The Ruins of Our Lives Chapter 5
The Ruins of Our Lives Chapter 5
A/N: This chapter takes place two years after the last chapter (actually two years to the day of Tim's death). The family is still dealing with the death in about the same way, but there are also some other problems going on now.
-Yours truly, Randy Taylor
Randy's POV
Wow. Today is the two year anniversary of dad dying. Even in all of the hellishness that I live in now, I will always remember this date.
Things have changed so much. Mom has started drinking, as well as Brad. Brad is constantly beating on Mark, and sometimes he tries to beat on me. Mom doesn't even give a damn that he does. Usually she's passed out on the couch, or drinking her way to being passed out.
Wilson has offered several times to help, and even at one point offered to be her sponsor for AA. He always gets the same reply that two years ago would've been considered crude: "fuck off".
I honestly don't know if I can take another two years of this hell.
'Hey little bro, guess who's ready for their beating' says Brad as he wanders into the living room. I can tell he's drunk.
'Not me' I reply.
'Wrong, fuckhead' he says, calling me his favorite pet name besides "shithead". I wonder sometimes if he even remembers my real name. Just when he wants to really kick my ass.
At this, he picks me up by the shirt collar with one hand, and start punching me with the other hand. I've just learned to take the beating. Crying only makes him beat worse, and it won't make him stop, so it's pointless.
He punches me on my side, near my ribcage. Then again. Then again on the other side.
'Not so fuckin' tough now, are ya, shithead?' he says, slurring his speech horribly.
'I'm not crying, am I?' I taunt, knowing that this'll end the beating a little sooner.
'Brad, get your fucking ass over here if you want any booze' yells mom.
When he hears this, he throws me down, and stumbles over to the door. Yeah, like he needs more booze.
This pain is almost unbearable.
I wait for them to leave, and walk over to see Wilson.
He's not outside, so I knock on his door.
'Who is it?' he calls from someplace.
'It…it's Randy' I yell back through the pain.
'Oh Randy. What on earth has happened now?' he asks as he opens the door.
'Just Brad. I think I need to go to the hospital though. At least to get some pain medication. It's just really horrible this time. Wilson, he's getting better at punching, he's more accurate and swift with his blows' I say, trying to fight back tears.
Damn. This pain is so bad.
'Come on, get in my car and we'll go to the ER' says Wilson.
I walk, doubled over, to the garage, and get into the classic Mustang that Wilson has.
'What will you tell them this time?' Wilson inquires on the way to the ER.
'I suppose…No. I'm gonna tell them…the t-truth. I've gotta get the hell out of that house' I say through the occasional tear.
'Really? I agree, I'm just shocked. I thought that you were hell-bent against anyone finding out' says Wilson.
'I was. But this is so horrible. I can't take another two years of this crap. It drives me crazy' I say.
'Now what about Mark?' inquires Wilson. Now I know that he's just trying to kill time and keep my mind off the searing pain in my ribs.
'I'll tell him I'm leaving, but I can't tell him where. I can't tell a soul where I'm going. I'm sorry Wilson, but I can't even tell you where I'm going. I will call you sometime from a payphone maybe to let you know how I'm doing, but I just can't risk anyone knowing where I'm at' I say.
'So you are definitely leaving then?' he asks as we pull up to the Detroit Memorial Emergency Room doors.
'I don't have a choice, Wilson' I respond.
'I'll definitely miss you, Taylor teen' he says, choking back tears.
'I've changed my mind. I'll just say it was a fight with someone. It won't be a lie. If I tell the truth, then they'll try to set me up with foster parents or some BS like that. I don't want another set of parents. I just need to be away from mom and Brad, and I'll be fine' I state.
I walk into the emergency room quite a sight. I'm keeled over at the waist, due to the pain in my ribs.
The desk clerk hands me some papers to fill out, and I sit down to begin the long, hard process. I start coughing, so I head to the restroom. Before I can make it there, I begin coughing up huge spurts of blood, causing the white sanitary looking tile to turn bright red.
A doctor sees this, and takes me on back to be seen.
'Hi, I'm Dr. Bungy' says the woman.
'So, what seems to be the problem today, other then hacking up blood?' Dr. Bungy says with a smile.
'I was in a fight, and now I seem to have a little bit of abdominal pain' I explain, as if matters were in fact that simple.
'You was in a fight you say?' she asks as she's feeling around on my sides.
'Ye-yes' I answer, wincing when she gets to the places where Brad was punching me.
'Alright, I want to do x-rays just to be positive, but from the way it looks, it sounds like a couple of your ribs are broken' diagnoses Dr. Bungy.
'Okay' I simply say.
'Who's that with you there?' she asks looking towards Wilson for really the first time.
'He's my uncle. My dad's dead, and my mom isn't home, so he drove me here' I lie.
Then I toss Wilson a glance that says "for the love of God, go along with this story". He catches my eye, and understands completely.
'Okay. We'll have someone come down in a moment to take you to x-ray' smiles Dr. Bungy on her way out.
'What'll you do if they don't buy your story about being in a fight?' asks Wilson, sounding interested.
'I don't know. I guess I'll make them believe it, since it is partially true' I respond.
'Mr. Taylor, they're ready for you down in x-ray' a cheery young nurse says after us waiting for about 40 minutes.
'Alright. So, how do I get down there in this hospital gown without flashing everyone my underwear?' I ask, almost smiling.
I can't wear my clothes because they're soaked in blood. (Which means on the way home I'll have to wear my jacket and my underwear).
'Just have your grandfather walk behind you' she says flashing us a radiantly white smile.
I try to keep up with her, and try to keep the robe from showing off my butt, but can't do both at the same time, so I finally decide to let go of the robe, rather than asking Nurse Peppy to slow down her pace. I'm not sure, but I think I may have had a teenage girl whistle as I walked past. Well, if nothing else, I'll find a date here.
'Right through this door, and then on down. It'll be the first room on the left' says Nurse Smiley.
I still can't believe that they made me walk down here, and are making me wait here, sitting here in nothing more than a thin hospital gown and a pair of boxers that are about two sizes too tight.
Surprisingly the wait isn't long. Only about 15 minutes. (Of course, it is 9:00 in the morning on a Sunday, so they aren't that busy).
'Randy Taylor?' calls another nurse, who looks older and has a less radiant smile.
I stand up, not without much trouble. I'm not sure, but I may have just mooned an old man in the process. How embarrassing.
'Right back this way' smiles the older edition of Nurse Peppy.
'Okay, sir you'll have to put a protection vest on so the radiation won't cause any damage' says the technician who I assume will be running the x-ray machine to Wilson. Finally, someone in this damn place who doesn't smile 24/7.
'And you' the technician begins, directing this order at me 'need to go over there and stand behind that machine'.
'Alright' I say, walking over to stand behind the x-ray machine.
'I'm going to start up the machine now. I need you stand real still so we can get a good x-ray' the woman says.
It's funny how when you have to stand still, it's so hard to do, but I manage.
So I stand there like a statue and wait for the x-ray to be done.
'All done' the technician says after a couple of minutes.
'Now you can just head back to your bed, and a doctor will be with you once they've looked the x-rays over' instructs the technician.
Once we arrived back to the bed, I started coughing again. Again, blood came up, and some got splattered on my underwear.
The nurse who brought us back there saw this, and gave me a look.
'I am not taking off my underwear' I said rather harshly, giving the nurse a look that dared her to challenge me.
After about half an hour of waiting, Dr. Bungy walked in.
'Randy, the x-rays have unfortunately proved me right. Two of your middle ribs on both your right and left side are broken' she says with the best fake glum look that she can muster.
'Okay, so what can we do about that?' I ask.
'Well, they aren't fractured badly, so all we can do is wait for time to heal. I will prescribe you some acetaminophen with codeine for the pain' Dr. Bungy says.
'Okay. So am I free to go?' I ask.
'Yes. Drop this prescription off at a pharmacy before you head home' instructs the doctor.
'Alright' I say, just happy to be getting out of the hospital, but not happy to be going home.
As I walk through the waiting room, I get whistles of all kinds even though the blood on my white boxers looks a little tacky. Maybe I have a future as a stripper. Maybe not, but you never know.
Luckily Wilson parked the car right near the front of the emergency room.
'When are you leaving?' Wilson asks on the way home.
'As soon as possible, most likely once I can walk without pain. But I'm going to begin searching for someplace tonight though' I answer.
'I have a friend who could get you set up with an apartment' offers Wilson.
'No, remember, I can't have anyone knowing where I am. I want to just leave this life behind me' I remind him.
'True. Just let me know if I can do anything to help' he says with a smile.
'Alright' I reply.
The rest of the ride home is spent in silence.
When I walk in the house, I can see mom passed out on the couch, as always, and Brad is on the steps.
After I change clothes I go upstairs and find Mark.
I knock on the door.
'Mark, it's Randy' I say quietly.
'What is it?' he asks without opening the door.
'Brad really hurt me this time. He fractured some of my ribs. I'm sorry, but I have to get the hell out of here. I'm doing it tonight' I whisper through a small crack in the door.
At this, he opens the door.
'Take me with you' he begs.
'No, I can't. I don't even know where the hell I'm going yet. I just can't take this anymore' I say, regretting telling him this.
'If you leave me here, then Brad will only give me more hell because you left. I can't take this shit much longer' Mark says, beginning to cry now. Geez, he hasn't cried since dad's funeral.
'Alright, listen. I can't take you with me, no matter what. But I will have Wilson take you someplace. But you can't come with me. No way in hell' I say.
'Get your things together. Mom and Brad are passed out. When I come up here with my things, we'll leave' I command.
I head down to the basement and grab the biggest duffel bag I have. I pack all the clothes I can fit, a couple of my favorite books, my Tylenol 3 that I just got, and two pictures. One of the entire family, and the other of me and dad at a Tigers game when I was seven.
Next I grab all of the information I have about my bank accounts, and gather up any and all money that I have stashed in my room. I put the money in my wallet, and head upstairs with the duffel bag in tow.
Not wanting to risk Brad or mom finding out about my plan and trying to sabotage it, I take the bag upstairs with me to get Mark.
'Mark come on. I'm leaving now' I half yell, half whisper
'Alright. I'll be down in a minute' he says back.
I walk downstairs and look around at the house for one last time.
I go to the kitchen and grab a butcher's knife to use for protection in case something goes wrong. I put it in the duffel bag as well.
I grab my coat and put it on. As I'm doing so, I can see Mark coming downstairs.
'Come on. I'm going to take you over to Wilson's then I'm going to come back over here and take the Mustang. Mark, you have to be strong though. We both do. We can't look back. We just have to be strong and leave. It's what dad would want' I say.
I open the door, and walk over with him to Wilson's house.
I knock on the door.
'Wilson, it's Randy' is all I say.
'Randy, what's happened now?' Wilson asks, looking a little stressed out and ticked off.
'Nothing. I just need you to do something with Mark. He wants out, and I can't take him with me. We both just need to leave this life behind' I explain.
'Okay. Sure thing. Mark, I have some friends that you can stay with' Wilson says.
'Bye Wilson. I might see you again some day, but I doubt it. Don't worry though, I'll always remember you, and I'll always think about you too. I'll call sometime' I say, beginning to weep a little bit.
'Wilson, could you do me one last favor?' I ask.
'Well sure, what is it?' he says obligingly.
'Could you say "Heidi ho neighbor"?' I inquire.
'Heidi ho neighbor' Wilson greets one last time.
As I head out that door, I'm hit with a wave of sorrow and regret. You never realize how much you take for granted until you can't take it for granted anymore.
I walk over to my house for one last time.
There I grab my duffel bag, and walk out to the garage. To cut down on excess noise, I manually open the garage door. I put the duffel bag in the mustang, and then walk back inside.
Inside I walk over to the couch, where mom is.
'Bye mom. I know that this isn't the way the real you acts, but I can't take anymore of it. I don't blame you for anything. I might never see you again, but I'll still always love you' I say through a sea of tears.
Once again, I head out to the garage. I take a pair of needle nose pliers down from the peg board. Dad bought these when Brad, Mark, and I took his to make him a birthday present. I put those in my duffel bag as well. Then I take them out again, and set them on the front seat on the passenger side. At least this way I won't be making the trip alone.
I now start up the car, and pull out of the drive way, for the first time in my life, not knowing where I'm going.
I don't know if mom or Brad heard the car start, or hear the garage close through their drunken haze, and I don't really care.
As I pull away from 510 Glenview Road, I begin to cry. I can't believe I'm actually doing this. I may be free now from the pain and the hellish world of living with two alcoholics, but now I feel like I'm a prisoner of my past. But I can't let myself be a prisoner of the past for long. I need to just move on.
A/N: Geez, there's over 2900 words in this chapter, but there was no real way for me to split it up into two parts. There's just no one point where I can cut it off.
So from here on out, this story will be focused almost entirely on Randy. Mark will make the occasional appearance, and Brad and Jill may have a cameo or two, but it will mainly be about Randy trying to start his life over again.
Also, I know some of the medical stuff may be off, but I'm not a doctor, you know? But I do try to be as accurate and realistic as possible.
As always, please read and review. I love to get reviews.
Anyways, if you have any idea as to where Randy should end up going to, and how he might get there, let me know. (I'm thinking like some major city. Especially someplace far away from Detroit, like Chicago, Boston, et cetera). Just private message me, and if I like the idea, I'll use it. If I use it, I'll give you credit.
At this point, I'm just trying to think of things to write so I can get 3,000 words in this chapter. (Which I have now succeeded in doing).
-Yours truly, Randy Taylor