|Dear Aiden|Justin Bieber|6|

1.8K 20 0
                                    

A few girls gasped and made remarks like “watch it” and “hey, bitch!” as I hopped over the bar, and scared Justin when I landed just behind him.  He turned and looked at me and laughed a little as I pushed past him. I leaned against the wall next to Jennifer and slid down, resting my head on my knees and yawned. I only looked up when Stephanie stood, clearing her throat.

“Mariah is here and she said she would take me home, but she’s leaving now,” she said.

I winced up at her with my tired eyes, shrugging “whatever you want to do, Steph.”

“I’m gonna go with her,” she stated.

“Alright,” I shrugged again.

I put my head back down, watching her brightly colored converse make their way toward the window and hop over the bar, and a few more shrill voiced remarks came from the line. I heard Jennifer inhale deeply, hold it as if she had something to say, and then exhale like she had decided not to speak. We sat quietly for a few more moments before she inhaled again, this time words coming out of her mouth, “Is he home?”

I cursed myself for not having better acting skills in order to hide my emotions. However, anytime I’m with Jennifer, she always seems to know I have something going on with me. Even when I paint on my best smile and put on my best show, she always seems to see right through me. It’s almost like my thoughts are played through my ears like a boring talk radio show. Sometimes I’m even tempted to ask her if the noise in my head is bothering her. I turned to meet her gaze. Her brown-hazel eyes looked down at me with deep concern, cleverly hidden behind her curious expression. I nodded at her and straightened my back against the brick wall behind me, unfolding my legs and stretching them on the slightly dirty concrete floor.

Her usual slumped posture became even more prevalent as she furrowed her brow in disgust. She fought to keep her eyes from glancing to the scar, showing slightly underneath my shirt. I barely caught her when she did and I looked down at my hands resting in my lap. I felt a sudden pang of guilt in my stomach. Jennifer was one of the only few people who knew what really happened the night I got this scar. It wasn’t 12 years ago, when I was 4. It was only 1 year ago, when I was 15. I wasn’t running with scissors, either. I was cut with a piece of glass. From a broken window that had been shattered in my mother’s bedroom.

I’d been in my bedroom, listening to music on my stereo when I heard the shouting that seemed to be the soundtrack of my life once a month when my step-dad, a truck driver, came home from work. I ignored the yelling and cursing, turning my stereo up to make it seem as though the screaming was a mere mumble outside my door. Putting the situation out of my mind, I went back to my coal drawing.  I was breathing the lyrics to the song to myself when I heard my mother yelp in pain. Quickly, I took my remote to my stereo and muted it. I heard only choked screams from down the hall, where the walkway met my mother’s room. I stood from where I sat and lunged for the door, swinging it open and running down the hallway, the motion sensor light coming on with a dim flicker. The green-ish tinted fluorescent lights from my mother’s bathroom lit only half of the master bedroom. I stopped abruptly against the corner of the end of the hall, peering around it.

My heart sank and things turned red from there, where I stood, seeing my mom on the floor, in front of the broken window. She was on her back, Robert hovering over her weak frame. He spit curse words and ugly comments at her, putting her down as if he hadn’t already pushed her down to her lowest point. I guess now he was just burying the body. He reached down and grabbed a fistful of her hair, pulling her up on to her feet as he clasped his dirty hand around her fragile throat as if he were going to snap her neck. I rounded the corner full speed and jumped onto his back, putting him in a tight headlock. Caught by surprise, he released his grip on my mother, who then fell, gasping for air on the floor. Robert squirmed awkwardly, clawing at my arm that was crushing his windpipe.  As my adrenaline rush subsided, fear veered its way in and my grip loosened enough for him to throw me into the window, shattering it, glass raining down. My body hit the ground with a crack as I landed on my wrist wrong, breaking it. The air escaped my lungs, leaving me completely breathless and begging for oxygen. I rolled over onto my back to see him lunge at me, lean over me and wrapping his large hands around my throat. I coughed and gasped, my vision becoming dark around the edges as I struggled against him. I heard a loud metallic thud and felt cool hair rush into my lungs as they inflated once again. Robert was lying unconscious on top of me and I pushed him off me, gritting my teeth at the sharp pain in my wrist. My mom stood, shaking, a few feet from him, a metal baseball bat falling from her right hand. Her hair was a wreck and her shirt torn. 

I got to my feet quickly, running to her and pulling her out of the room and out the front door of the house. I could hear her muffled sobs behind me. Tugging her by her arm, I led her about a block from our house, where we had stood at Jennifer’s door step at 4 in the morning. I rang her doorbell once. Waited a couple minutes, and then pressed it repeatedly until her porch light came on--another second passed—then her door jarred open quickly to reveal Jennifer’s mother, Tina, in her burgundy robe and slippers. She took one look at us, opening her eyes wide. She pushed the glass door open and motioned for us to come inside. My mother was attached to my waist like a leech as I took a few steps into their living room. Tina swung Jennifer’s bedroom door open and yelled for her to wake up a few times before she’d actually come out of the room, rubbing her eyes tiredly. I stood there with my mother, shaken.

I remember the look on her face when she noticed me standing there, beat up. She ran to me, her eyes welling up with tears as she led me to the bathroom in her room, leaving my mother with Tina who sat her down on the couch and began dabbing at her running mascara with a wet cloth. Jennifer had looked at me with a horrified expression. Her hand came up as though she was going to place it on my shoulder. I watched her carefully, when she reached for the sharp shard of glass that had lodged itself into the area between my shoulder and neck. I remembered how I’d winced when she pulled it out. How it burned when she cleaned the deep cut. I recalled my refusal to go to the emergency room to get stiches. She put my hand in a splint that she had gotten when she’d broken her wrist. I’d burst into tears, sobbing uncontrollably as I sad on her bathroom counter. 

|Dear Aiden|Justin Bieber|Where stories live. Discover now