Chapter Fourteen

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  • Dedicated to Ned Vizzini (RIP)
                                    

I was numb. Red and blue lights flashed around me, but they were only blurs on the edges of my vision. It was as if I was in a bubble, present yet nonexistent at the same time. I heard doors being slammed, but even that couldn't soften the noise of the screaming in my head. It wasn't my own voice; no, that would've seemed pleasant compared to this relentless torture. It was his voice, echoing on repeat, over and over. Covering my ears only made it louder. Closing my eyes only made the images skirting across my consciousness even brighter.

I kept seeing his face, over and over and over again. I felt like I would explode, like I would cry if I had any tears left. I replayed what had happened on an endless loop, like I could somehow imagine something different and change the past. Like it could somehow ease the turmoil of emotions inside of me.

I dug my fingers into the grass behind the cold curb I was sitting on, fighting to ground myself. I was slipping. Oh god, was I slipping. I'd lost my grip on reality, everything that I'd known collapsing around me. There was no way to escape the fallout this time.

I struggled to push myself to my feet. I needed to get out of here, needed to get away from that house. I stumbled as I started to walk, and a strong hand caught me on the shoulder.

"Take it easy, Vic," Tony said, his eyes filled with concern.

"I'm fine," I muttered, brushing him off and going across the street to my car.

As I reached to pull open the door, however, the weight of what had just happened came crashing down on me. I couldn't stop the contorted look of pain that spread over my face, couldn't stop myself from falling to the support of leaning against the car. Couldn't stop myself from letting the memories take over.

In the same car, not even an hour earlier, I had driven here in a panic. I had practically fallen out of it in my rush to find Tony. And it had sat there in Tony's driveway, a witness, doing nothing about it, nothing to help, while it happened. Just like I did.

I should've done something. I should've tried. After- after I'd heard it the first time, I should've known. After I'd heard that terrible noise, the most awful sound to ever pass through my ears. A sound of absolute anguish that chilled every single bone in my body. A sound that would haunt my nightmares for so many years to come.

It had been a scream. Not just any scream. I'd known whose it was, and I prayed that my ears were deceiving me, yet I knew that they weren't. I didn't even think, just bolted toward the sound, sprinting across the empty street.

Jaime. Jaime Jaime Jaime. That was the only thought that my mind could form. It physically pained me to hear him like that, like my heart was being ripped to shreds where I stood. Halfway up the driveway, I felt someone grabbing me from behind and pulling me back.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I yelled, flailing against Tony's iron grip.

He had started to answer when we heard it again. Heard those blood-curdling screams, causing us to freeze in our tracks. But that wasn't it. There was another voice, much deeper. Once that both of us recognized, though I don't think either of us had ever met him in person.

"You fuckin' faggot!" he roared. "You fuckin' retard! You fuckin' piece of shit!"

Jaime's dad was cut off by another loud scream.

"Shut your filthy goddamn mouth. This is your own fault."

The yelling intensified, although Jaime's voice was stopped short, almost as if it was being stifled.

"I need to get in there! I need to help him!" I cried, struggling to break away from Tony.

"What you need to do is stay here," he hissed, tightening his grip. "I called the cops, they're on their way."

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