Your Secrets Safe With Me (Brallon)

Pieces

(a/n: I want to write a book that contains my rants about society and how politics have become ridiculous and life has no meaning, I'll call it Sleepless Nights and Midnight Rants)

     Outside my house looked like a perfectly normal suburban house. But on the inside it was like an actual satan pit, filled with screaming, torture, and the knowledge that there will never be the sweet release of death. As much as I didn't want to go home, it would be so much worse if I didn't. Taking a deep breath, I walked up to the door and quietly walked in. So far so good, until the wind slammed the door shut.

    "WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN!" My mom screamed from the kitchen.

    She came around the corner, frying pan still in hand as she had been doing the dishes. Her yelling had gotten my dad's attention and he emerged from the bedroom with an empty bottle of Jack Daniel's. I was cornered, on the patch of carpet by the door where I was most often beat. This was gonna hurt like a bitch.

    "There you are, you little piece of shit." He went to take a swig from the bottle, getting angry when he found it was empty and throwing it at my head. I didn't move to dodge it, it would just make everything worse.

    The thick glass shattered over my head and sent me crumpling to the floor. Pieces of the glass cutting through my shirt and embedding themselves in my shoulder. This was it, it was going to the beating that either put me in the hospital or killed me. My mom, who had disappeared when my dad threw the bottle at me, had returned with scalding hot water and soap. She threw the mixture in my face, smirking when I flinched as it hit my skin. She began to scrub off the remnants of last nights eyeliner, laughing when I let out an involuntary groan and scrubbing harder. My eyes began to water as soap got into them and the tiny particles of glass were grinded into my skin.

    Seeing the tears, my dad pulled out his pocket knife and drew a long line down my arm. Then he tore my shirt away from my shoulder and carved in, 10:00, my curfew, whispering in my "So that you never forget". He continued to make small cuts across my body. When he came across the holes in my jeans, he went deep, I whined at the pain as he cut through multiple layers of skin and the warm blood began to drip onto the carpet.

    "No holes and this wouldn't've happened." He growled.

    I whimpered at the pain one last time before the before the world around me faded into black.

    I woke up sometime later slouched up against the front door and sore all over. The TV murmured around the corner, but the loud snores told me that my father was asleep. There was no sign of my mother, so either she was in the bedroom or had left. Having assessed my surroundings, I slowly pushed myself off the ground and grabbed my backpack that had been thrown aside.

    It hurt like hell to walk, but I couldn't stay by the door forever. My clothes were soaked with blood, in fact it looked like someone had just dumped a bucket of blood on me. Groaning, I pulled off the sticky, blood soaked clothes and threw them to the side. I definitely needed a shower. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I went across the hall and turned the shower to the hottest setting. As the water heated up, I examined myself in the mirror. There were still large glass pieces lodged in my shoulder that I hadn't noticed till now, I guess my shoulders had gone completely numb with pain.

    I began removing the largest chunks with my fingers, not even wincing when the sharp edges sliced my fingers. The smaller pieces required tweezers to get out, luckily I kept a first aid kit under the sink that had everything I needed to patch myself up. The bathroom became steamy as I removed the last piece of glass from my shoulder. There was a steady stream of blood coming from the deep cuts the shards had left behind, they probably needed stitches, but a shower would have to do.

    The burning water scorched my skin, but I didn't care, I needed it to burn away all they had done. I just stood there, letting the water run over my shoulders and down my chest., watching the water turn pink as it mixed with the blood. My mind wandered back to the concert last night, how Dallon had given me his phone number. Dallon Weekes, the most popular kid, and not to mention the hottest, had given me his phone number and asked me to coffee. Whether is was a date or not didn't matter, he actually asked me to hang out with him, which was a big enough deal on it's own without the fact that I had a crush on him tagged on.

    Was it too soon to text him today? Would it seem like I was uninterested if I didn't text him today? I really wanted to get out of the house and if I hung out with Pete he would ask me a bunch of questions about how this morning went, Dallon didn't know so he wouldn't ask. What if this was all a setup to make fun of me? What if I went to meet him and Jack and Alex were there? What if he just stood there and laughed as my second biggest bullies beat me? No Dallon seemed nice, plus why would he even go through all the trouble when he could just ambush me at school and do it.

    After rinsing the blood and soap from my hair, I stepped out of the shower and reached for the crappy phone I had bought for myself Freshman year. It wasn't much, but it could text and call and it was a cheap enough of a plan that I could sneak it onto my parents plan without them noticing. Once Dallon had given me his number I had immediately put it in my phone, with Pete looking over my shoulder as I did. When he asked who it was, I just said it was some random guy that called me attractive and didn't elaborate.

    There were so many different ways to phrase the text. I didn't want to come across too eager, but I wanted him to know that I was interested. "Hey Dallon! Wanna go get that coffee?". No definitely too excited. "Sup bro? Wanna go get some coffee?" That sounded too straight. I needed help, but I couldn't let any of my friends know that I was talking to the Dallon Weekes. Muttering some choice words to myself, I wrapped the towel around my waist and moved back into my room.

    I collapsed onto my bed before I decided on what to send him. Something not too wordy, a little mysterious, but definitely letting him know I wanted to hang out with him.

To Dallon: Coffee sounds great.

From Dallon: Awesome! I'll meet you at this little place called LouLou's over on Research Dr. at 5:30. ;)

    That coffee shop was my favorite and it made me all bubbly inside that we already liked a common thing. And what did that winky face mean? There was a tingly feeling that spread all the way from my toes to my head, all the cuts and bruises from my latest beating forgotten as I got up to get dressed for my date/not labeling it/meeting with Dallon. I had to wear enough layers to stay warm in the coming winter and to cover the cuts in case they opened and started bleeding. I settled on a pair of solid pack jeans with no holes, a plain white t-shirt, my favorite black leather jacket, and a wool plaid scarf. To complete the outfit I put on my my lace up black biker boots.

    There was still the small matter of my sliced up face. Examining my face in the mirror, I sighed, the red spots would be easy to cover up with a little bit of concealer, but the cuts were going to be harder. Maybe I could just tell him I got sucked into a mosh pit last night,  there were plenty of them to get into anyway. Here I was, though, going to get coffee with a guy a like. I almost felt like a normal teenager, one that didn't live in hell and have to cover up bruises and spots.

    It was only 5:10, but I was ready to get out of this Godforsaken house. After making sure the coast was clear, I made a dash for the door, getting out before either parent could even realize I was leaving. This was it. I was going on a not-date-but-possibly-a-date with Dallon Weekes. This was going to be amazing, I couldn't wait.