Spotlights

Late Night Memories

The door slammed behind Connor, not caring if he woke anyone up. He began to shrugging off his jacket and running up the stairs. Passing his parents, then Zoe's room, the beaten wooden door that marked the entrance to his own solitary confinement stood in front of him. 

Connor's hand was gripping the brass knob, staring at the dents in the door and small curves in the wood. The amount of times his father had come beating down his door for the start of some new bullshit argument, or his sister had gone running to their parents about some shitty thing he'd done, or when he was caught smoking weed. 

Years of history were marked on this door. A history he'd rather not remember. 

Connor pushed open the door, and threw his bag somewhere across the room. It was four am, but he was more awake than ever, fueled by anger and a shit ton of coffee.  

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he just sat there. Connor had said he didn't want to remember, and he didn't. But the floodgates had been opened and the memories were rushing in like a wave ready to drown him.      

*Flashback* 

"You useless piece of shit! You can't just let him do whatever he wants!" His father screamed. Twelve year old Connor was hiding at the top of the stairs, cringing as he heard the glass shatter. Tears were streaming down his face, his parents had been arguing for the last three hours about him. Connor had gotten into a fight with another boy at school because he had made fun of  his long hair and black nails. Connor had tackled the older boy, pinning him to the ground and relentlessly punching anywhere he could. 

That day he had come home, suspended, and his father waiting for him at the door, belt in hand. Connor took the hits silently, but that didn't stop the tears from flowing, His mother had come home to see her son's tear streaked face and the screaming match began. 

Connor didn't know where Zoe was, but he did know she was probably just as scared as he. 

It wasn't very often their parents got into this heated of an argument, but when they did, oh boy was it bad. He looked down at the chipped coat of black on his nails, and he wanted to cry all over again. 

This is my fault. I did this. 

*Flashback ends* 

Connor looked down at those same nails, still coated in black. He thought about how much he had changed, how he slowly turned from an aspiring, hopeful little child with nothing but the upmost faith in humanity into a closed off shell of a human, an impenetrable barrier protecting him from the world. 

His head fell back on the pillow, hair fanning out beside him. Connor stared at the white washed ceiling, taking deep breaths, and just thinking. He stayed there until the sun began it's slow climb, lighting up the sky. He stayed there until he heard the sounds of conversation and movement in the kitchen below. He stayed there until his eyes closed and his conscious swept him off to a better place.