Laughing Jack: How To Put A Jack In The Box Back In The Box (Laughing JackxOC)

Chapter 5: Ice Baths Are My Only Escape

Dylan's heart sank as he approached the entrance of his family's once warm abode. The air was thick with the pungent stench of alcohol, assaulting his senses and triggering an immediate wave of nausea. With a heavy sigh, he pushed open the creaking door, hoping against hope for a semblance of normalcy within those familiar walls. Stepping over the threshold, he closed the door with the gentlest of touches, as if afraid to disturb the fragile peace that had somehow eluded his home for so long. Each footfall echoed in the silence, a stark reminder of the tension that hung heavy in the air. The living room greeted him with a scene straight out of a nightmare. His mother lay sprawled across the threadbare couch, her form illuminated by the flickering glow of the television set, casting eerie shadows upon her motionless figure. The harsh light highlighted the disarray of her appearance, clothes rumpled and askew, one solitary red high heel clinging precariously to her foot. In her lax grip, a wine bottle stood as a silent sentinel, a cruel reminder of the demons that held her in their grip. Empty vessels littered the floor like fallen soldiers, their contents long since drained, their presence a testament to the chaos that reigned within these walls.

"You can't go a day without it, can you?" Dylan's internal voice echoed with a mixture of disappointment and resignation as he gazed upon his mother, slumped in a state of disarray on the worn-out couch. Despite the chaos that surrounded her, he couldn't summon an ounce of pity. She had made her choices, and she bore the consequences alone. His mother's downward spiral was a painful reflection of her inner turmoil, a desperate attempt to fill the void left by his father's betrayal. But instead of confronting her demons, she had surrendered to them, seeking solace in the numbing embrace of alcohol and the false promises of fleeting pleasure.

The knowledge that she had resorted to selling her body to make ends meet pierced Dylan's heart like a dagger. It was a stark testament to the depths of her despair, a stark reminder of the sacrifices she had made for their survival. Yet, even in the face of such disappointment, he still loved his mother. With a heavy sigh, Dylan tenderly draped a blanket over her slumbering form, his touch a silent gesture of compassion amidst the sea of chaos. Gently, he retrieved the bottle from her grasp, a silent acknowledgment of the battle she fought with her demons every day. As he gathered the empty bottles scattered around the room he couldn't help but feel disgusted by the mess. Placing her single red heel neatly beside its mate, he silently wished his mother would get the help she so desperately needed.

With a final kiss upon her forehead, Dylan ascended the stairs to his room, his heart heavy with the weight of disappointment, yet buoyed by the enduring love he held for his mother. For despite her flaws and shortcomings, she was still his mother.

Dylan turned the brass knob, swinging open the heavy wooden door to his sanctuary. Stepping into his room, a wash of light from the window assaulted his senses, exacerbating the pounding ache in his head. With a grimace, he moved to close the blinds, seeking solace in the dimness that followed. The throbbing pain in his skull was more than just an inconvenience; it was a relentless reminder of his vulnerability. A concussion had made his normal daily headaches unbearable, rendering him unable to rely on his usual medication for relief. For now, he could only grit his teeth and endure the agony that gnawed at him from within.

Setting his bag down with a muted thud on the neatly made bed, Dylan's thoughts turned to escape. He needed to distance himself from the suffocating weight of his reality, if only for a little while. With practiced movements, he made his way to the bathroom.

Turning the faucet, he ensured the water was icy cold, the chill seeping into his bones as if to match the numbness he felt inside. A cold bath had become his refuge, a temporary reprieve from the chaos that plagued his existence. As Dylan undressed, his small, slim frame was revealed. His lithe limbs moved gracefully, his narrow shoulders bearing the weight of the world with resignation. With a flick of his wrist, he extinguished the light, enveloping himself in darkness as he stepped into the frigid embrace of the water. The shock of cold against his skin sent shivers racing down his spine, but he welcomed the sensation, welcoming the distraction it provided.