Opposites • Cake

2

Luke hated going home. He hated being trapped between those four walls, with nobody to listen but the therapist he saw on a weekly basis. His hour long sessions with Josie were scheduled in every Wednesday afternoon, and for Luke that one hour a week was the reason he was still alive today. 

Luke never felt welcome in his own home. The walls reeked of smoke and anonymity, his father's whisky staining the carpet. He spent all of his time in his room, a tiny box room down a long corridor as far away from his parents as he could get. His room was decrepit from the start, the wallpaper peeling off at the corners and water stains trickling down the walls from where storms had racked the old frame of the house. He had tried to make it his own, but there's only so much you can do with a tiny room and a scratchy carpet.

He had taped posters to that walls, pictures of Rosie and himself blu tacked to the ancient wallpaper, hiding the cracks and uneven lumps in the plaster. His music was his only escape sometimes, the lock on his door that he had fitted for himself being only close to enough to keep the demons living in his house away from his safe place. 

It wasn't always safe. 

Luke crept through his house now, his socked feet padding along the dirty wooden floors as he heard his Dad snoring loudly on the sofa. His mum was nowhere to be found, and Luke didn't want to know where she went when she wasn't at home. Memories of track marks in his mother's arms flooded to his mind as he stood watching his father slumped over in his hole-filled, alcohol-stained armchair, the fabric worn down at every seam. The light from the TV flickered over the room, illuminating the features on his Dad's face, every line a crevice and every snore a threat. 

He tiptoed into the kitchen, reaching up to the top cupboard to grab a glass for water. Luke's attempt at reaching for a glass from the cupboard distracted him from listening out for his father's awakening, signalling his time to scurry back to his room. 

"What the fuck are you doing down here?" His father slurred from the doorway, and Luke started with a yelp, the glass he had managed to grasp slipping from between his shaking fingers and landing with a smash in the sink. 

"You stupid fucking boy!" Luke's dad started to yell, inching closer to Luke by the second, spit particles flying from his mouth as he spat at the boy. 

Alarm bells were screeching in Luke's head, his eyes blurry with fear as his Dad walked towards him. Luke cowered away as his Dad raised his hand to Luke. 

Shaking in fear, Luke made an attempt to get away, his hip banging loudly on the corner of the counter as he ran, grabbing his keys and shoes on the way out of the door, he slammed it quickly behind him, taking off down the road with no shoes on, his sock covered feet hitting the pavement, but Luke couldn't feel the pain. All of his energy was focused on getting away from his house, and it wasn't until five streets of running until he started to slow down, his heart pounding. 

Luke wished that this wasn't a regular occurrence in his house, but unfortunately for him, he was far too accustomed to the feeling of adrenaline rushing through his veins. Luke slowed to a stop, his breath catching up with him and his heart rate slowly as he stood in the middle of the street, his t-shirt sticking uncomfortably to his back. 

He swallowed thickly, a lump in his throat restricting his breathing. Catching his breath and slipping his shoes on his feet, Luke walked towards the park at the end of the road next to the churchyard. The clock began to strike. One. Two. Three. Luke counted in his head, the chimes echoing loudly throughout the empty park into the darkness. Luke counted eleven chimes, and it calmed him in a way, focusing on counting the chimes instead of what could be waiting for him when he finally got back home.