I feel like time slows down in the few minutes it takes me to wrestle the envelope open and I can feel myself trembling even as I stand there with the lined pages mom's written on, folded over three times. I run my fingers along the edges of the crease and slowly breathe out. I hate the way even my breathing is shaky but I can't control it anymore. It's like this involuntary twitch inside of me.
Dash
No 'dear', no 'my son I abandoned'. Just my name. It's just my fucking name but it makes my heart crack like I can hear it in her voice and goddammit, I can. I remember the days I came home from school and she would call my name from the kitchen, telling me she'd made cookies or just to ask me about my day. I remember coming home from work early and seeing the marks dad had left on her skin before he'd gone to the bar again. I remember her hands holding mine as I tried desperately not to make a fist. Because fists scared us both and we couldn't do that to each other. We were supposed to be safe spaces but she left. And she didn't take me with her. I guess she was a better safe space for me than I was for her.
I'm so sorry for leaving you.
Sorry? After all this fucking time, she's sorry? For what? Leaving me in general or because she left me with him? Does she think about me late at night or early in the morning, wondering how I'm waking up? If I'm bruised or not… God, she makes it sound like she fucking cares.
I have always hoped that you understood why I left you that day but if you don't, I'm here to explain. It was never you, Dash, my baby. I never wanted to leave you. You were the only good thing your father ever gave me.
If I'm good, why did she leave me? Why is it hard to convince myself that I'm worth fucking anything if she thinks I'm good? God, what did I do wrong? Is it because I panic when he screams? Because I resemble him and that scares her? Would I have been too much of a reminder to take with her? I wanted to go. I would have dropped everything if she would have taken me. I would have left this town and the job I have at Alex's. Paulina, Kwan, Valerie… I could have texted them all. Skyped them even. Fuck, why couldn't I have gone with her?
You were never my reason for leaving and I truly hope you understand that and you never blame yourself for what I did.
Blame myself? Is that the same thing as lying awake every night wondering why the fuck I couldn't have left with her? Most nights, the weight of the world is sitting comfortably on my chest and I can't fucking breathe as I wonder what I did wrong. Why I couldn't have left this place in my rearview mirror. Mom and I could have started over completely. Just the two of us.
What I did was selfish and I know that. From the bottom of my heart, Dash, I'm sorry for the pain I know it caused you. I know I hurt you and even though I don't deserve it, I hope you can understand why I did it. Why I had to leave.
You saw what he was like. When your father would get angry, you were a witness to the things that he would do. I couldn't stay there any longer and let him do the things he did to me. I still live in fear that one day, he might find me and that life will start all over again.
I wasn't just a witness. Maybe I was when I was a kid and I couldn't physically stand the blows my dad would deal us but I haven't been just a fucking witness in a long time. I've been on the receiving end of his hands since I was six and it's only gotten worse as time has gone by. Half the time I'm terrified he's gonna crush my fucking skull in and I won't be able to think straight anymore. Or maybe he'll bruise my ribs so bad my lungs will collapse and I'll die on my bedroom floor, gasping for breath.
A witness. Does mom really think I'm just a witness to the shit my dad does? Has she forgotten all the times I would put myself between her and his angry hands, taking blows that were intended for her? I hated watching him bruise her. The pain was always easier to deal with if it was my own.
I'm writing this letter to tell you that soon, I won't just be a victim of his anymore. I'm going to file for a restraining order and a divorce. I hope that if you can, you'll tell the truth to the police officers I've been talking to. You can tell them what you've witnessed and it'll help me break free of him. I know it's so much to ask of you but my lawyer believes that having a witness will greatly improve my chances of having a smooth divorce trial.
She wants my help. She's not writing me to tell me that she misses me or that she's had a change of heart and she's sorry that she left me. She wants my fucking help and it's the only reason she decided I was suddenly worth her time. Because I'm useful to her again. Worth something. God fucking dammit, I should know better than to get my hopes up. Why would she talk to me if she didn't have to?
My chest aches and I really don't want to read anything else she's written me. I don't want to hear about how great her new life is going and how she's better off without dad and her dead weight son hanging around her. Why did I ever think she was writing to me because she cared?
Some masochistic part of myself insists on reading this through to the end so I draw in a breath, letting it out slowly as I read to the end, not giving myself time to think in between what she's telling me. I just need to get it over with.
I know I can count on you to help me out here, Dash. You've always been there for me and I know you'll be here for me now. I can't really give you any details in a letter like this just in case your father's intercepted it. I truly hope it's gotten to you and not him as these words are only meant for you. My brave son. I can't imagine how you've must have felt the day I left.
As soon as I can, I'll let you know when I can meet you in person and when I can, I'll tell you everything you'll need to know to help me with this. Thank you, sweetheart, I know I'm not asking anything easy here.
With all the love in the world,
Mom
I can't breathe. Am I breathing? My lungs ache. I lose track of the letter in the blurry of embarrassing tears clouding my vision. Goddammit, I'm not supposed to fall apart like this. It's not fair of me to break into a million pieces like this. Not tonight.
A pained sob leaves me and I slam my hand down on the light switch, not caring anymore as I trip over everything in my room in my hurry to get to my bed. I can't do this. I can't break apart in the middle of my bedroom with the lights on. Only my bed gets to see this side of me and as soon as I collapse onto the mattress, I drag my pillow over my head to muffle my sounds.
I don't remember the last time I cried. I remember tears springing to my eyes from the pain when my calf was fucked up and again when dad crushed my ribs. But I don't remember this kind of crying. The kind that causes snot to run down your face and makes breathing in between sobs almost painful. Like your heart can't handle the break in between pathetic, splintered cries.
I feel like that same kid that first saw dad angry. We weren't at home the first time he shoved mom and it felt out of place. Like it only happened cause we were somewhere else. But he wasn't violent once. He had to keep going with it and keep going with it and it drove mom away. I drove mom away. Cause I couldn't fucking handle it.
A lot of people have said that crying is therapeutic. That it helps to purge them of the sadness they carry around with them and bottle up inside but for me it doesn't feel good. There's no relief when the tears finally leave me. There's just emptiness. A hollow sort of feeling washes over me when there's nothing left in me to cry out and I'm just left with my head half-under my pillow and my knees drawn to my chest. It hurts but it's an empty kind of hurt. Like the fading bruise that you occasionally run your fingers over to remind yourself it's still there.
My eyes sting when I roll over onto my phone and light up the screen but I apparently missed a text message from Danny. I didn't even feel or hear the vibration. I hope dad didn't hear me being such a pathetic fucking mess.
From: Danny Fenton
You did a great job today, Dash. And don't worry, it gets easier every time :)
He's apparently one of those people that adds smileys to the end of their messages. I can't decide if it fits with his personality or not. Oh fuck, why do I care?
My fingers tap out the message before I have time to talk myself out of it and I convince myself that pressing send isn't a mistake. I should probably talk to Kwan instead, tell him what the fuck my mom decided to write me with but I can't. I want to talk to Danny. Someone that doesn't know my past and every fucked up piece of me. Someone objective.
To: Danny Fenton
Do you think I'll ever get better?
I don't add 'at algebra' to the end of that question and I hope that AP classes has taught him more than math so he's able to read between the lines of my message. I just want to know if I'm kidding myself. I know I'll never rise above a job at Alex's and a shitty apartment on the other side of Amity Park but I just want to know if I can stop feeling like shit all the time.
I don't need to be happy every day of my life and I don't need someone waiting up for me on the nights I come home late. I just want to not hate every inch of myself all the time. I just want to fall asleep without replaying every awful thing I've ever done or without trying to fit my broken pieces back into place like some kind of fucked up jigsaw puzzle.
From: Danny Fenton
I do. I think you're completely capable of mastering algebra. You're smart enough to!
Of course. I shouldn't expect him to read between the lines of my message and tell me I'm not fucked up. I don't deserve that kind of message from anyone. No one should have to tell me that I'm not something that I clearly am. A letter like that would piss most people off. Not me. Me, it fucking breaks.
I click my screen off, letting the darkness of my bedroom have me again. I shouldn't hope for anything from anyone. It's not fair to put that kind of expectation on anyone. No one should be responsible for making me feel better. But damn it, I want someone to make me feel better. I want someone there for me on the nights I can't breathe and someone to run their fingers through my hair while I pathetically sob my way to dreamland. Wanting and deserving are two different things and I definitely only fit one of them.
My room is bathed in light again as another text appears on my screen and I blink against the sudden brightness. I should probably turn it down so I don't damage my eyes but I don't care right now. Because my breath sticks in my throat at the words across my screen and I really hope I'm not about to cry all over again.
From: Danny Fenton
Outside of algebra… I still think you'll get better. Whoever or whatever makes you feel like you won't is wrong. You're capable of a lot and you should give yourself more credit.
I'm still trying to figure out how the fuck he knows what to say when he sends another text through, reminding me that this is the second time I've been pathetic today.
From: Danny Fenton
It could also be anxiety talking (if that's what you have), telling you that you're not going to get better. But you can.
Goddammit Fenton, how do you know how to make me feel better? Two text messages. It only took him two damn text messages to make me feel a little less hopeless. Maybe it's because I cried everything out earlier but those two text messages from him make me feel… happy? I don't know. Maybe I just feel less alone staring at his words on my phone.
I want to respond back with something meaningful or maybe play off my insecurities as a joke but my brain can't come up with anything to say that's not lame or slightly gay. "Thanks for making me feel better about sobbing into my pillow for the past hour. Still up for tutoring me this weekend?" is the lame part. And I won't even get into the things my mind is coming up with that sound way too much like I'm hitting on him.
Rather than staying silent and letting Danny think that what he sent me was stupid, I force myself to type something and second guess it a million times before I hit send. I don't think I've ever held my breath after sending a text but there's a first time for everything.
To: Danny Fenton
Leave it to you to make me feel less pathetic. Thanks, Danny.
I hope it sounds pretty cool. Like I'm not waiting on the other side of my phone to see what he comes back with. To see if his words make me feel less alone again. Maybe it's because he doesn't know everything or maybe it's because he's outside of this situation but talking to him is nice. Better than if I'd texted Kwan.
Kwan's one of the most important people in the world to me but he tends to have an opinion about everything. And he'd tell me to get rid of the letter so I don't have to think about it anymore. He'd tell me to never open anything that came from her again. I don't know if I will but I don't want Kwan's advice on what to do yet. I'll come to him eventually. But for now, Fenton's a good distraction.
From: Danny Fenton
Any time! :)
I overanalyze that smiley and exclamation point to death, wondering if he's happy that I'm feeling better or if he's just happy that he doesn't have to keep talking to me to make me feel better. Fuck, not everyone can only be talking to me out of guilt, right? Isn't that statistically improbable or something?
The sun is beating down on me through the space between my curtain and the wall and I can barely open my eyes in the brightness. Shit, what time was it when I fell asleep last night? More importantly, am I asleep in my own bed or someone else's?
I roll onto my back, flinging an arm over my eyes. This sure feels like my bed. If I'd open my eyes, I bet I'd see my bedroom around me too. Jeez, I can barely remember last night, it must've been crazy. My head's not pounding like it usually is following an insane Friday night so maybe I didn't drink that much?
My arm scoots a little when I turn and I force an eye open, sweeping my gaze around me. Yup, definitely my room. God, did I throw a party last night? I can't remember a fucking thing. Jeez, I hope dad hasn't seen the damage yet.
As soon as I roll over onto my side, I catch sight of something near my door and suddenly, I can remember last night. Valerie came over. We had Chinese food. Dad and I watched football when he came home. I read mom's letter.
I don't know how I was able to forget for even a millisecond about the fucking letter. My chest aches again at the memory of what she chose to put in the letter. She only sent it because she needs my help. Because she wants me to help her stay away from dad forever. What about me? Don't I deserve to get away from him too? I can't tell if I want an answer to that or not.
My ribs aren't sore when I move and I almost wish they were. It'd be easier if I was hurting cause then the pain in my chest wouldn't feel so pathetic. I don't want to feel this way again. I want to open up Danny's texts again and read over them a thousand times to make myself feel better. Less like a failure. And if I could ever find my fucking phone, I'd do that.
I'm too frustrated to keep searching through these damn blankets so I just pull them off my body entirely, dropping them onto the floor in my journey to find my stupid phone. Just as I move the sheet, my phone falls from the blankets and onto the floor, making a dramatic sound that causes my heart to jump. Screen's not cracked though so whatever.
After I grab the damn thing from the floor, I flop down against my pillows again with a heavy sigh, drumming my fingers on the side of the device. I probably shouldn't use Danny for everything. I won't text him, I'll just reread what he sent me last night.
He's sent me two more since the 'Anytime' message and I wonder how I slept through them. Usually any kind of noise wakes me up or at least filters into my dreams somehow.
From: Danny Fenton
So you probably have things planned after your first game on Friday so is Saturday or Sunday better for you for studying?
From: Danny Fenton
Also if you're struggling with your homework, feel free to text me and I'll help you as much as I can over text!
God, this guy's gonna be the death of me. How is someone really just that nice? Is he really willing to rearrange his weekend based on which day I choose? Doesn't he have better things to do than tutor a quarterback? He still hasn't told me what he wants in exchange.
To: Danny Fenton
Whichever day works better for you is fine with me. I might take you up on that offer cause I still have like a page left to do
I didn't mean to respond immediately but he's a good distraction from the crushing weight still resting comfortably on my chest. God, I don't want to think about mom anymore. Can I just check out from life for the weekend?
As that thought crosses my mind, a text comes through from Kwan and from the preview, I can tell he's either freaked for some reason or super fucking energized. It might be ten but that's still way too damn early for that kind of energy.
From: Kwan
Where are u? Practice is about to start!
Oh, that's right. Fuck, we have an extra practice this weekend. Goddammit. If I tell coach my leg's bothering me again, he'd let me out of practice today but there's a chance he'd keep me from playing in the game on Friday. I can't miss the game. Dad's coming to watch me play.
With a groan, I force myself out of bed and head toward my closet, pulling out a pair of shorts and a muscle shirt, donning both before I look around for my cleats. I'm just finished lacing them up when there's a knock on my door.
I flick my gaze from the ground toward my door and my eyes are immediately drawn to the letter still splayed across the floor. The sight makes my stomach turn and I quietly move across the floor, gathering up the letter and shoving it underneath my mattress before I return to unlock my doorknob.
Dad's on the other side when I open the door and his eyes immediately run down my frame, arching a brow at my outfit. I thought he was working the morning shift, what the hell is he still doing home?
"What's up?" I choose to go with, leaving him in the doorway as I cross over to my mattress, grabbing my phone from where I left it next to my pillow. I keep myself busy by tapping out a response to Kwan before I look up at dad again.
To: Kwan
Running a little late. Tell coach for me?
Dad takes a hesitant step inside my bedroom and everything in me goes on high alert. I know the angry dad that's been there since childhood. And I know the happy 'so proud of my quarterback son' dad. This new version of dad is taking some getting used to but I don't think hesitant is ever a good thing with him.
"You headed out for a morning run?" he asks, his voice soft and only making my heart pound even faster. Fuck, why is he talking so quietly? I have to strain my ears to listen and I don't think that's a good sign in the quiet of my bedroom.
I shake my head and pocket my phone. I'm already running late and I should just tell dad that so I can get the fuck out of here as fast as physically possible. "Weekend practice," I say, slowly inching toward my door. I take a small half step and dad watches the movement. Should my stomach lurch at the way his eyes follow me? "I thought you were working the morning shift."
"I was but Henderson came in early so I left, thought I'd come home and see if we could do something today," dad says, eyeing me again. "But if you're busy, I understand."
Why do I feel guilty for being happy that I have an excuse to stay away from him? I finally have a reason to split and I could easily say that I'll be working today as well so I only have to be around him tonight instead of all day. But I feel bad for wanting to keep distance between us.
"I don't know dad, I'm probably gonna be working after practice," I say, dropping my gaze to the floor when he looks up at me. I give a half-shrug as my phone vibrates in my pocket. "How was work this morning?"
He exhales softly but the sound is loud in the silence. "It was fine. Andrea was telling me that her and Paula worked a scene last night of a break-in. Nothing was taken and there's nothing on the security cam footage."
"What was it then?" I ask, looking back up at him. "Some kind of prank call or something?"
Dad shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. It reminds me of the times when I do it and I wonder if I really am a reminder of him to mom. If that's why she didn't take me. There are probably a million other reasons why but maybe that's the major one.
"No, it wasn't a prank. Someone definitely broke in but we're really not sure who it is or how they even got in without tripping the alarms," he responds, shaking his head slowly. It's not uncommon for the apartment across town to get broken into and even the convenience stores are robbed every so often. But Amity Park doesn't really have a lot of crime. Aside from underage drinking, occasional possession of drugs, and drunk driving, this town doesn't really have a problem with stuff like this. It's probably just some kid looking for a way to pass the time.
"Well… I'm sure you'll figure it out. You always do," I tell dad. I want to reach across the distance between us and squeeze his shoulder or maybe even just touch him. But I can't convince myself to. I don't have the courage or the nerve and I can feel the tiny tremor starting in my right hand so I take my chance to leave. "I gotta head in to practice but I'll see you tonight."
Dad nods and smiles. "Good luck. Drive safe."
I don't remember the last time he told me to drive safe but it gives the illusion that he'd be worried about me if something happened. I can only think of three people that would worry about me if I didn't drive safely but knowing dad might be a possible fourth makes me feel good. Well… not good because I still feel like shit thanks to mom and my general self-hatred and the fact that I'm fucking shaking again but still. It's nice to know that on some level, he cares. As fucked up and twisted as our relationship has become over the years, I think we still care about each other. At least… I have hope.
A/N: Yo! You guys have a good week? I'm posting an early update cause cliffhangers are the worst, aren't they? Does that last chapter qualify as a cliffhanger? Most of the fics I've read that have a cliffhanger or two seem more dramatic than that. I don't know if it counts but yeah, cliffhangers are terrible.
I loved reading your thoughts last week about what his mom was gonna put in the letter, thank you so much for that! So uh... *cough* what do you think now? Has your opinion on her changed any?
Dun, dun, duuuuun, the return of Danny! I mean... it's just a couple of text messages so he's not technically back but still? Danny's just such a precious nerd isn't he? Like... goddammit Dash how can you not already love him?
So, here you get to see just how tied up Dash is with his mom. It's not just his dad that's fucking him over, his mom's definitely got a hold on him too. Dash just craves that parental affection so much, he's willing to accept even the worst of it just to feel like someone loves him. It's so sad, isn't it? This poor child needs a hug and I just won't give it to him, muhahaha! Alex hugged him a couple chapters ago, he'll be fine.
The title of this chapter comes from 'Left Alone' by Sleeping With Sirens. Fun fact, this is the first and - from what I can remember - the only chapter I titled before getting ready to post it. Normally I get everything ready on the site and before I actually hit the update button, I have to sit and think about the title of the chapter for like 10 years. But not this one! I titled it before I'd even written it. There's a few other lyrics in this song that I feel really fit Dash too but I went with one that stuck with me the first time I heard the song. If you haven't heard it, you should give it a listen. I thought about putting it onto the playlist for this fic but I decided against it for some reason.
I'll be honest with you, I've been struggling to put down words on this for probably the last two weeks or so but last night, I had a major breakthrough with the story and I wrote 2k in one sitting. I couldn't sleep and it was like 5am, what else was I gonna do? It's a really interesting scene though and I never imagined it'd be in there so it's a lot of fun to write on.
You guys are the best, thank you so much for reading this update and sticking with this story. Seriously, I see so many of you reviewing and leaving your thoughts and it's super nice to read. You're all just so nice and it's nice to know that poor Dash will always have people that want to see him get better. Unless you're like me and you want to see him get worse before he gets better. Heh... just me? Alright then.
Thanks again, you guys are the best!
