The Sheet

Act One

As soon as the bus reached his stop, he stood up and almost ran towards the exit, accompanied by the jeers and laughter of the other kids.

"Nice hair, Thoooomas," a girl taunted him, amidst giggles from her friends.

A chorus of shrill voices rose from the back seats.

"Moron... Moron..."

He had to endure the stares that turned to look at him as he passed, including the bus driver's. He rushed out, trying to ignore the laughter of those bastards, and walked home on the other side of the street, hoping to find it deserted. When he reached an old five-story building, he fumbled with his keys, opened the front door, rushed inside, closed it with a loud bang, and stood there, paralyzed by shame.

It wasn't the first time he had been targeted by the bullies on the bus, but he had never been humiliated like that. They had thrown cards at him, slapped him, insulted him, and that day, just for a change, they had decided to pop a chewing gum bubble on his head, plastering his hair with it.

After a few minutes, he started climbing the stairs.

The elevator was broken, as usual. When he entered the apartment on the top floor, he headed for the bathroom. It was all locked, a sign that his father hadn't returned yet. Relieved by the thought that the day could have gone worse, he placed his hand on the bathroom door handle. But before he could open it, the handle lowered on its own, and in front of him appeared a man much taller and bulkier than him, with an unshaven face and clothes reeking of alcohol.

"Hi, Dad," he muttered, lowering his gaze and expecting the worst.

"What have you done to your hair?" his father asked in a neutral tone that smelled of tobacco and beer.

"N-nothing..."

"Look at me!"

It wasn't a request, but an order he had to obey if he didn't want things to get worse. He raised his eyes, meeting his father's gaze. They locked eyes for a few moments. For a brief moment, he truly believed his father wouldn't hit him this time. He even imagined him whispering words of comfort and support.

A daydream, nothing more, nothing less, abruptly interrupted by a slap that sent him sprawling to the floor.

A searing pain shot through him. But it wasn't over. His father grabbed him by the neck and breathed his disgust into his face.

"But look at you... I had to become the father of a halfwit," he continued with the beatings.