King of My Heart.

crystal clear.

Joshua
I love going to the beach - maybe not for the same reasons normal people do, but something about sitting on the soft and scorching sand on a cloudy and breezy mid-day brought me the kind of comfort I couldn't get anywhere else, the kind of comfort I couldn't get from "home." I liked the beach, especially on nights, though, because despite the overly exaggerated movie cliches about the beach at night, it was just as deserted but even more peaceful. But I didn't go for the starry view or calm winds, I went for the rocks. Yes. Rocks. I don't mean shells. I don't mean stones or pebbles - just rocks. I had shoeboxes under the floorboards of my bedroom floor filled with all kinds of rocks: big, small, smooth, rough, deformed, and rounded. They were like personal souvenirs from every trip I took to the beach, not far from home. I saved every last one of them. I don't really know why I did, but my therapist believes it's some kind of coping mechanism I developed to deal with my mom bailing, and I mean I don't think so, but whatever. Who was I to tell her she was wrong? She's the one with the degree. It was Sunday, so I had school the next day and needed to be home before Annabelle sent a search party out to drag me home. I walked back up from the shore and grabbed my backpack from the sunken sand, throwing it over my shoulders as I ran towards the wooden fence that closed the beach off from the road. I wasn't one of those guys who could effortlessly hop over a fence either, so that picture wasn't too pretty. The rotted wood cut through the stitching on my jeans and left an opening wound on my knee. I brushed it off. I ran past the big Melroad sign that let me know i was close and through the thorny rose bushes. I ran carelessly close with a big slash on my jeans and a few slits on my hands. I dashed through the door - it was unlocked. Annabelle must've been waiting for me, I thought, hoping I wasn't interrupting the middle of a robbery heist in my own home. "Josh, is that you?" Annabelle yelled from the kitchen just as I reached the first step on my way up the stairs. My name was Joshua. I hated Josh. "Yeah, Belle, it's me." I sighed, uninterested in going back down. I went down anyway, k owing if I didn't, she'd only keep calling me, and no one wanted that, I was already a bother to their family. I didn't need to make it worse. I walked into the dining room with my hands in my pockets, crossing my fingers that Michaela wouldn't mention my torn up jeans - she had a big mouth. Their dining table was set in a very specific order: Garrett at the head of the table, Belle across from him, Michaela with her back turned away from the kitchen and me across from her. I usually ate at rocko's (an uptown roller derby) because I didn't like Belle's cooking, I mean, not even tuna (Michaela's Yorkie) would eat it - so was I really that judgemental or was it just that bad? And plus, there's this girl, head over heels for me, and is always giving me free food and stuff, so it's a win-win. I'm being fed without chances of food poisoning, and Belle has one less plate to make. But Belle insisted I eat with them today. I sit across from Michaela, listening to her babble as Belle sets a plate of Mac and cheese in front of me, and Garrett puts the paper down. His plate looks very different from Michaela and mie because I'm vegetarian and Michaela's a seven year old child. I bounce my leg up and down as he digs his fork and knife into his steak, scratching at Belle's fine china. I can see the twitch in her eye, holding back whatever vulgar words she wanted to shout at him."Sweetheart.." She sets her silver ware down and sighs wryly. I held my head up, watching it slowly unravel. Garrett sets his silverware down too and begins politely belittling her like she's a maid or old horse shoe. I kick Michaela, trying to get her attention and gesture her away from the table with a small nod. Michaela finally feels my kick and looks over to me. She knows the routine. She nods with agreement and slowly pushes her seat back. "Sit. Down!" He sternly demands. I else my eyes, sighing as I held my hands in my pockets - holding onto the rocks for hope. I whip my hand out of my pocket and sway it around because it hurts. "What the fucks up with you?" Garrett points his fork at me as he picked it back up and smacked on the spoonful of mashed potatoes in his mouth. I stayed quiet. What was I supposed to say? "My rock stung me"? Yeah, cause that makes sense. "Yo! I'm talking to you!" He bangs his elbows on the table, still holding his silverware like he about to start shouting "fe fi foe!" "Hello!?" His accent sounds more local than mine. I sit there with my cramped hand on my thigh, stammering. I look at Michaela, waiting for her to get up and start running for the stairs, but she doesn't move a speck. The cabinet suddenly flew open as he raised his voice. They all turned their attention to the cabinet. "I hit my hand, that's all." I looked back down at my sad mound of macaroni, praying that cabinet had just saved my life. I sat there almost the rest of the night, sliding my food around my plate, waiting for Garrett to remove his displeasing presence. He threw his plate in the sink and, without a word, went straight upstairs. I tried my best to swiftly get up and hand my plate to Belle, leaving the same way he did, but she saw right through me. "Josh." She didn't even let me leave the kitchen yet. I turned back to her, and her eyes quickly made their way down. "Your jeans." She calls out. I roll my eyes and scoff because, like any other teenager, I really thought I had her fooled. "You didn't really think I wouldn't notice." Yes. Yes, I did. But of course, I didn't say that. "Why didn't you say anything when I walked in?" I ask because I'm genuinely want to know. "I didn't find it appropriate to bring up at dinner. You know how Garrett can be, saying those things he doesn't mean." She was talking about two very specific slurs he loved to shout at me after every minor inconvenience. I just nod as she finishes sewing my jeans back up. I got up from the ottoman and walked straight for the stairs. "Josh." Belle stops me again. I step down from that very first step and face her as she makes her way to me. "Goodnight." She makes sure I feel as loved and nurture as she did when she was a kid. Belle smiled and pulled me toward her to kiss my forehead. "Night." I don't look her directly in the eye or smile, but she knows I mean well - just tired. I went straight to sleep that night, I didn't even bother to change or empty my pockets. The morning was quiet, and that told me everything I needed to know. Garrett was at the office, and Belle was out playing bingo with her friends. She'd be back soon to pick Michaela up after school. I didn't need my clothes laid out for me or anything, I told Belle that, yet I still wake up every morning with them laid out on my bedside table anyway. But I didn't trip as much anymore. Her style wasn't half as bad. She picked clothes I could actually see myself wearing out. Not exactly, but still, she knew more about me in the seven years I spent living with them than my own mother ever tried to in the ten years that she was present in my life. It was hard to believe they were sisters. Twins even. I emptied my pockets, setting all my rocks from the beach on my table where my clothes once were. I stepped out of the shower with my soaked hair over my face, and my hands shriveled up the way they do when you spend too long under the flaming water. I stood in front of the mirror, facing the wall, trying to see the massive mark on my back from last Tuesday. You forget to take the trash out once, and suddenly, you're being thrown against the wall. I press my hand on my burning but soft skin to see if it's still tender, and the bruise is already turning yellow, but it still hurts anytime I try to sleep or put my clothes on. I throw my sweater on and leave the bathroom in a hurry. As I walk back into my room and throw my dirty clothes in the hamper, I see that my rocks are missing. I roll my eyes, knowing exactly where they went. "Give em here!" I bust into Michaela's room, demanding she give me my rocks back. She sat on the floor with her Barbie dream house pool between her legs and filled with water and all of my rocks in a purple sandcastle bucket. "No way!" She says like a true bratty child and dropped them in one by one. I looked up at the Hello Kitty Clock above her bed and impatiently sighed. "Mica, come one! I'm gonna be late for school." I beg. She ignores my cries and reaches for the prettiest rock. "Not that one! It's my favorite!" Now I sound desperate. Because I am. The rock was dark blue, like deep blue, and looked like an ancient crystal. Mica's mystery, cloudy water would only ruin it. She dropped it right in, and instantly, it started to spark. At first, I thought it was the rocks reflection hitting the water, but then one second I was standing there, reaching for the rock and the next I was knocked onto the floor, forced against the door. "Josh!?" Michaela held onto her bedframe, unable to push herself away from it. I couldn't think as the force between up grew stronger and her cries intensified. I could hear the door creaking as I was pushed back further. Her bedframe scrapped against the wooden floor until it finally hit the wall. She screamed louder as her back digged into the metal and scratched all along her spine. I reached my foot as long as it could go and flipped the pool over. Everything feels like a sudden drop. I reach for the rock again, and I drop it at once as it shocks me. Michaela looks at me, frightened as ever, and my heart breaks a little. I was unable to protect and shield her again. "Josh! Why couldn't I move!" She asks me like I know. I wish I did. " I don't know." I release myself from the door, curiously looking down at the rock.. I look back up, and oh shit! I remember I have school. "Mica, do not touch anything else! Go into my room until school!" I jumped to my feet and quickly jam the rock back into my pocket, trying to ignore the shocking. I rushed into my room and dragged my backpack out from underneath my bed and ran down the stairs and into the kitchen. Normally, I made Michaela and myself breakfast, but I didn't wake up on time, and class was about to start in like thirty minutes. I grabbed a box of trix off the refrigerator and set it on the table, next to a spoon and bowl. "Breakfast is on the table!" I yell before walking out. As I walk down the driveway, I winch and groan in pain. That was it, I was getting rid of the damn thing. It was already starting problems, and I planned to after school if I made it to school, that is.