped in Richard's fist, patches bleeding from where he's ripped out her golden locks. Her eyes are screwed shut in pain as her hips are pressed into the carpeted floor. She's naked, her bruised body gleaming with sweat and fresh marks on her back and thighs. Tommy chokes, watching his dad's jutting hip bones slam into his broken mother's lower back. Oh God— he's fucking her from the…
He falls to his knees, choking and dry heaving in the doorway. He can hear his dad shouting but it's as if it's in a tunnel. He feels large hands grabbing him by his hair and lifting him back up to his feet, dragging him away from his mother. He can't see her as tears stream from his eyes. He can't believe what he's seen. His own mother— raped? No… beat her until you're unable to identify her, but don't rape her. Tommy chokes aloud, coughing as Richard punches his stomach against and again, ripping his sweatshirt off of him. His eyes are squeezed shut as his dad tears apart Tommy's shirt as well, exposing his bruised back and chest. There's a moment where there's nothing but Allison screaming, and then he feels the leg of a chair slamming into his shoulders and ribs.
Doesn't anyone hear the screams? Is anybody listening? Please, God, someone call the fucking cops! Tommy's crying and he's being hit harder and harder. He's sure that his bones are breaking to fine dust and he'll wake up ten years from now from a coma. He opens his blurry eyes to find his dad leaning over him, eyes crazed and angry as the chair leg comes down and down and down. Stop it, stop it, it hurts. He's sputtering and wheezing for air. He won't be able to make it to tomorrow. He won't be able to go to school. He'll be in too much pain to move tomorrow.
Allison screams again and Richard stops hitting him. His body aches with every twitch and spasm. He's panting and moaning and wanting to just die. God, dying would be so nice right now— to just sleep and never again wake up. He'd be able to start fresh in the next life and hopefully have a better life. A better father who doesn't beat the shit out of him and rape his own wife. But that next life better include Adam.
Oh, fuck, Adam— Tommy fears that Adam can hear everything. The screaming, the crying, the shouting, the beating. Haven't they heard it for years? Why haven't they done anything about it now? Why haven't they called the cops, why hasn't anyone fucking saved them yet?
'Save us…' Tommy begs to no God. But he begs the universe, because he tries to believe that if he asks for better from something greater than everything, maybe it'll be considered. He feels a presence beside him and Tommy's eyes open wearily. Allison is hovering over him, her eyes red and grief-struck. She eases Tommy's head into her lap and he cares less that she's still naked and more for the fact she's holding him. He breathes in slowly, his breath shaking and weak. The next day's going to hurt like a bitch.
"Oh God, Thomas, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry… My baby boy…" She weeps, her tears falling on Tommy's face. He wants to tell her he'll be okay, but he knows he won't be.