Billy Carter

Chapter 23: Hell Is For Children

Mum gently shook me awake the next morning."Baby boy? Are you going to school today?" she asked me. I had my back to her. "You can stay home if you're still not feeling well."
I rolled over to face her, grunting at the painful movements. My whole body was stiff and sore.
"I'll stay home, I think. I'm just really sore."
"Alright, well I finish work at 1 o'clock this afternoon - I'll make you chicken-noodle soup?"
"Thanks, Mum. What's the time?"
"4:30, sweetheart."
"Wait, you mean in the morning?"
"Yes. Sorry I had to wake you up - go back to sleep." She kissed the side of my head and gave me a nice comforting cuddle before she left me alone in my dark room. I could hear her walking around downstairs, then the front door opened and closed. Dad usually took her to work in the mornings, even though he doesn't start until nine - it's a safety thing. But Dad had a bit to drink last night, and I could still hear him snoring downstairs.
I tried to go back to sleep, but I had this nagging feeling that was keeping me awake - I had to pee.
My whole body ached as I shuffled across the landing to the bathroom, my duvet wrapped tightly around me. I was black and blue all over, and when I saw my face in the mirror I nearly burst into tears - because I didn't want to accept that the beaten boy in the reflection was me. The swelling had gone down everywhere except the cheekbone he'd clipped - I was seriously starting to suspect it was broken. The rest of my face was bruised up. My left eyebrow and my bottom lip were split, and my nose was looking a little extra crooked. I sighed and went to the toilet, then I soaked a washcloth in the icy tap water, rung it out and gently pressed it against my face. I let my duvet fall to the tiled floor and stretched painfully to examine the extent of the damage on my body. I had uneven splotches of red, blue, yellow and black bruises covering my body. I looked like a very strange cow.
"Moo," I whispered, bending over to look at my legs. On the plus side, nothing was bleeding, and I figured I probably had a few bruised bones, but nothing I wouldn't survive. I'd heal, and the discoloration would probably have started to fade by the next day. I'm a quick healer, fortunately.
The bruises weren't what was keeping me from attending school though.
I hadn't even looked at all the messages my friends had sent me, and I hadn't listened to any of the voicemails either. I knew they were all probably confused, angry and worried: confused by the sudden breakup between me and Ollie, angry that I'd hurt our mutual friend, and worried because it was completely out of character for me. I knew that when I went back to school I was going to have them jumping down my throat for an explanation, and even though I had one I knew it wouldn't be convincing enough - and I didn't know how much questioning I could take. I didn't want to see any of them ever again - it felt too risky. What if I caved in and told them the truth? That Dad had lost his cool and accidentally hit me? What if the judge sent me to live with my biological father, and I never saw Mum or Dad again? I knew it wasn't going to be like this forever, that it was just temporary and Dad would come around to my sexuality - then I could just make up some other excuse and get back together with Ollie.
But in the meantime I had to distance myself, just until my friends inevitably forgot about it and stopped asking questions. Oliver had told me that eventually my Dad would understand and get over his homophobia, and Ollie's always right, and I trusted him to be right this time too. I just had to be patient and understanding with Dad, and try not to make it any harder for him. I mean, he knows now - that's kind of progress, right? And he didn't even break any bones - except perhaps my cheekbone, but of course that was an accident. It was all in the heat of the moment, anyroad. He just lost his head for a second, he doesn't know how to process his feelings - that's what my counsellor would say.
I had made up my mind to ignore the other things he did. Pretend they didn't happen. It was a bad dream. But the weight of it was heavy in my chest. The wall I'd built up in my head to hide the memory away was thin and fragile, and I knew that if I let my mind wander too much the wall would crumble completely and I'd be destroyed. I was already on the brink of tears.
I shuffled back to my bedroom and curled up on my bed. I tried to sleep, but my stupid head wouldn't shut up. I tried so hard to relax and keep my mind off of things but I couldn't help it and ended up crying again. Eventually it was seven o'clock in the morning. That's when I had a great idea - I'd start the day properly with Dad. Put yesterday behind us. If I was good, then he wouldn't have to get angry at me.
I dried my eyes, got up, got dressed, and tip-toed downstairs to the kitchen. I got everything I needed and started to make dad's favourite breakfast as quietly as I could.
Dad's alarm went off at half-past seven, and by the time he came out of the bedroom, dressed, shaved and ready for work, I had a big plate of french toast and eggs and bacon and a steaming mug of coffee waiting for him on the kitchen table.
"Well, what's this?" Dad asked, looking at me with a pleasantly surprised smile.
"I-I thought I'd m-make you breakfast. I t-told Mum that I'm not going to school today - I don't feel w-well enough yet. Is that ok?"
"I think that's a very good idea," he said quietly, eyeing my bruises. I looked down at my feet, feeling really uneasy about him looking me over. "What day is it?" he asked, sitting down to eat. I sat down across from him, clutching my own cup of coffee like it was the only thing anchoring me to the world.
"Thursday."
"How about you just take the rest of the week off, huh? How's that?" he asked, digging into his breakfast.
"Well... I have band practice tonight. And work at the restaurant tomorrow night and Saturday," I told him.
"Don't go to band practice tonight. I don't think you're ready yet. Go to work though." He didn't look up from cutting some bacon.
"Ok."
"Good boy." He smiled at me and took a bite of bacon. "Damn son, this is delicious." he told me. I smiled, genuinely happy he thought so.
"Really?" I asked.
"Really." He nodded and cut up a slice of French toast. "You know if this band thing ever falls through you might make a decent chef one day."
"I don't know," I said quietly. "I like cooking, but not when I'm being rushed. I was thinking, Jimmy - you know my friend Jimmy I've told you about - he's a mechanic, for cars and stuff. I was thinking, maybe I could do that. I mean I like cars, and I like working with my hands. I think it would be fun."
"Mm. I think that'd suit you." He finished up his breakfast and leaned back in his chair to look at me. "I think you'd do well in any sort of trade - engineering, metal working, carpentry, building and construction, plumbing, electrical work - I think you could make a pretty good Jack-of-all-trades. Like me." He smiled at me again, and I forced another in return. "So, you're going to behave from now on?"
"Yes."
"You're going to do what I say? Whatever I say?"
"Yes. Of course. Anything. I just want things to go back to how they were."
"Me too. Come and give me a hug." We both stood up and I walked around the table to hug him. He pat me on the back I wished I could feel hopeful. "Well, thank you for breakfast, it was brilliant. I'd do the washing up, but I need to head off now. I'll see you later this evening then." He collected his things, and stopped to put his hand on the back of my neck and lean in on his way out the door. "Remember to behave yourself. We don't want you to get taken away from your mother, do we? She'd be devastated."
His words sent shivers down my spine and I felt my heartrate picking up, my breathing start to struggle and a growing uneasiness in my stomach as a panic attack started to kick in and replace my dissociation. I nodded robotically at Dad.
"I'm sorry? I couldn't hear you," he told me. I couldn't find my voice, and the longer I stayed silent the tighter his grip on my neck got.
"Y-yes, Dad," I finally stammered. He let go of me and lightly pat the side of my face, ignoring my obvious and automatic flinch as his hand came near my cheek.
"Good. I'll see you tonight. Tidy up, would you?"
"Yes Dad."
"Good." He walked out the door, drawing it closed behind him, and I carefully sat myself down into one of the dining chairs hoping my shaking legs wouldn't give out under me before I could sit.
I relaxed and practiced my breathing exercises to calm down again. I wasn't going to be taken away from Mum - as long as I behaved and did as I was told. I sat and pulled myself back together for a few minutes, then I told myself that if I didn't tidy up I was probably going to hear about it from Dad.
First I had a shower. A long, hot shower, until my skin was red and raw from scrubbing. Afterwards I washed the dishes, then I vacuumed and mopped the floors. I dusted, I cleaned the bathroom, I cleaned the kitchen and I made all the beds - I even went out and tidied Dad's tiny shed and weeded Mum's garden. I let Blue Jean inside, and we both snuggled up on the couch under a blanket. We watched Harry Potter and I wished I'd gotten my Hogwarts acceptance letter six years ago.
At least Dad doesn't make me live under the stairs.