A Red Lighter

Caleb: Happy Birthday to Me

I stormed out of the L.A room, trying to escape the pain that sat like rocks in my stomach. I knew that I was supposed to go to Connors house but, the memory of mom and the fact that I was officially 16 made me want to cry till my eyes bleed. I couldn't help but feel my hand carve out the words sorry mom. I knew that I'd probably get in trouble for that later but right now I couldn't care.

I sat on the back of the bus, no backpack, no homework. I hated driving over the route 70 overpass. It only reminded me of mom and how much I failed her. I was seconds away from throwing up because of guilt when the bus came to the stop in front of my house. My stomach churned and as I fell to my knees and blew chunks all over the sidewalk I heard dad throwing things inside.

After I was sure I was done I walked into the house, dad had flipped the table and glass was shattered in every corner of the kitchen. I knew dad was bad on a regular day, but today I shouldn't have come home. I tried to tiptoe up to my room but as I neared the top step a hand wrapped around the collar of my shirt and dragged me down.

I landed at the bottom, pain shot up my sides and by the angry red that surrounded his irises I knew he remember what today was. He screamed at me yelling, that it was my fault and it should've been me. But he was right, wasn't he? It should've been me, I should've died.

"YOU KILLED HER" he yelled flipping me onto my stomach "YOU MADE HER JUMP" I wept into the crook of my arm, knowing what was next. "you made her jump... now, now you have to pay the price" I whimpered as my jeans and boxers were ripped off my body, dads roughed callused hands ran up and down my already raw back as the tell-tale sign of a zipper was being undone filled the room. And soon the only thing that could be heard over my screams was the sounds of dad telling me it was my fault, that everything was my fault.

I laid on the floor for a few minutes after dad, left. Left the house, left me and left the mess he made in the kitchen. Blood dripped down my thighs as I stood, pulling clothes back on. I knew there'd be a football game at the school, today but I just needed to get away and running to the cop's house after I was raped wasn't the smartest idea.

I loved dad, I didn't want anything bad to happen to him. What he did to me was deserved and sometimes I needed to be reminded of what I've done. Whenever I thought I could be normal or run away he reminded me that I couldn't, normal kids didn't kill their mother, normal kids weren't killers. I wasn't normal and I'd never be normal.

I wasn't interested in the football game, I was in pain. My body hurt and even though I knew I deserved it, I couldn't help but wonder if anyone else had to deal with this. I wonder if any of the other kids had to learn from a school seminar that it wasn't okay to let people touch you 'there.' I wonder if any of the other kids had to ask daddy why he slept in their bed or yelled no when he tried to touch them like the people from the seminar told him too, only to get hit and told to shut up and hold still or else it would hurt more and he didn't want to clean up blood. I wondered but I knew, I knew none of the other kids checked their V-card in at six or was told that he wasn't allowed to tell, because mom wouldn't like that and he wasn't allowed to disappoint mom because he already killed her. I knew.

I was pulled out of my thoughts by a soft tap on the shoulder, coach stood over top of me, his hand extended. And of course I took it, because I was incapable in saying no, saying no got you hit. And I was already in enough pain as is.

Coach led me to his office and like every other time; I was pushed to my knees as he undid his zipper. He was fast and rough and more than once I felt as if I was going to puke from pure force. But once I was done I fled out of the window, because coach didn't want the footballers getting suspicious.

Once I was out I realized that I had forgotten my sweater, but I needed to smoke. I fished in my pockets hoping, that I had at least one cigarette on me. And I did I had three, and after the first two, my lungs hurt. It wasn't till I was lighting up my third and final one that I realized I was facing the overpass. The one that I forced my mother to jump off the same one that took her life. I clutched the red lighter; the one Connor gave me tightly in my hand. When dad was on top of me I clutched my lighter for dear life, because it showed that someone cared about me. Even if I hated the colour red because that was mom's favorite colour it was something. And I would die with that lighter clutched tightly in my hand because I wanted someone to love me, to care for me and this lighter was the closest I got in a long time.

"Caleb?" Connor's voice was shaky as it called my name

"Today's my birthday" my voice cracked as I spoke, tears still slipping down my cheek "and you know what I want for my birthday"

"What?" I could tell Connor was treating me like a wounded animal but when I turned to face him all of that tension seemed to melt away

"I just want someone to care"

But Connor never answered he never spoke up he just stood there tears creeping in his eyes. God I hated when people pitied me, so I did what I always did and ran away.