Chapter Three - The Chocolate Freedom of Abuse
Jack walked in the front door of his house, sneaking a very secretive glance behind him that Pitch failed to notice, thankfully. I guess he decided to just watch me walk up to my house, he inwardly snickered as he leaned against the door once he was inside, I knew he was a stalker... And a handsome one at that.
While reveling in these thoughts, Jack stared at the hand that had briefly held Pitch's. It still felt warm, and it sent tingles throughout his body thinking of how warm the rest of him must be.
He was awakened out of his momentary happiness by a swift punch to the stomach.
"Where the fuck have you been, you ungrateful little bitch?" It was Jack's father, not that he would ever call him that. Fathers were supposed to love their children, not abuse, berate, and if they were drunk enough, sexually advance upon them.
His father didn't quite meet the correct definition.
A kick to the same place he had punched left Jack gasping for air and clutching his abdomen as he attempted instinctively to curl up in a ball to avoid more pain.
"Did you not here me?" His father growled.
"Yes, sir, I did," Jack managed to spit out.
"Look at me when I talk to you!" Jack un-tucked his head and unfocused his eyes so he wouldn't have to really look at the pitiful excuse for a man standing above him.
"Yes, sir."
"Where. Have. You. Been?" He asked, presumably for the last time, as he had his boot raised once again.
Jack honestly didn't want to give him the real answer, almost as if it would be a tiny victory for himself. "One of my classes ran late."
Another kick for good measure.
"Don't bullshit me, kid. I saw that car pull out. Who the hell were you with and what the fuck were you doing?" He was roaring now, and Jack found it difficult to think, let alone answer him. He stepped on the hand Jack attempted to push himself up with, the other of which was still holding his stomach.
Jack looked up once again, having lowered his head when he'd tried to get up. This time a determined fire was lit behind his eyes.
"I believe if you reword the question you asked, John, then my answer should suit you just fine." He paused, giving his father a moment to understand before he continued. "I was fucking a man a million times your class."
The boot that hit him in the face hurt in a triumphant way. It was worth it.
Jack spit on the floor, his pearly whites now a dark shade of red.
"Apparently you like being hurt, you fucking masochistic freak." He looked down at his son in disgust as Jack looked up at him in confusion, not understanding that his father knew such a big word. "I don't know how we ever could've had a child as disappointing as you." With that he walked off and up the stairs that were in the main entryway where Jack still lay on the floor.
Getting hurt this badly was a new move. Usually his father never hit him where people could see. After all, wouldn't want to be dragged away to jail, right? Jack felt himself lucky this time, though. At least his father wasn't drunk. It could've been a lot worse in a different way.
Jack struggled to his feet and leaned against the door once again. As he tried to get his breath back he looked into the living room to his left. His mother just sat there, eyes never moving from the T.V. She didn't seem to care too much about Jack, and he felt nauseous. He had always wished that at least his mother, Katherine, would stick up for him. But no, she hadn't from back when it'd started. Jack could remember that day all too clearly, and while he tried to shake his head and forget about it, the memory arose anyway.
He was only nine years old, just turned nine, to be exact. It was his birthday, December 6th, and he was excited that there was snow on the ground outside, since the birthday before was barren and snow was his absolute favorite at that age. He, Katherine, and his little sister Megan were waiting for his father to get home before they celebrated. When John had finally shown up, it was nearing ten at night and he smelt of booze. He had just lost his job at a low-standing law firm, and while his temper was short to begin with, on alcohol it was like his anger never left him. He threw Jack's cake and presents, crushing whatever was in sight. Katherine had grabbed Megan and tried to reach out for Jack before John grabbed him instead. Jack sent a pleading look at his mother before he saw Megan gripped tightly in his mother's hand. He mouthed, "Run," and his mother scooped up his sister and they did just what Jack had said up the stairs into Megan's room, most likely, from where he'd heard the bang of a door come from. He couldn't remember much after that moment, only that when he woke up his lips were swollen, he looked sickly pale, and bruises shadowed his face and body.
Jack never mentioned that day, neither did John, nor Katherine, nor Megan, though she was probably too little to clearly remember it all. Since then his parents had been very careful so as to not alert Megan to what was really going on. She remained blissfully unaware, but when Jack and John were in the same room, she always managed to get Jack to go play with her somewhere else. If Jack was able to pay attention when his father was anywhere near him and not fear for his safety, he might've noticed that she'd caught on. Maybe not to the full extent of what was done to Jack, but she knew to keep him away from their father. Megan was protecting him the only way she knew how, and Jack's subconscious was grateful for it.
He kept using the door for support, his breath coming in even rougher than before at what he'd just remembered. He stared forward now, not wanting to look at his mother. Their stairs were a dark-brown wood that Jack had never been able to place, not even after taking shop class in high school and acing it. It was the same wood that spread throughout the house like a disease. If there was something wooden, it was that exact shade and type. It made the house look neat, organized, basic; it made Jack sick just see. Any attempt his family made at looking totally normal made a little voice in the back of Jack's head scream at him that they weren't.
But Jack wouldn't believe it. He couldn't believe it. If he did the scraps of sanity he held onto would blow away in the wind, and then he'd never fully realize what was right and what was wrong.
After getting into his moderately sized bedroom, Jack collapsed onto his bed, not caring if he fell asleep in his clothes or not. Jack's room consisted of very little. A bed and a door against the left wall, a window on the far wall, a bureau on the right, and a closet on the front. He did manage to find the pocket that contained his cellphone, checking his messages before he planned to put it away on top of his nightstand that was to the left of his bed between it and the door. He only had one text, which wasn't all that surprising. Out of the mass of friends he had accumulated, very few actually bothered themselves with texting him. The one he was closest to, if he really thought about it, was the one the text was from. It was a boy named Jamie Bennett. A nice kid who Jack had grown up down the street from since he was in second grade and Jamie was in first. They'd been best friends until Jack had cut all intimate ties after when it first happened. Though it was nice hearing from him, in a way, Jack wished it had been someone else. Someone who had a sleek black car and an equally sleek black personality.
He sighed before opening it.
Hey, I saw you leave with Saint Nick, what happened?
It wasn't too late to reply, only a little past ten p.m., so he decided to.
He just needed some help with a new student is all, Jack texted.
It wasn't long before Jamie texted back.
Ooo, a new student? Is she cute?
Well, if guys are your thing then yes, he was quite cute.
There was a longer pause, which made Jack curious.
Haha, I guess I'll have to trust your judgment.
Another text came through from Jamie while Jack was wondering what to write back.
Are you busy right now?
Jack looked back at the clock. It was only ten-twenty now.
No, just lying in bed, why?
Meet me outback your house?
Staring at the text, Jack wasn't sure if he really cared all that much, but he figured he might as well, if only to piss off John if he found out.
Sure, see you soon.
Jack opened the window nearest his bed that was on the back of the house overlooking the yard. He clambered down, grateful that the shed was just below his window. He jumped off of the shed and landed with a soft thud on the grass.
Shit, he thought, I didn't lock my door. Jack peered back up through his window, wondering if it was worth it to climb back up, when he heard someone approaching. He whipped around to see Jamie standing there, looking the same as ever with his long, chocolate-brown hair falling into his face and blending with his equally chocolaty eyes. He was wearing a forest green T-shirt and dark jeans, though it might have been the lack of light in the yard that made the colors seem dark.
"Hey," Jamie said with a slight wave, not meeting Jack's eyes.
"Hey."
There was a silence that seemed to drag on forever.
"So... what did you need, Jamie?"
Jamie looked startled, almost confused, that Jack even remembered his name. They hadn't been close in a very long time, and the only way Jamie was able to be was if he joined in the crowd that always surrounded Jack and caught glimpses of him in-between classes, and then of course, there was the occasional staring contest he would hold with the back of Jack's head in the classes where he managed to snag a seat behind him.
He stuttered, "I was j-just wondering what you thought o-of the new student..."
Jack's eyes widened in annoyance, adding a slight furrow to his brow. "Jamie, why didn't you just text me that? I'm dead tired, it's been the longest day of the year, basically every part of my body hurts, and I just want to sleep. What was so goddamn important that you couldn't just text me?"
Jamie faltered, physically and emotionally, before he looked back at Jack. "I, uh, I..."
He made direct eye contact and Jack could see the determination that now flooded those mocha eyes.
Before Jack knew it, Jamie was on him, lips first.
