Ever After

Home

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This chapter is in Jack's perspective.

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The run home was wild as always, Killian right on my tail as I raced through the woods. Usually, it was just the two of us, old friends fighting against one another as enemies, but he'd decidedly brought his friends along this afternoon, making me pray that this won't become a regular thing, that he won't make me run a mile's worth every day just to get home without scars and bruises.

The only problem was the fact that my sister was waiting for me when I got home, impatiently tapping her fingers against the rough wooden dining table, watching me erupt from the forest that entered into our backyard. This was where Killian stopped and turned back for fear of being caught by anyone in the house, and I went about my business, walking as he yelled out to me.

"We'll get 'ya next time, fucktard!"

I wanted so badly to shoot them the middle finger, to turn around and scream out, "What did you just call me!?", but I decided to be the bigger person and just keep walking towards the glass doors that opened up and into the dining room, attached to the kitchen, where I usually withdrew a good bag of Doritos and Guinness glass filled with whatever drink I was in the mood for, something that my mum often scowled at. Fortunately, she was never home, so all I needed to do was put the glass in the dishwasher and brush my teeth before she got home, saving her the whole breath test (which she's tried before).

With my sister awaiting my arrival, however, I decided against it - one day without your father's alcohol was okay.

Before I'd even earned myself the chance to fully open the door and let myself in, she was barking at me like a small pooch. "Why didn't you come to my car after school today? Why are you home twenty minutes late? ... Why the fuck are your pants soaking wet?"

I looked down at my jeans, taking them off, seeing as my sister wouldn't mind seeing her brother's boxers while she stared so intensely at my eyes. I guess there was no saving them now that they'd gotten coffee spilled on them and were forced to experience the cold of a splashing river against their back pockets. I prayed that my phone was alright, tearing it out from the pocket and turning it on, mentally wiping beads of sweat off of my forehead when I'd discovered that it was still alright, just freezing.

"I could be asking you the same question," I said, trying to dart as far away from the question as possible.

I couldn't tell her what'd happened. It would be embarrassing to describe how I'd barely escaped a pack of practical wild dogs, tripping over a loose twig and falling into a riverbank, having my beanie torn off of my very own head from behind, and scratching my hand against a rusted piece of metal, leaving blood coursing down and into my palm. I hoped that it wouldn't seep through my clenched fist, for I knew for a fact that my sister would make a huge deal about it.

Speaking of huge deals, our mum came into the kitchen and sat down at the dinner table, inviting me to sit. I sat across from my sister, my mum sitting in the chair to my right.

"Why are you here, honey?" she asked my sister, pleasantly surprised. "Shouldn't you be at Blackwell?"

"Oh, I'm just here to question Jack," she said firmly, her hands clasped together on the table. "He didn't come into the car today. In fact, I had to hear from one of his friends that he'd decidedly walked through the forest instead."

"What 'friend?'" I demanded.

"The boy that spilled coffee on you. I called him over and he told me that you were going through the forest - my only question is why you took so long. It's only a - what? - ten minute walk? Took 'ya twenty."

"Mark? He told you? Fuckin' snitch!"

"Jack," my mother warned. She cleared her throat, looking over at my sister. "Do you have anything else you need to do before you go back to school? You know, like move back in with the rest of us?"

My sister chuckled, rising from her seat, making sure to tuck her chair back in from her absence. "No, mum. Jack, I'll come back home this weekend to check up on you. Don't get into any trouble, 'ya hear?"

"I hear 'ya, I hear 'ya," I sighed, easing down into my chair. The entrance door clicked shut as she transcended into her car, my mother's focus now turning onto me.

"How was your first day of school, darling? Make any friends?"

I chuckled in spite of her joke, only to realize that it was none other than seriousness. "No. Of course I didn't make any friends. This year is no different than any other."

"That's because you shut people out, Seán!" she said, surprisingly using my real name. "You prevent people from ever comin' close to you. Why?"

Because I'm afraid of being betrayed again. "Because none of them are worth the time."

"Now, honey, you can't say that. Remember when you and that boy... what was his name again?"

"Felix, mum." Fucking backstabber.

"Right. You and that boy used to always play Guitar Hero in the basement - remember how you used to pretend you had a band? Risen From The Ground? Somethin' like that... and then he got you into Shadow Of The Colossus, and -"

"I know what we did, mum," I spat. "I don't need a reminder."

She placed my hand on mine now, cupping it with hers, stroking me gently with her finger. It always somehow eased my pain, a mother's touch - it was a feeling that only that one person in the world could give you, similar to how a spouse would make you feel. Nobody else in the world could replace your mother, meaning that this touch came straight from the heart, just like I, her child, did; I felt my heart swoon dramatically as she kissed my hand, her lips older than they used to be, her heart and spirit livelier than the great big, golden ball in the sky.

"I just want you to make friends this year. Lately you've been so distant, always up in your room with that punk-ass music, lifting Lord knows how many weights. I just want you to be happy."

"I am happy," I lied through gritted teeth, standing to head over to the pantry and grab myself a bag of chips. "Never said I wasn't."

She sighed. "I'm just saying..."

"You're always 'just saying.' I know that you want me to be happy, and I am. Listening to my music makes me happy. Working out makes me happy. Being alone makes me happy. I just don't see how I could do those things with a friend."

She nodded, still smiling despite my attitude. I often barked at my mum when she got on my nerves even the slightest bit - it was a habit that I'd been invested in since youth, and she didn't mind my temper. It was even easier to make me flip my lid now that I was a teenager, an age that she didn't really understand, but one that she tried her best to cope with. I was her last baby, and I was sure that she wouldn't love me any less if I were to go on and shoot somebody.

"As always, you're right. But don't come crying to me when you're in desperate search for a college roommate and can't find one!"

Stepping up the stairs and into my room, I called back, "College? Please," kicking the door shut with my foot. I threw my bag down onto the floor, letting it hit the wood as I bent down and under my bed for my medicine kit. It was one that I'd learned to use when I self-harmed, a tradition I prayed that I would never get into again. There were only a few left, but I made do with what I had.

Applying the bandages indistinctly, I approached my window that lead out and onto the open road, a road that was always empty despite a few travellers here and there; yet, through the slight raindrops that kissed my window pane, I could make out one small, lonely figure walking down the road, a traditional Coffee House uniform on, along with my beanie. It was Mark, walking in the rain that had just yet started and was on the brink of a downpour, wandering a good thirty-minute walk over to the Coffee House.

Ignoring the urge to feel the slightest hint of pity for the guy, I flew open my bedroom door and stormed down the stairs, bursting through the front door and out onto the porch. I raced down the steps and through the pouring rain to come face-to-face with him, the person who had stolen my beanie, the one that I sat next to in class, the very four-eyed boy that had spilled coffee on me on the first day of school.