The Religious & The Damaged (UNDER EDITING)

26

Joseph

I groan at the sound of the alarm. I reach out and tap continuously on my phone until it stops and I take the pillow from beneath my head and throw it down at Kelsey, who's sleeping at the end of the bed. I sit up and rub at my eyes, and she does the same shortly after.
"Who the hell wakes up at the break of dawn." She complains.
I don't reply. I stand and walk towards the door. I take a peak out to make sure my father is downstairs before I leave my room and head towards the bathroom. I hear Kelsey's footsteps behind me. I walk in and to the sink.
"Towels?"
I point wordlessly towards the cabinet by the door, and I take my toothbrush and begin brushing my teeth. I avoid looking in the mirror once I hear the shower.
Kelsey stayed over last night. She called me sometime before Elias came over and asked if she could—she didn't go into much detail on why, but then again, I didn't ask. I just said yes.
I rinse out my mouth and wash my face before I turn off the sink.
"We should get breakfast before school." Kelsey calls out.
I turn, my eyes directed downward. "We don't really have time."
"You did not just say that." There's a hint of amusement in her voice, and I look up with hesitation when she pokes her head out from the curtain. "You woke my ass up at 6 fucking 10. You owe me fucking breakfast." She says with a grin.
I look away. "Fine. I'll be in my room."
I push myself off the sink and leave to my bedroom. I walk towards my closet but stop when I hear my phone buzz. I grab it from the bed, but there's no notification and I look over at Kelsey's when it buzzes again. And against my better judgement, I check it. It's a message from her father.
I want you home tonight. 6:16am.
Kelsey didn't get permission to stay over? And how did her father know she's not home? I remember Kelsey saying that he only comes around once in a while, so maybe now was one of the times. I don't think much of it.
I drop her phone back down and look over when she comes into the room. I turn away and walk back over to my closet, where I take out a change of clothes, and I remove my shirt.
"Your wounds seem to be healing nicely."
I pull on my shirt, then my sweater. "Usually, my father would punish me so much that they don't even get the chance to start." I say.
"You shouldn't say that." She says.
"Say what?"
I turn towards her after pulling up my jeans, and she's staring at me with a sort of sad expression.
"Punish you." She says. "Like you did something to deserve it."
I gulp. "I mean-"
"You don't deserve that, Seph."
I stare at her for a long moment before I turn away and collect my things off my desk and shove them into my bag.
If only I believed that—my life would probably be a whole lot easier because then I'd probably remove myself from the situation entirely, but here I am, believing that I do deserve it.
I zip up my bag and pull it onto my shoulder. "Let's go." I say, and I take my phone from the bed.
We leave and descend the stairs. My father looks at us from where he sits at the dining table.
"Morning, Mr. Olsson." Kelsey greets him as she walks past me to the door, and she takes my hand and leads me away.
"Good morning, Kelsey. Son." He replies.
My heart races as I put on my shoes, and Kelsey does the same.
I hate whenever I'm in the presence of my father, my heart just pounds—but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't used to it.
We stand upright in unison, and I feel lightheaded as I do.
"Ready?" She asks.
I nod and follow her out of the house.
Maybe, some food in my system won't be so bad after all.

After school, I walk out of the building and I immediately stop at the sound of my name.
"Olsson!" I turn and see Nick. He stops in front of me, a look of exasperation on his face. "Look, I need you to do me a favor." He says.
I stare at him. "Okay?" I reply in a questioning manner.
He takes papers from under his arm and gestures them to me, and I take them.
"I need you to give these to Elias."
I furrow my brows. "Aren't you going there anyway? Why do you need me to do it?"
He huffs. "My mom's here to pick me up. I forgot about an appointment and Elias likes to do his homework immediately after school, so just fucking take them to him or it's gonna be your ass." He remarks, and he heads off in the opposite direction.
I feel the frustration burn inside me at his threat, but I take a deep breath, and it takes all of my willpower to turn and just walk away. I head to the apartments with the thought in the back of my mind—my father isn't going to be happy about me being late. But I still make it a priority to bring Elias his homework. It was more important to me somehow.
I walk into the lobby and cringe at the sight of the state it's in—the smell is strong; it smells of cigarettes and mold.
I look around for some sort of sign of a room labeled building manager, but I only see a sheet hung on the wall by the door to the stairs. I walk over, and it's of all the apartment numbers with the tenants names. I look for Greene. 503.
I step back and open the door. I glance at the elevator in the far corner, and the words: out of order makes me sigh.
What a crappy place.
I ascend the stairs, and I can't help but feel relieved that I ate breakfast.
I might've passed out before making it to Elias' apartment if I hadn't.
I reach the fifth floor and pull open the door and walk a bit further before reaching the apartment, and I knock. I knock again after a few minutes of standing there awkwardly—I'm beginning to get a headache from the unbearable smells.
I want to slide the papers under the door, but a part of me wonders if Elias is okay.
I choose to invite myself in, and the first thing I see is Elias' father passed out—his feet straight out on the arm of the couch and his arm dangles from off the couch. I look forward.
"Elias?" I call out, and I walk further into the apartment.
I hear crying the closer I get to the hall, and my heart sinks at the realization of who it is.
I walk into the room with great hesitation. Elias looks up at the sound of the floor creaking below my feet—I assume, and I feel the worry rush through my chest as I meet his watery, sad-filled eyes. I look down at his hands, and they're trembling in his lap as he holds something.
"Are.. are you okay?" I ask, my voice; shaky.
He doesn't reply, so I look up. He's staring down in silence now. I gulp hard.
"We can talk about it if you want..." I attempt to sound gentle, but it comes out with a sense of insecurity of my own ability to sympathize.
But I feel bad, I truly do. And I want him to want to talk to me; I want him to feel as comfortable as I do with him.
"I'm so exhausted.." He says, and it's full of emotion—he sounds distraught. I furrow my brows with worry and step closer wordlessly. He lets out a shaky breath and it turns into a light cry. "I can't escape the urge no matter how far I've come, it'll always be a part of me." He adds.
"Urge?" I question.
He opens his hands, and I see a razor. My heart drops to my stomach, and I feel sick.
What makes me sicker is the desire to take the razor and hurt myself.
"I relapsed a few days ago, and every time I look at them, I feel so disgusted and ashamed."
I gulp hard as I'm reminded of the times my father would hit me as a kid, and my mom would kiss them. It always made me feel better.
I step closer with hesitation and drop to my knees in front of him. I meet his eyes briefly before I look down as I reach out and lift his sleeves with such gentleness. I feel him tense in my touch, and my heart aches more at the sight of what he does to himself. I swallow hard, and it hurts. My heart pounds greatly as my hand reaches further up his arm and I lean forward and place gentle kisses on the cuts—each and every one of them. I hear his shaky breaths intensify, and I look up to meet his gaze. He looks a lot more fragile than he did before, and suddenly, his arms wrap around my neck and his body is against mine. I take a deep breath as I return the gesture.
He murmurs beneath my shoulder, he says, "Thank you..."
I don't reply. I just hold him.