Shades Of Blue

12. Little Pig

*WARNING FOR DRUG ABUSE AND PHYSICAL ABUSE. THIS CHAPTER MAY BE UPSETTING*

Benjie

September

Age 20

The loft reminded Benjie of the treehouse. It was bigger, but the bedroom that hung over the kitchen reminded him of his drawing nook. 

The loft came furnished, but his sister would periodically ship some of his things to him in the foreseeable future.

The plan was to stay for as long as Neel wanted to live here. It would still be nearly two years before he would graduate, but Benjie was willing to wait, whether he personally liked it here or not. He didn't know much about this city yet, aside from its reputation. B.C. Bud was famous, and this particular city seemed to have an opioid problem. He'd never done opiates before, not for fun at least. It's dangerous, a voice, Neel's voice at age 17 warned in Benjie's mind.

He sat on his couch in his new living room, slouched over the coffee table as he snorted a line of cocaine. He hated the taste that filled his mouth, yet he craved it when it wasn't there, that bitter, numbing taste. This stuff didn't mix well with his disorders, but it was the only way he could be around people without feeling like a misplaced freak.

That morning had ended on an awkward note. For the life of Benjie, he couldn't figure out why it all seemed so difficult. Neel was, in a sense, home to Benjie. Usually, Neel would take the reins of the conversation, but not today. He was different, now wounded and on guard. Neel had never been guarded before. He looked different, too, like a grown man was wearing Neel's skin. An imposter.

Benjie couldn't be angry with him for changing. That's what time does to a person. But Benjie hadn't changed, at least not in the same ways.

Ready to meet Neel, he grabbed his wallet and phone then headed to the elevator. On the ride down, Benjie studied the jagged, fading scar that branched across the knuckles of his right hand. It would never fully fade. He had torn the skin to the bone.

October

Age 16

Benjie's parents had decided to give their marriage another go, this time with more effort. His mother and sister had moved out for a month then showed back up in the kitchen for breakfast like they had never left. His father acted as though they had never left too, ignoring the main issues that had caused his wife to leave in the first place.

They were incompatible and probably should have never been married in the first place. Benjie was grateful, though. Living alone with his dad had been harsh without his mom and sister there to intervene. As brutal as Mr. Archer could be, Benjie couldn't bring himself to leave with his sister and mother in the first place. He couldn't move away. The only thing he cared about was here.

One night, in late October, Benjie sat at his desk in his room drawing as his favorite band screamed from the long, standing speakers. With delicate precision, he shaded in the shadows cast onto Neel's face by his glasses. He knew it was weird and obsessive, but his best friend was one of his favorite subjects to draw. Neel could never know, of course. That would definitely "confuse things," as they now said too often. Still, Benjie couldn't resist. Neel's features were perfect; handsome and strong. Neel himself was perfect, or as close as one could get to perfection.

It didn't make any sense to like both men and women. Benjie must have been more broken than he had thought. He had never heard of anyone liking both. He'd heard the term "swing both ways," but he wasn't sure it was something that was real. Even when he tried to seek out advice on the internet, he was met with a lot of porn and offers to hook up. When he found people to chat with, he was told that it was just a phase, that he was a slut and just wanted everyone, that he wasn't really attracted to men, or wasn't really attracted to women. He had told himself to just add it to the list of things to avoid so he could pretend to be normal. He would pick a lane as though it were that easy. It seemed like it would be a simple choice. 

The fact of the matter was that his father would not tolerate his son getting involved with another man. A possible solution was that Benjie could choose to stick to women throughout his life, or at least his father's life. Yet, he already knew it wouldn't be so simple. You can't help who you love, right?

In the bedroom next to his, Benjie could hear muffled shouting over his music. They'd been at it for a while now, nearly an hour and counting. Benjie did his best to stay out of it, ignore it and draw until he heard his sister scream clearly; "let go of me!"

Dropping his pencil on the desk, Benjie bolted out of his chair and flew from his bedroom to Ellie's.

Surrounded by lavender walls still adorned by pony stickers, Ellie and their father continued their screaming match. The problem seemed to be about Ellie's curfew.

Mr. Archer yelled in his daughter's face, shaking her like a rag doll as he squeezed her arm. They had gotten into plenty of screaming matches in the past, but their father had never hurt her before, reserving his pent-up violence for his son and wife.

"Dad," Benjie said from the door, hoping to draw him back into reality, where he would never lay a hand on his daughter. It didn't work, their screaming too loud over his voice.

Mr. Archer shook harder, spawning a look of terror in Ellie's bright eyes. "Let go. I'm sorry," she begged in pain.

"Dad!" Benjie shouted, shoving their father in the back. "Let her go!"

Fulfilling his request, Mr. Archer whirled around and backhanded his son in the mouth, knocking Benjie off balance. While he was down, Mr. Archer wrapped his son's dangling hair around his knuckles like boxing tape.

"Stop it!" Ellie cried, feebly rapping her fists against their father's side. "You're hurting him!"

Mr. Archer tried to pull Benjie up, straining each thread of hair and the skin on Benjie's scalp.

Scrambling for escape, Benjie gave his dad's shin a good kick, prompting the older man to grunt and curse in pain. Benjie managed to slip out of his clutches and ran to his own room, eager to put a door between himself and his father.

"You're running?" Mr. Archer teased, his voice seeping with pain-fueled rage. "I thought you wanted to fight, tough guy."

It was difficult to hear it clearly over the music, but through the door, Benjie could hear as his sister's footsteps quickly receded down the hallway as she fetched their mother.

"Little piiiig," Mr. Archer sang as he gently knocked on Benjie's door. "Let me iiiin."

Benjie jumped back as fists pounded at his bedroom door. He had no lock, there was only a slab of wood to keep him safe from what lurked in the hallway. Fear swelled deep within his chest as he backed away from the door, preparing himself for the attack.