Can You Feel My Heart?

Broken

Fifteen Days Before:
*Flashback*
Walking down the hall, Jake remained next to the dark blue lockers that lined the walls. His green sweater made him hot, but he refused to take it off. He didn't want to risk someone seeing the bruises.

He walked into the classroom and sat in his usual seat: farthest from the door, in the middle of the row, right beside the window. Taking his bag off of his shoulders, he winced quietly at the pain in his right shoulder. A fresh bruise and cut from a beer bottle thrown at him the previous night.

He closed his eyes and took a seat, trying not to remember the date. But it was already on the white board. October 5th. He had two days, just two days, until his father's tradition would be repeated.

Jake wanted so badly to move out, to get as far from the man he called father. But it wasn't so easy. He applied for multiple colleges, but none of them ever got back to him. He had walked home from school everyday, checked the mailbox, but always found nothing.

One day, he amassed as much courage as he could and asked his father if anything came for him in the mail.

"You expecting something," his father asked. He was almost completely drunk, and his words slurred together.

"Yes. I'm waiting for the replies to my college applications," Jake mumbled. He was uncomfortable and scared. Waiting for his father to explode. He was always waiting for unnecessary punishment.

"Boy, I hope you know that you ain't never gonna get into college," he slurred. His hands clutched at the half empty bottle of liquor. Across the room, Jake's bottom lip trembled.

"I'm sorry I asked," he whispered, already escaping to his room.

•••

*Present*
In class, Jake tapped his pencil against his desk, over and over. The girl next to him gave an exasperated sigh, obviously annoyed. He stopped tapping immediately. After everyone was seated, the teacher wasted no time.

"Finals start next week, so we will be reviewing everything," he said. Everyone except Jake groaned in unison. The teacher continued. "Now, take out your notes and open to page four ninety three in your textbooks. We will begin with Chapter Nine."

Jake glanced out the window. Across the grass, he could see another classroom inside building seven. Staring, he noticed the boy with big brown eyes to match his brown hair. Jaylnn. He was three years younger than Jake, so he was a freshman.

Jake loved his brother, he really did. He never once wanted his brother to feel the type of pain he did.

Jaylnn was a good kid, he never got in trouble. He had a good amount of friends, and got along with most of the freshman class.

"Mr. Kennings."

Jake blinked at the sound of his name. "Yes, sir," he asked. A teacher had never called him out before.

"I'd appreciate it if you would pay attention to the review, and not the freshman building," said the teacher. Jake blushed.

"Sorry, sir," he muttered. He didn't like the attention he was getting.

•••

Later, when the school day ended, and the red was fading from Jake's cheeks after he stumbled his way home, Jake laid in his bed. It was almost six. The time his father decided to torture him. He waited and waited. Tick, tock.

His alarm went off quietly. It was time. Jake sat up quickly. He heard the heavy footsteps on the steps, felt the floor shake as his father stomped his way down the hall, and into Jake's room.

One, two, three! A smack in the face. A fist to the jaw. A kick to the stomach.

"Dad, please," Jake begged. He was surprised. He had never begged. His father didn't say anything, he just grabbed Jake by his neck and slammed him into the wall. Jake didn't fight. He couldn't breathe, but he didn't dare fight. Not when his father was like this.

"Shut your damn mouth," he yelled.

Then he let Jake go.

As soon as his father was gone, Jake closed the door and walked into his bathroom. He looked in the mirror, and he was not surprised by what he saw. A busted lip, red jaw, and red handprints on his pale neck. He clutched at his throat, and felt a slight pain in his stomach.

Then he threw up.

•••

A single tear upon a bruised cheek. Every night. Waking up sore. Every morning. This was his life, and he didn't want to live it.
Yours truly,
Quiet Observer.