The Hurt

Chapter 9

Jessica’s POV

 We take a seat in the middle of the field before Aaron tells me what happened.

“My father and I got into a fight about my future. He is a coach for the local football team and has always wanted me to play, but sports were never my thing. I told him that I was interested in perusing something to do with art and he got angry with me.” He paused, picking grass out of the ground beside him. It was obvious that talking about it made him uncomfortable.

“Hey, if you don’t want to talk about it… it’s okay, believe me everyone has their own rights to keep secrets.”

“No, its okay. It isn’t a secret that my dad is disgusted with me. He’s always put so much pressure on me to be who he wanted me to be, but it never clued in to him that I might want to do something else, something that I enjoy. So when I told him that I thought football was stupid and that I’d pick art over it any day, he hit me and pulled the ‘watch what you say to me, I’m your father’ card.” Aaron kept his head low the whole time, playing with a leave that he’d picked up. “After that, I left. I was so angry, I just needed to cool off, ya know? So I came out into the woods, it’s always been a comforting place for me.” He paused again, “is that weird?” I laughed a little.

“No, no it isn’t. I do the same thing. I agree, there is something about walking alone in the woods that’s calming, like it’s almost therapeutic. It’s just a really good place to come and work out your problems.” I stopped; Aaron was staring at me with confusion clearly plastered on his face. “What.”

“I just find it hard to believe that someone as perfect as you could have problems.” Was he serious? Me perfect? Ha, yeah maybe in an alternate dimension or something.

“Believe me Aaron, I am far from perfect…” I drop my head, thinking of all my imperfections.

“I don’t believe you. You’re smart, funny, pretty, plus you’re athletic and you’re good at art. I know at least a dozen girls who’d wish they were you.” Yeah, until they’d come home and get the crap beaten out of them by their new abusive Uncle. I couldn’t think of anything to say without giving away my biggest secret so I just sat there with my head down, hoping he’ll start up the conversation again.

“And, on top of all that, you don’t get criticized for who you are. My father hates that I’m more like my mom than him. That I love art with a passion rather than want to tackle people in the mud all day. You have no idea what it’s like to have your only parent resent you so much.” I looked up at him and we made eye contact. I didn’t say anything, but he knew that I was wondering about his mom.

“My mom died when I was six from breast cancer. She wasn’t diagnosed in time and it had already started spreading to her other major parts of her body. Ever since then, my dad has tried to make me more like him so he doesn’t have to have me be so much like her. To have a walking reminder of his deceased wife that he couldn’t save.” I could see a lone tear slip down his cheek and I now knew what I was going to say.

“I know how you feel,” I took a deep breathe, “ my dad left when I was a baby and my mom started doing drugs when she met her new boyfriend. He left her after my sister was born and from there her addiction got out of control. She’d spend all her money on her heroine and my little sister and I relied on my brother to feed us every day. When I was eight she overdosed, and I’ve been living with my aunt and uncle since.” I paused, I could see his head drop, feeling bad that he’d even brought up his situation and probably thinking mine was worse.

“Look, I’m not trying to compare situations, or try and get sympathy… I’m just letting you know that I truly know what it feels like and if you ever want to talk about it, I’ll be here.” I reached out and grabbed his hand and gave him a reassuring smile.