Friendship And Family (Currently undergoing a rewrite. Do Not Read.)

CHAPTER 25. Hope

Mathias' POV

Concentrating got worse, my grades jumped lower, and the beating didn't stop.

I sprang up this time, and Dad chased me with his belt as I ran to my room. I locked the door and drifted back a few unstable steps, panting heavily, with fresh scars all over my body.

"Mathias, open this door!"

My heart shook along with the door that seemed as though it was going to burst open from Dad's aggressive hits.

"Chris, stop!"

Mum fought for me as usual.

"You'll meet me when I get back."

"Mathias... please open the door." Mum's voice buried the silence that settled for a moment after Dad spoke. "Mathias..." she called again, and I remained quiet, 'cause no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop the monster in him. I then heard her quiet sobs behind the door, every helpless release a burn in my chest, as though a spear had struck my heart.

I gave up. I couldn't bear it anymore; Dad's torture, seeing Mum suffer and, right at that moment, I knew I had to put an end to my misery. Punching walls didn't help. The happiness that came with being around my squad was fleeting. And God left me again. Nothing looked like the better future He had promised me, if anything, the situation was only getting worse.

I watched Dad leave in his car through my window, in that vehicle that made blue my worst colour. Unfortunately, I couldn't run away from it. The colour was all over school, on my uniform and in the sky, weighing me down. Dad's absence had always been a tremendous relief, and I wouldn't care if he never came back. But the house wasn't mine, I was the stranger. Mum said he used to be a sweet man, so I bet they were once happy, and then along came a worthless son, an obstacle to their happily ever after. I didn't fit in their love story, and so I had to leave. For good.

I opened my wardrobe, removed my hoodie from its hanger, and wore it. Then I walked to my reading table, tore out a clean sheet of paper from my notebook, grabbed my pen and shoved both items in the front pocket of my jeans. I then opened the desk drawer and took out the pocket knife. I unfolded it, and stared at the blade for a while. The metal was new, sharp and shiny, made particularly for me, and for this purpose. I folded the blade back in its handle and shoved it in my pocket.

I slowly took in my room as I made to step out. I stared at the nude walls that had many times heard me cry, at my medium-sized bed that had many times massaged my body aches, my dark wooden headboard that had many times supported my weakness in the best way it could, and my pillow that had many times wiped off my tears. My throat ached, as though I'd swallowed a big stone with rough edges. I then turned around and closed the door, not looking back.

I went searching for Mum in her room and ended up in the kitchen where I found her. She was doing the dishes, and I stood by the kitchen door, watching her. I wanted having a word with her, but I had no idea what to say.

"Mum."

She quickly rinsed her hands and turned the water off, giving all of her attention to me. "Yes?"

I was a bit hesitant as I approached her, and as if for the first time, I actually noticed her. She looked like a dead flower, draining herself for Dad and I and losing all her bright colour, and freshness, because her sacrifices weren't reciprocated. It reflected in her frame because she was so thin, and seeing her like that, everyday meaningless day, was like staring in the mirror and watching all my imperfections unfold, a mirror that exposed my conscience, which in turn revealed my guilt.

We stood facing each other while she waited for me to speak, but my head was yet to form the right words. "I'm trying." Was all I could say.

She smiled, a sad one. "Come here." She then opened her arms, and I took a step into her embrace. She held me tight, as if she knew I wasn't coming back, and I cherished every second of it because it was our last.