Chapter 3

The rest of the school day, I could not pay attention to absolutely anything. My mind was focused on Sonny, and only Sonny. Sonny's voice still played vibrantly in my mind. The image of his face nicely envisioned when I closed my eyes. I replayed our conversation over and over again, that I lost count after a while. Teacher's lectures went in one ear and out the other. Luckily, it was only the first day of school. But I can't even imagine what getting to know Sonny better would do to my school life. I was always one of the best students. That was because I didn't have anybody to distract me so I could always do my best. So basically, in other words, I didn't really have anything to think about. I didn't want to see my grades drop, especially in my junior year.

"Aiden? Aiden, are you listening to me?" asked Mrs. Lens, my Advanced Algebra teacher. She was looking down on me with her beady, black eyes. I felt very uncomfortable at that moment. Nobody really likes Mrs. Lens, they just put up with her.

"I. . . Uh. . . I'm sorry. It won't happen again Mrs. Lens," I muttered. I pulled myself out of Dream Land and back into reality, glancing around at the snickering faces that surrounded me. I swallowed then looked back down at the desk in front of me, hoping she'd look away soon.

"I would hope not, young man. I don't tolerate daydreamers in my class." And with that, she turned around and continued her lecture on this year's curriculum. I felt so relieved. Her glance was unnerving. I thought to myself, 'What is this guy doing to me?" Shortly later, the bell rang and I trudged out the door, swinging my messenger bag over one shoulder, the way I always do.

'Only one more class to go,' I thought. Good God. The thought that I had actually made a friend now elapsed into my mind. I, Aiden, do not have friends. I have not made a friend since the first grade. And obviously, we all know how that went. Now I could only hope that this friendship didn't go the same way. I knew I was worrying about it way too much. I mean, I just met this guy. How do I know he'll run away like everybody else? Well, that's exactly my point. He will run away like everybody else. What good am I to anyone? I must not be any good, that is. Nobody has ever stuck around, been a constant. Even my own father hated me. 'Oh, shit,' I thought. My father. I almost forgot that he came home from his business trip today. Now was the time that I was afraid to go home. During the school year, school was my sanctuary away from home. During the summer, I wasn't so fortunate. Although, I did spend a lot of my time at the library, I couldn't run forever.

As I sat in my desk in my final class, I glanced at the clock. It was 2:45. There was only fifteen more minutes of sanctuary time, before I had to go back to hell. I fiddled my thumbs for a while, nervously tapping my feet. I hated school, yes, but home was an entirely different story. And unfortunately, you and I will soon find out why.

I drove into the driveway of my two story, white house with blue shudders. It was the ideal looking residence for Middleton. Most houses here were nice houses. There isn't really what you would call a "ghetto" like in Chicago. It was a peaceful town, but behind that door, was one place I was afraid to be. I hesitated for a moment, deciding whether I really should go inside. Maybe today would be a decent day at home. You never really know until you find out. With that, I got out of my car, gently closed the door, and reluctantly walked up to the front porch of my house. I turned the door handle, regretting it the second I did, and walked inside. My father, Royce, if you prefer first names, was seated on a stool by the kitchen counter. He was intently looking down at the newspaper grasped in his hands. Something must have been interesting, or he was just pretending. When he heard my quiet footsteps, he looked up at me with scorn.

"Psh, you're finally home from school. It's about time," he muttered. If you thought the kids at school made me feel bad, this guy made me feel worse.

"It's nice to see you too, Dad," I said, flashing a fake smile across my face. In all honesty, I was not happy to see him, but hey, a guy's got to pretend sometimes.

With those words, he narrowed his eyes, then relaxed his shoulders with a soft sigh saying, "Sorry, son. I just had a hard week." I didn't know whether I should be relieved, or afraid of those words. I couldn't ever tell with him. He slowly rose off the kitchen stool, came over to me and gave me a swift hug, locking his strong arms around my shoulders. I didn't hug him back, and that he did not like. "What, you can't even hug your own father?" he said furiously. There I go again. The second time in one day I pissed off the enemy.

"Do you know how much I do for you? Why can't you just appreciate me, you fucking ingrate?" he screamed. This wasn't going well. "I bust my ass working. It's all for you. Since your mother died, all I do is work, work, work. And for what? So I can come home and take shit from YOU, my own son?"

I just stood there, silent. I didn't know what else to do. I never knew what to do when this happened. And now, tears were starting to fall down my cheeks in shallow lines. I'm not sure whether it was the insults, or that he brought up my mother. For some reason, whenever he talked about her, I couldn't help but cry.

"Why are you fucking crying, boy? You're so goddamn worthless. Why do I even keep you?" he spit through his teeth. He was getting angry, very angry. With that, he walked up to me, pushed me to the ground and began kicking me on my back, one kick after the other, each in the same exact spot. And what did I do? Nothing. I couldn't do anything. He outweighed me by at least 100 pounds, and besides, he was my father. In some weird, twisted way he loved me, and I love him. I have no idea how, or why. But I did. I think it was just the fact that he's my dad and I have no choice. Although, if anybody would ask me if I did love him, I'd deny it. So feel special that I told you the truth.

His kicks sent shudders throughout my body. After maybe ten or eleven kicks, he stopped, and began crying violently. I just lay there, gasping and coughing for breath. He left me there. He grabbed his black leather jacket, car keys, went out the door, slammed it, and left me there. I hated him for it. I just sat there, crying and thinking. Thinking about what I ever did to deserve this. Thinking about if Mom was still here, if this would happen. But it didn't matter. She wasn't here; she hadn't been since I was three years old. I missed a memory that I didn't even possess. A memory of a ghost. Dad missed her so much, obviously. But that gave him no right to do what he did to me. Although, what did it matter? I was unloved, unwanted, and uncared for.

After about ten minutes, I tried to get up. It hurt immensely. Luckily, he didn't kick my spine; otherwise I'd probably be fucked up pretty badly. I managed to pick myself up off the ground and slowly, but surely walk up the stairs to my bedroom. I walked through the door. I just stood there, staring at the posters on my walls, my guitar in the corner and started crying again. Even crying hurt, but I didn't want to stop. I closed my door gently and quickly locked it. I didn't need that same catastrophe all over again when he came back, if he came back. I was hoping he wouldn't. Well, of course I knew he would eventually, but I hoped it wouldn't be until tomorrow. That's usually what he did when this happened.

I walked over to my bed, and laid down on it. After all of that, Sonny still managed to creep into my thoughts. It took away some of the pain, to be honest. Good God, what was wrong with me?

Ten minutes passed by, and I fell into a dreamless sleep. Thank God it was dreamless. Who the fuck knows what I would dream about otherwise.