The Treehouse Club {On Hold}

Chapter Six // Jacob

JACOB

The woods are darker then I remember. Louder too. Then again maybe that's because I haven't even thought about this place in years, much less visited after dark.

I wander around for a while before I actually even find the treehouse, and by then I'm asleep on my feet. I'm not so tired that I miss the quality of the place though. It looks ready to fall apart with the next slight breeze. It's a miracle Danny and I didn't get any splinters (or tetanus for that matter, judging by the looks of those nails) all those years ago when we would explore past the limits of the little park near here.

But it's the only place I've got and there's no way I'm going back to my house now, so instead I grab onto the edge of the flimsy structure right under the hole that I'm assuming is the door, and I haul myself up.

Surprisingly, the crap hole actually supports my body weight. I'm not sure if it'll last very long, and I'm not really looking forward to waking up free falling toward the forest floor, but the walls aren't shaking in the wind and there appear to be less splintering wood in here, so we'll see what happens.

The place isn't that bad really. There's a little window so the sun should wake me up, and they've even got a mattress, though I'd rather not think too hard on why. It fits my needs anyway, so I shrug off my backpack and pull out my pillow, chucking it onto the bed.

It isn't silent here, the woods just woke up after all, but I honestly don't mind noise. After all these years I think complete and utter silence would be terrifying.

To be honest I'm pretty scared of noise too. I've never really noticed before, but these last few years have made me aware of the never ending background noise that occurs no matter where I go, because there is never really silence. Your mind just gets used to whatever background sounds are going on and when we no longer realize the noise, when it just fades back into our setting, then we call it quiet.

Noise like this I could live with though. A cricket chirp, a frog croak; sleep comes easy to this silence.

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I've already been up for an hour by the time the sunlight streams through the small window opposite the mattress. A nightmare woke me up and I was unable to reach the point of sleep again, so I eventually gave up, leaning against the side of the wall and listening to the night life of the woods. My eyes are closed too, so the only way I can tell that the morning has come is be the heat on my face and the slowly retreating sounds of the forest that have enticed me since I woke up.

All I have is a pillow, so clean up is quick, but I take my time leaving anyway. My walk home is slow and wandering; I'm in no rush to be back. The woods were a great escape, but they were a temporary one too, and at some point you've gotta come back and face whatever kind of nightmarish reality you were trying to escape in the first place.

My parents aren't the problem. I know they left for work hours ago; they probably didn't even realize I was missing. It's not Danny either, the kid's a tool, but he's still my brother and he's never done anything to turn me away from him. If my parents had cared enough to notice my absence, he probably would have covered for me. At least I hope he would have, God knows I've done it for him enough times. No, my family isn't the problem.

The problem is that once I get home, I have to get changed and leave again, and the place I'm headed is my living hell. I don't care what people say, school is a holding pen that allows devils to have free reign. And devils thrive in free reign. I honestly pity my teachers. They get bullied around by the delinquents just as much as any of us, and they can't do anything about it because they're restricted from dishing out anything that resembles punishment. It is the most screwed up system I can think of.

And the worst part is that the kids we're allowing to run free are the exact kids who know how to take advantage of it. They run around with their million dollar pants torn to shreds and their bags and heads empty, and they amuse themselves by getting you to hate yourself. I made a couple of "friends" two years back as a freshmen and I've had to deal with their shit ever since.

Ronnie Stowe is a senior now. At the rate he's going I've got a feeling he's gonna stay that way for a while. He used to be a prep kid before he found out what his Daddy's money could really buy him. He's been smoking pot since the 7th grade and he deals crack to incoming freshmen. That's how we got tangled up: My newbie asshole of a self screwed up a sale for him the first day I stepped on campus. His gang of cronies has been giving me hell ever since.

I used to actually enjoy school, but a few years of getting slammed into lockers every time you walk down the hallway and you'll get over it too.

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The halls are already full of kids by the time I make it to my campus. A group of cheerleaders is at the front door handing out flyers for some stupid event they're hosting. They try and hand me one; I decline.

Unlike usual, no one even spares me a second glance on the way to my first period class. I reach the door to my classroom and my shoulders sag in relief. With any luck, Ronnie's down for the flu or something that will keep him off my tail for a couple days.

My first block of Physics passes quickly and by the time I know it my classes are running together in a steady stream of apprehension. I hardly ever go this long without a run in. Ronnie doesn't just take days off. I would just brush it off as sickness again, except for the fact that I spent the last half hour staring at the back of his head.

You can imagine my surprise as I bend down to retrieve a notebook from my back and look back up to find him casually strolling into the English class we share, and hour and fifteen minutes late.

He didn't so much as spare me a second glance, and that's what worries me. He always gives me a twisted smile on his way in the door. The fact that he's ignoring me actually scares me more then him physically harming me. At least then I know where the threat is; this way, I'm completely at his mercy.

And I hate it. Being helpless to him is the worst thing I can think of.

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The end of the day comes quickly. My drama audition went well, despite the nerves, and the calm has not yet broken into a storm, but I can feel the tension inside me building with every moment.

It wasn't always like this. I never used to be afraid of my own shadow; the old me would've never taken this kinda shit from anyone. But I've been with it so long, there's honestly no more reason for me to fight. So what if I come home covered in bruises every other week? Maybe if I had more, if they were more prominent, maybe then my parents would actually take notice of them. They'd be pissed, sure. But it would be worth it, because for once their anger wouldn't be directed at me or at each other. They'd finally have a common enemy. Maybe getting the snot kicked out of me is the only way to bring them together.

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They strike as I'm passing the old football sheds on my way out of school. Four or five guys grab my arms and shove me outta sight. Then two support me by my arms and a third takes a swing at my stomach. Ronnie's the only one I'm focused on. He stands at the edge of the group of boys, arms crossed, feet planted, just watching. There's that twisted smile I missed so much.

I try and fight them off at first, just like I always do. But they're too strong. There's too many. So eventually I slow down, give up, let it happen. Just like I always do. And I stand there limp and take it, as they beat the ever living shit out of me.

Just like they always do.