Closed Doors

Chapter Three - Too much, not enough

I tried to softy enter the house, quietly sneaking halfway up the stairs.

“SAWYER”

“Yes father?” I weakly replied. He slapped me and I felt the red pain bloom across my face

“I am not your father! Heaven forbid my wife give birth to your sorry little ass”

I was silent.

“Answer me you twat!” he thundered

“I… I… I…” I didn’t know what he wanted me to say. He punched me in the face and I felt the blood trace down my skin; a broken spiderweb. “Don’t stutter.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Go to your room.”

“Yes, sir.”

He kicked me in the stomach. “Don’t be cheeky.” I turned and walked quickly to my room, locking the door behind me.

I refused to cry for him. I was done with wasting my breath. Tomorrow would be Wednesday, the last day of the term. I would go, to say goodbye. I would not return. My eighteenth birthday would be in three days, then I could legally live alone. Until then, three days of illegality wouldn’t kill me. I took a deep breath. I knew where I would go, I would go where I always went, the urban studio apartment I have always loved. And I could work at a cafe, or do an abridged course at the university, become an author or something. The world was alive with possibilities. I refuse to be kept down, I would get up, and I would not return.

 Cason’s POV

 I couldn’t stop smiling. Okay, I am a complete dork, but for once I actually feel okay. After his death, everyone would come to me, ask me how I coped with grief. Truth is, I don’t think I ever coped with it, I don’t think anyone does. You just learn to breathe around the hole in your lungs.

 Okay but anyway. For once today I could breathe easily. My grief was open, naked, exposed, yet I felt more protected than ever before. Maybe I like her. Maybe.

“Cason sweetheart how was your day?” my mother whisked into my room. She does a lot of that, whisking and flicking and flinging. Everything she does is in high volume, top speed. But there was gentleness in her demeanour, and I loved her. Her fast movements were a way of masking her pain, she lost everyone but me. My father died before I was born, my brother dying a decade or so later. It hurt her, it hurt me, but we hid it.

 “Brilliant”

“You didn’t go to school” It was a statement, not a question. She knew I wasn’t there. I think she knows most things before even I know it.

“Nope”

“You should’ve”

“Yup”

“Is there a girl?”

I almost choked on my spit “What?!” I rasped. She laughed lightly at my discomfort. “Oh you know, the cutie you were with”

“Mom” I whine

“Yes, sweetie? Don’t forget, I know everything.” she winked and flounced off, muttering something about condoms and too much and not enough. 

“Hey, ma, where’re you off to?” I frowned

“The studio…. gotta put extra hours in for the show this weekend. You gonna be there?”

“Yeah probably.”

“You could bring a friend.”

I scoffed, “Since when do I have friends?”

“Oh I’d say a girl worth skipping school for is worth being your friend.” she flounced off again, this time not responding to my complaints.

I heard her lock the door three times and sighed. Her OCD was coming back, but she’d never admit it.

 

Sighing, I rubbed at my eyes and started on my mini volcano of homework. I glanced at the clock and started. Two hours later the sun was casting long shadows across the formulae on my page and I snapped to attention. My eyes were itchy from wearing my contact lenses too long, and I was hungry.

 

Now wearing the dreaded glasses, I stumbled downstairs, blindly flicking on lights. I quickly threw grabbed two slices of white bread, cursing as I stubbed my toe on the corner of the counter. I thought back to the cuts on Sawyer’s hands, and the image of her clumsiness appears in my mind. I chuckle and continue with my grilled cheese. When I was done I plopped onto the couch and turned some mindless television show up loud.

At about 11 o’clock I dropped off to sleep, still on the couch. At 3 am ma came home, shaking me awake gently and telling me to go to bed. I clumsily hug her and kiss her cheek before collapsing onto my bed, exhausted.

 A/N: 20 READS YAY!! Step Two: Celebrate with coffee and homemade red velvet cupcakes. Sadly, all the reads seem to be focused on the prologue, lets get past that, yah?? Shoot for thirty, lovelies, stuff's gonna start happening :))))

Love,

LW