OUT

Chapter 46

Wednesday, April 8th 2015

As Mark's car spluttered up the laneway towards Jack's house, he felt a pang of dread in the pit of his stomach. There was something so unnatural about that feeling considering this was his home. This was meant to be the place he felt the most safe. Where he felt most relaxed and at ease. But it just brought him anxiety because it represented the fake life he had created for himself to hide who he really was - whether he had realised he was doing it or not. It was the opposite of where he needed to be to truly blossom. And something about that felt very unfair.

'Do you want me to come inside with you?' Mark asked as he pulled up in the yard outside Jack's back door.

He shook his head, 'I won't be long.'

'Are you sure?'

Jack nodded, and climbed from the car as Mark watched him. The lights were on in the kitchen, but he couldn't see anyone about the place. He creaked open the doorway carefully, and he realised he was genuinely afraid of what awaited him. He let out a sigh of relief when he found the kitchen empty and crept across to the doorway as he made his way down the hall.

'Jack! You're home early, I thought you were going over to Mark's for a while after training,' said his father, appearing in the hallway. Jack could smell alcohol off him. 'Your mother has gone out.'

'What happened your face?' asked Jack, his second eye was black - not from the smack in the car, which had also bruised.

'Ah,' he said, throwing his head back slightly and avoiding the question.

'I'm packing my things and going,' Jack said.

'What?'

'I'm leaving.'

He climbed the stairs to his room as his father followed after him, protesting half-heartedly. He opened the door of his box room and tossed a gear bag onto the double bed and he began tossing his clothes into it. His room was a time capsule of his childhood. There were a few shelves his father had nailed into the wall above his bed with a collection of Roald Dahl classics stacked onto them, as well as old football trophies. There was also a framed jersey of when he had captained the U11s team to victory in a local blitz when he was younger, signed by all of his teammates in writing that was faded and barely legible.

There was a wardrobe built into the wall, and its door was covered in stickers of Pokemon from the early 00s, most of which had faded from the sunlight. His curtains were Manchester United themed, which was funny because he had never had much interest in soccer. On his bed sat two teddy bears he had gotten as a child - one from his grandmother and the other from his own mother. They were ragged with age, but there was some sentimentality about them. He tossed them both into the bag.

'Jack, shtop this.'

'I have to go.'

'Jack-'

'I'm not staying here. She's a fucking psychopath. I'm going back to Dublin,' he roared with tears in his eyes and his father sighed. Nevertheless, he stopped protesting.

It was crazy how alien Jack felt in his own house. He really didn't want to be there even though he had spent the majority of his life up until the last year within its four walls, and something about being within them made him feel so uncomfortable. He wondered if everyone felt the same about where they grew up. If everyone battled with the same anxieties that felt stupid, but all-consuming.

He didn't fully understand why he had that disconnect with his home, or his town, or his parents. Maybe it was because he was different, and that difference manifested within his brain subconsciously before he even understood what it was himself. Or maybe it was because of his brother's death - which certainly couldn't have helped either way.

'You have my number if you want to reach me,' he said as he turned off the light and left his father standing in his bedroom in the dark.

He stopped at Mick's bedroom as he moved across the landing. He didn't know when or if he'd be back in this house again. He hadn't been inside his older brother's room since after he had died as it had been locked shut since. He rattled at the door handle, like he had intermittently over the last few years. It was always locked, and he was always afraid to make too much noise at it so as not to wake his parents. Now though, he didn't care anymore.

He planted his foot firmly on the ground, and slammed his shoulder against the door with the force of his full body weight. His father watched him, but said nothing. Jack continued to slam his shoulder against it, grunting as he did so and tears trickled down his face. The crashing echoed throughout the house, and while the door trembled a bit, it remained shut.

Jack felt his eyes stinging with tears as he descended the stairs, and went back out into the darkness for Mark to drive him from the house he had grown up in that he couldn't feel more alien in. As they drove down the lane, he spotted his father's silhouette in the window, but he didn't follow after them.