A/N: Continuing on with 'getting to know the characters' before we 'shove le drama on le characters.' Jokes this is kinda-really-dramatic. …. :) Review please!
About a week had passed since I'd returned home, and as my father had promised I was locked in my room with nothing to do for hours. At first I had figured it wouldn't be so bad. I had my books. But when I came to my room I found I didn't, and the only book I had was the one I had brought with me to Paris. The rest were in the library, which, given the circumstances, was completely off limits to me. Reading was really the only thing I had to do. I mean, I couldn't see my friends, I couldn't speak with anyone, and being a wizard, Internet wasn't really an option. I slept the first few hours, and once I had gotten more than enough sleep I re-read the book from my bag. And re-read it again. And again.
I'd paced for a bit, tried to sleep a bit more, and when I really couldn't take it anymore I stared out the window for about a half hour. I had never realized it, but being alone for so long with nothing to do could drive a person mad. I needed to talk to someone so badly. I wanted to go see Ashley, or at least write a letter to her. Three had come from her already. It was good to know she cared. My hand kept twitching toward my quill, and my mind kept thinking to her phone. My cell phone was in my bag, but too afraid to use it I hadn't taken it out. I could easily imagine my father hearing something and barging in, ripping the cell from my hands and crushing it with a flick of his wand. The same with writing. Not only would he rip my letter to shreds if he found it, but I'd probably get hell for breaking more rules. I knew the consequences for breaking them. I wasn't really ready to risk it yet.
I still had marks of two days ago, and without a wand, the healing process hadn't gone too well. I couldn't do magic yet, so I had to clean my face up muggle-style. There was a large gash on my forehead, running down to my temple. It was caked with dried blood, and after a while I had just left it to stop the blood flow. A small cut ran across my left cheek, but the thought didn't worry me too much. It was already starting to close up. My neck and back head were covered in bruises, which believe it or not actually made my neck hurt like hell when I turned. I'd tried keeping my neck straight, but that only made it ache worse. I suppose it was kind of good I wasn't allowed out. Hopefully the marks would be gone by the time I stepped back into the real world and no one would know. It was better that way.
I had only left my room exactly thirteen times since I'd been in here. Well, not counting the time I opened the door and took two steps out. It had been bad timing. My father had been on his way up, and by the look on his face he was not in a happy mood. He had slapped me once more, yelled at me that I was told to stay IN my room. Stupid bastard. I did as he said, but I was pretty sure had I tried to leave again, I would have found the door locked.
Each time I actually had gone out, it had been for the purpose of meals. The first day I had missed breakfast and lunch, due to the little "run-in" with my Dad. I'd been called down for dinner though, and starving I'd gone down and ate without a word. I was pissed though. Beyond pissed. And the next day when I had been forced to sit through the other three meals, I glared most of the time. It was kinda surprising no one said a word about it. I went down, I ate, I went back up. That's how it was.
It was lunch time now, and I was still seated at my desk, quill in hand. I had thought I heard the front door close, and I was hoping my parents had gone out. I was hoping actually, to write a letter, but once I was actually sitting down I didn't know what to write. And it was kind of hard concentrating, because the fear of my father walking in was scaring the shit out of me. I'd never been so nervous in my life.
I felt stupid, and I hated him for making me feel like this. I felt like some scared little boy, running from the monster. I was sixteen. I could handle it. I was a Gryffindor for God's sake! I was as brave as you would get!
But, as much as I tried to convince myself that, my heard still pounded nervously every time I heard heavy footsteps on the stairs. I don't know why, but I couldn't control the feeling. It just happened.
I glanced back to the door in a seriously paranoid way before returning to my paper. There were two words on it; the only two words that came to mind. Hey Ash. I was too nervous to think, so I went with the simple approach. I didn't want it to sound formal or anything. I wanted it to sound like a letter to a friend (well, girlfriend now), not some solemn note explaining how my father was a phsycopath that was abusing me.
You know, the only thing wrong with being a wizard was the lack of care. Muggles need just about every document and piece of information about them that you could possibly think of. Wizards? Most don't even know what a legal I.D. is. Well, okay, I didn't know until about a month ago, but that just proves my point.
In the muggle world, there is something called Kids Help line. Ash and I were totally discussing it. It's this line where any kid can call, complain about the 'rents, and in no time they are being moved to a better home and safer environment. In the Wizarding World? You call the ministry about it, and they'll call your parents to tell them to punish you for interrupting the work. It's completely mental. Here, it's roughly about 75 percent normal for a father to beat his child. Now, how sick is that? It's like the whole world is still living in the 1930's.
I sighed frustratedly and dipped my quill in ink again. Slowly I began to write.
Hey Ash. Sorry I haven't been answering your letters. Thanks, by the way. Anyway, 'rents were home and kinda flipped that I left. Dad yelled at me then grounded me. It's fine, I'm totally cool with it... I actually wanted to laugh about the whole thing. So I'm stuck in my room for a bit, and if my Dad catches me now I'll probably get grounded for another week or something stupid. So can't make it long. As much as I love the letters, it would probably be best if you sto
The door to my room opened and I dropped my quill, spinning around to see who it was. Really, I almost had a heart-attack. I knew it was probably my Dad, come to check what the hell I was doing up here. Thank God though, it was just the damn elf. Sheepishly it came over to me, making me heart slowly regain it's natural pace.
"Mr. Ryan," said the elf, hobbling awkwardly toward me. I let out a small sigh of relief and turned to it.
"What now?" I muttered, looking down at it. It nervously wrung it's hands together, glancing up at me every now and then.
"Lunch. ...L-Lunch is ready, sir."
I sighed at it's fear and nodded simply, gently. "Thanks. I'll be right down."
The elf nodded and backed away a few steps before scurrying out. Stupid thing. I glanced back at my letter and sighed, needing to finish it quickly. I did, telling Ash it was better she stopped mailing me, and that I'd see her soon enough. I told her not to worry at all, that I'd be fine, signing it with a signature J at the bottom. After folding it and sealing it with a wax stamp, I went over to my window, hoping to find my owl. Sure enough, was Dartmouth. He was perched on the sill, happily nibbling on some food, calm and content in his serene reality. He lifted his small head up when I came, and I quickly pet him, hoping he'd be silent. As if to mock me, Dartmouth let out a soft hoot and I glanced back, making sure no one had heard. It seemed like they hadn't. I turn back and gave the letter to the owl, putting it in it's beak.
"Ashley." I told him, pushing him a bit. Dartmouth hooted in response a flew away, my letter safe in his mouth. Smart bird.
I moved back from the window and to my bed, were a crisp white shirt was laid on the duvet. Shrugging it on and I buttoned it up, staring out at the window as I did. I slid my belt back through my pants once I was done, having thrown it to the side before. If it were up to me, I'd be dressed in a light blue shirt and jeans right now. But obviously that wasn't acceptable.
I slipped on socks and shoes before making my way down stairs. No way I was wearing robes. Hogwarts, when I left the house-I'd wear a cloak. I understand that. But now I was doing nothing but sitting in my room a whole day. Wearing the bloody thing seemed absurd in my mind. So I made my way downstairs, sleeves rolled up and top button undone.
None of the two said a word to me as I sat down, pulling my chair in behind me. I looked up to them awkwardly before pouring myself some pumpkin juice and taking a sandwich onto my plate. It wasn't three seconds before someone made a comment.
"What took so long?" my father asked, setting down his fork. He looked at me with that gaze that made me want to rip off his head. It was just so...condescending? I kept my gaze to my food and started to poke at the peas that I had just put on my plate.
"Um...getting dressed," I muttered, squirming once in my seat. I could still feel his gaze on me as I took a bite of my sandwich. "Sir." I added bitterly, putting some emphasis on it. No way was I calling him father.
"Yet you're only in a shirt and pants." he muttered, narrowing his eyes. I felt uncomfortable with him watching me, and still avoiding his eyes I took another large bite of my sandwich. I ignored him and continued to eat. He glared at me for it, and it looked as if he were about to open his mouth and reprimand me. Father seemed to change his mind though, because after a moment he dropped his gaze and continued eating. Thank God.
Lunch continued in deafening silence. Finally I finished eating, and after three sandwiches, an apple, and two glasses of pumpkin juice, I stood. My father had left a few minutes earlier, and my mother, who I knew was done eating, had stayed behind. It was kind she cared, but resentment still filled my mind every time I saw her. She should do something. She should stand up for me, or at least effing heal me.
I pushed in my chair and glanced at my mother once more before making my way back upstairs. Back to that room. The room which I would stay in for a whole five hours. With absolutely nothing to do. Wow, that sounded great. One foot on the stairs I stopped, suddenly getting some stupid idea. I looked upstairs and around me, making sure my father wasn't around. Thankfully, he wasn't. Hoping against hope he was in his study and backed down the stairs and made my way around them, continuing down the corridor. At the very end was the library.
Slowly I walked toward it, trying to keep my footfalls light on the floor. Not light enough I s'pose, because in seconds my mother was behind me, wanting to know what I thought I was doing. I turned around and answered her simply.
"Library." I murmured quietly, not wanting my father to hear me. I'd be dead. "I wanted to get a book."
"Jake, you know you wouldn't be allowed. Your father would have a fit." she muttered, crossing her arms. She shook her head at me, obviously disappointed by my behavior. Great, like I gave a damn.
"...So. Give me permission." I said, kind of ticked with her. With look my mother gave me back, you'd think I just asked her to fly me to the moon.
"Excuse me?" she asked, voice parenting.
I repeated what I said, firmer this time. "Give me permission. You are my mother are you not? So give me permission to take a book out. Your my parent too, don't you think you should have some say in what I can and cannot do? Please, don't pretend, you think this is as unfair as I do. So go on, give me permission."
She stared back at me, as if unsure of what to say. "Jake..." she started and then glared at me, shaking her head. "You have a nerve. You know that? You deserve this punishment running off like that. Your father has reasons for doing what he is. And giving you the luxury of taking out books when you please is ridiculous. There's a reason you're to stay in your room, Jacob. And I suggest you get back to it. NOW."
I ignored most of what she said, my entire focus directed to one particular thing. I deserved this. I deserved this?
"I deserved that?" I whispered, a rush of anger flooding through me. "Grounding, yes. Beating, no. I don't care if I'm insolent, or a child, or Pureblood, or British or if this family is old fashioned or whatever. I know kids who get slapped. Hell, it's common. But...I didn't deserve that. I didn't. And to think for a second you might have agreed with me, or even CARED that-" I stopped, my voice cracking. What the fuck was wrong with me lately? I couldn't control anything. I stopped and took a breath before continuing, voice becoming firm once more. "I thought you 'cared about me'. What the hell happened?"
My mother stared in response, either outraged that I was talking back to her, or surprised by my words. I hoped they hurt.
"You...you care. You're supposed to care. You're my mother. But your scared of him. I know you are." My voice lowered to a whisper but I continued, my words coming out like ice pellets. "You refuse to stand up for your own damn son, let alone tell him it's wron-"
"Jake that's enough. Shut your mouth this instant." my Mother said firmly, voice as cold as ice.
"No-no I won't! You live this shitty life, following everything he fucking says and does! I can't TAKE this house. I can't! I can't take this house, this family, him, YOU. I can't take it anymore!" I felt like tears might start from my yelling but I didn't care anymore. I really didn't. I'd kept my mouth shut for 16 years-it was time someone heard this.
"I grew up alone, Mum! ALONE. By the time I was five I had to learn to fucking take care of myself! You never cared about me! Ever! And ANY time I try to make my life a tiny bit more happy you kill it! Both of you just seem as if you want me to have some miserable life! My friend's-My friend's have PARENTS. They have families, okay? And even the ones that don't? They're parents loved them. They cared for them, they listened to them-they didn't take of when the kid was six, and come back two weeks later! You think I fucking knew what happened? I didn't. I didn't know where the hell you were, okay?"
My vision was blurry, and to my surprise my eyes were...wet. I couldn't remember the last time I'd actually produced tears. I was just so pissed at everything, I wanted to lash out. I wanted to tell her about every little shit thing she's done. I wanted her to know how much she ruined my life. I wanted her to feel pain from it. Apparently shit like that brought tears.
"You went along with EVERYTHING he did," I continued, voice shaking. "You stood and watched me and you didn't say a word! While my friends grew up living brilliant lives I got stuck with the two people who don't even know I'm on the quidditch team in my school. I'm CAPTAIN. I got Captain." Her face was expressionless and she watched me, listening to everything I was saying. But I wasn't done yet, and I wouldn't let her talk.
"The Bloors, they wonder why I'm never home. They wonder why the HELL I'm at their house every fucking second of the day! And I have nothing to say! And while they're having Christmas together I'm fucking home alone with some stupid elf! You don't CARE. You DON'T. For once I just needed a BREAK. You wouldn't have let me go to Paris! YOU KNOW YOU WOULDN'T HAVE! I wanted to be with someone who CARED about me for two FUCKING weeks! To be around someone who actually loves me!" I stopped for a minute, thinking how utterly lame that sounded. Had it really come down to this? Well, at least I knew it was true.
I shook my head and sighed, my voice lowering again. "God-did you know that? Did you know I'm dating her? Did you know I'm in love with her? Did you even care?" I was on again, shaking my head and blinking back tears.
"You sit around every day letting my life get worse and WORSE! You never tell him when it's enough, you just SIT THERE! What kind of fucking parent are you? Your not a mother! You're not... You're just some woman who probably wishes she could have done it differently, and when you realize it's too late, you stop caring. That's what you are. That's all you are." I whispered the last part, glaring at her through blurry eyes. "You're a fucking sorry excuse."
Moments of silence passed, and her eyes glassy she stared at me still. The next words out of her mouth were the four words I didn't want to hear, and the four words I didn't think she'd say. But I expected too much. In this household, even a word of kindness from your mother is too much. It always is.
"Get to your room." she hissed, glaring at me. "GET TO YOUR ROOM!"
I stood there for a moment before shaking my head and storming off past her. It was hopeless. It really was. They didn't care, and I needed to except that. How could I think she actually felt differently? Obviously not. I wiped the tears from my face hastily, fresh tears still forming. I was choking on them, trying to make them stop. The efforts were useless. I ran straight up to my room and slammed the door loudly, kicking the dresser hard as I walked in. The room was silent except for my heavy, hitched breathing. I sat down at my desk and buried my face in my hands, the tears coming out none the less.
What was wrong with me?
Unable to keep my frustration pent up, I let out a choked sob. I couldn't help feeling the hopeless weighing down on me, pushing into my shoulders like a physical message. A message that said 'You told her. You did something. You opened your mouth. And no one gives a damn. Nothings going to ever change."
Breath shaky, I took in another gulp of air as more tears snaked through my fingers and over my cheeks. I sat, and I cried. For once in a long, long time, I sat down and had a good hard cry.
