Demons

Chapter One: Drag

Slowly, Derek cleaned up the pieces of broken glass around the house. It wasn’t an uncommon sight, not when his mother throws the empty bottles she drinks in the name of sport, against a picture of her ex-husband. School would start in fifteen minutes but the boy hadn’t even begun getting dressed. His morning chores simply bar him from ever showing up on time.

“Stop this, you weak little shit.”

“Why do you even bother with these menial chores that don’t even concern you anyway? So your mother won’t beat you the way daddy does?”

Derek controls himself. The voices seemed to be getting stronger. Used to be when he was happy, he could hold it in. Those were the days when his family was full, the days before Matthew stormed out of the house. The days before he left this family, tearing it apart. Mom divorced that excuse of a man but couldn’t afford to move out and five years later this stew of shit is still slowly brewing itself into insanity.

Derek closes his eyes to try not to think about it. He missed his brother. He opens them to see himself holding a bottle of Whiskey with nothing more than two shots left.

“Drink it.”

“There must be a reason why your whore of a mother loves it, eh?”

Derek stared at the words on the label. He tried to make sense of them but couldn’t focus, the only thing on his mind were the demons inside screaming at him. A million voices raged on telling him different things. Mostly to do what he truly desires to, to stand up, some console him. Others simply ramble on the same things repeatedly, as if probing him, pressing him to do something he doesn’t want to.

Slowly he raises the bottle to his mouth, his trembling hand on the bottleneck. He peeks around first, making sure his mother wasn’t looking.

“You REALLY think she would be awake right now? Seriously?”

He took it. What’s left of it. A rush builds up quickly, he sits up. The taste was familiar, but not welcome. He remembered the days he would drink beer secretly with his brother, just for the fun of it. But this wasn’t beer. This was sharp, it hurt.

He wiped his mouth, and slowly put the bottle down. His actions seemed to slow, but he took stock of what mobility he had left to head to the kitchen. Quickly dousing his face with fresh tap water, he drank some too while he was at it.

“That helped. Drink some more.”

“Yeah, more is always better.”

Derek tried to fight it. He knew the consequences if he didn’t, but soon gave in to temptation and started slurping the water away. Tasting gloriously fresh, he couldn’t help but continuously swallow the water streaming through the metal pipes underneath his house. It wasn’t long until he felt sick, until he felt his stomach churning.

He backed away from the sink, feeling the entire contents of his stomach back up, he braced himself against the toilet bowl and let it all flow out. He retched and coughed and before long, he started feeling better. The boy seemed to have bloated himself with water and ended up puking it all out.

He freshens up, and stares blankly into the mirror. His bruised face reminded him of nothing but the pain his father inflicted upon him. He heaved a sigh, and rinses his mouth, then puts on a fresh set of clothes. Grabbing his bag, he walked slowly out the door, locking it behind him.

The walk to school was a heavy one. He’d never gone to school with a bruise this bad, this obvious before. It used to be a simple scratch, a bruise on his arm he could cover up with his hoodie. But this time it was one on his face and unless he’d plaster it with band aids, everyone would see that he’d gotten into a fight. His mind raced with excuses he could provide. The last thing he wanted was for the police to start looking around and him finding himself in a shelter for kids. Though that might not be a bad thing.

                                         *INCOMPLETE. TO BE CONTINUED.*