"This moment was the most significant and lasting of the whole experience. It was the first rent in the holy image of my father, it was the first fissure in the columns that had upheld my childhood, which every individual must destroy before he can become himself. Such fissures and rents grow together again, heal and are forgotten, but in the most secret recesses they continue to live and bleed." -Hermann Hesse
Before I knew it, a deep, sigh left me, as if it was a habit I got from enduring the same tiring experience again and again. Well, I did, I got this habit for that exact reason. I knew the sound of bottles bumping and clinking with each other and the sound of the dumb variety show meant that he was drinking again. I just arrived to the house and stood at the entrance as the stupid boyfriend of my sister drank his thoughts to waste. It was only the afternoon. Well, I knew what this meant. I knew what would follow this repetitive act of his. The topic had come up way too often on both my laptop and on my mind. "abusive behavior. how to deal with an abusive boyfriend. how to deal with an alcoholic boyfriend. child protective services. abusive hotline. what do i do if my guardian is abusing me." Even though I was used to this sight, I wasn't used to the actions following it. But I wasn't the one who these actions were directed to.
"Who is it?" The guy turned around with eyes struggling to stay open, bulging every once in awhile, while his mouth hung open. He looked unkempt, with a stubbled chin, and was slumped on the couch with bottles of alcohol, some empty and some yet open, in an obvious pile in front of him.
I hated this sight. He looked pathetic and he was pathetic. His days only consisted of getting wasted. I avoided talking to him as much as possible and he avoided me, too. I wouldn't want to become an adult like that. After a pause, I replied.
"It's me."
With no response in return, I dropped my shoes by the door and entered the hallway to my room as the TV blasted on full volume in the living room. My sister, around this time of the day, would be struggling to pay for the both of us with her part-time job, along with the unemployed bum who spent his youth on the couch. And by the end of the day when she would return to our house, she would be greeted with bruises and insults. Real funny, isn't it? It goaded me, alright. But I can't do anything about it. It's not my choice, whether I like it or not.
I didn't want to be in the house alone with a drunk, so I took out my phone.
"...Frederik? Where are you?"
When I arrived to the house, he was spread out on the couch, deep asleep, while Noel was competitively playing games. I walked over to Noel and sat in a comfortable position. On the table was the case of the game, a continuation of the one that we would usually play together.
"Is this the newest edition?"
After a ephemeral pause, he replied. "Yep."
"Ahh, really? Where did you get it?"
"Hehe, let's not talk about that."
My mouth hung open. "The graphics are so good."
"Yep."
After peeling my eyes away from the screen, I turned my attention towards Derik. I bent down besides the couch and rested my head on the edge of the couch. I liked how he smelled. He smelled like the bubblegum lollipop he would always eat.
In the middle of thinking, I was interrupted with a loud cry from Noel.
"Shh." I made a gesture to Frederik after Noel turned around to look at me.
"Oh. Sorry."
My eyes moved to his face, as my neck tilted sideways in order to line my face up with his. Frederik had a naturally round face. He also had dimples when he smiled, sometimes out of inspiration, with his eyebrows scrunched together as he nodded in agreement. I think he's wise and cool. He's easily inspired and likes learning, but only the empirical stuff. He didn't believe in the supernatural. Instead, he's the type of person who knows that most Muppets are left-handed, (he told me this). When he came across these things, he would immediately tell us what he learned, which would usually lead to a whole philosophical lesson. Although some of us were tired of his constant existential crises, we listened. I think he's the epitome of a leader, despite not being the oldest of our group, since leaders are usually the oldest. I admired Frederik's features. I thought they were unique and pretty. I'm what they call-- fastidious? Something like that. I heard it from Frederik the other day.
