Twenty – Oliver

The nap didn't help. It did make me feel less like I've been hit with a train, but the hunger still gnaws at my stomach. I sit up on my bed and untangle myself from the sheets then swing my legs over the edge of the bed and push myself up. My legs are stiff and tender, so I take my time to get up, stabling myself on the bed stand.

I wobble over to the door and turn the handle. As carefully as I can, I try to push the door open, but it won't budge. Still locked in. After four days, Mum still hasn't decided her disappointment of a son deserves to see the light of day. I hit my hand against the door, directly on a deep cut, and immediately regretted it. I stumble back, cradling my hand and slip on a stray shirt, sending me crashing to the floor. Pain shoots through my body. I can't help but tear up. I'm abused, mad, hurt, hungry and alone with no hope left inside of me so there's no way I can keep it together.

I let myself sit there on the floor and cry my pain out. I was trying to be quiet but I honestly couldn't care less anymore. It's not my fault my mum's psychotic. And it's not my fault I cop all of her outrages and mood swings.

It's probably about time I eat. It might help me calm down. Hopefully I'm just hungry, and this nightmare isn't actually as bad as it seems. I cross my room to my desk and grab the half of my peanut butter that I have left. I shouldn't eat it all now because I don't know how long I'll be here, so I break the half into quarters. I put one of the quarters back into my lunchbox and started slowly eating the other quarter. It's good to eat something after so long, especially to eat something as smooth and creamy as a peanut butter sandwich. I just wish it was fresh.

With nothing to do I stand in the middle of my room. I stare at the blank planes of the off-white walls. I wait for something, anything to happen. But everything is still and everything is quiet. Almost too quiet. It's almost like the world has stopped working or someone has paused a movie. When I'm locked in my room, time doesn't exist and nothing has purpose and it leaves me feeling so empty and vulnerable. I feel vulnerable. I stand there, wrapped in silence, witnessing the quiet.

Jesus, maybe I'm going psychotic too.

There's an eruption of heavy footsteps echoing down the hall, cascading faster and faster. They pass my room, out the front door. There's a rattle at the front door and a slam. Then everything I quiet again. She's gone. For the first time in days.

After a few minutes of cradling a pillow on my bed, the silence becomes too much. There's a buzzing anxiety pulsing through me. So much adrenaline that I feel like I'll puke. What am I doing. I grab my desk chair and drag it noisily over to my window. I pull my blinds up, letting more light shine into my room. I step up onto the chair very carefully to prevent pain from shooting up my leg, then slide the window open. A fresh breeze flows through the window, diffusing the built-up, stale air in my room. The silent space is filled as the sounds of passing cars and rustling leaves settle in my room. My head burns in anticipation. I grab the tab at the bottom of the screen and pull. Just like that, the screen pops out and falls outside, rattling a dead bush. I pause. Waiting. Listening. Nothing. Good.

I know I'm not thinking but I can't do this anymore. I heave myself awkwardly to get most of my weight transferred onto my left leg so I can manoeuvre my right leg along the windowsill. "Shit." A cut catches on the edge of the windowsill and blood starts spilling down my leg. I move quicker. Somehow, I balance myself in a way that I could shimmy my upper body through the window. I get my shoulder through. Okay, this is good. Now the tricky part, my head. The window is just thin enough for my head to be too awkward to get through. I angle my neck sideways, wincing from the pain as I thread my arm against the tracks of the window agitating more wounds. Blood starts dripping down my arm, across my body, down the wall. I try and try and try. I'm crying in pain, my body contorted grossly to balance up on the windowsill. I feel stupid.

Because it's no use. The window is too small.

I can't....

I stumble down from the wall, tripping over the chair, dragging bloodied fingertips across dull white paint. My head spins, and I collapse on the bed.

Before I can react, I'm jolted conscious by heavy footsteps at my door. My head whips across at the window, stained with blood, open and screenless. Shit. I almost fall as I try to get up as quickly as possible. Something pushes up against my door. She must've seen the open window. There's a rattle. I slink behind my bed as silently as I can and try to hide, my body powered by pure fear. My heart races in my chest and my brain pounds against my skull. I can't help but hold my hand over my own mouth.

The door handle turns…

"YOU BETTER BE IN HERE!" My mum yells as she bursts through the door, bringing the heavy scent of alcohol with her.

Slowly, I get up from the floor, hunching over and trying not to look at her. I can't look at her, I have no hope. My chest tightens to the point where my eyes start to water.

She glares at the window, "What the fuck? WHAT THE FUCK!" She rounds the bed quickly and I scramble across it to keep the distance. "THE FUCKING SCHOOL CALLED ME IN FOR A MEETING BECAUSE YOU WERENT SHOWING UP SO I HAD TO DEAL WITH THEM AND NOW YOU! WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING?"

She strikes at me across the bed contacting with my arm, then snatches my shirt and heaves me towards her. The monster takes a breath, suddenly switching to a quieter voice. "God you're fucking lucky I changed the primary school contact to mine instead of Quetin's, otherwise you would be in a world of fucking pain. Not that THIS," She gestures wildly to the window, "Is going to be any better. Where the fuck do you get off? Do you know how that makes me look? HOW LONG HAS THERE BEEN BLOOD DRIPPING OUT OF THE WINDOW? WHAT ARE YOU SADISTIC?" The closer she gets, the harder it becomes to breathe. A lump builds in my throat.

She leans in close to my ear, grabbing my shoulder and digging her nails into my skin, "I don't want to hear ANYTHING from you... UNDERSTAND? I've got the school up my ass asking for a medical certificate, so I don't want shit from you, you worthless faggot."

Tears start to trickle down my face and I stay very still, hoping she'll just leave so I can breathe again. But she doesn't. She stumbles and I automatically rush to kick her away. She pulls back in offence, recovering quickly. She flings her hands at me. I push her off and sock her right in the jaw. Then she really falls back. Her hair falls across her face as her hand rests right where we connected. She chuckles slightly and sways a bit. Then she rushes me. I scatter off the other side of the bed but she grabs my wrist, jerks me back and slams my body down. My head hits the side table and I crumple.

A curtain of red hair gets very close to my ear and whispers sharply, "You're so weak." She laughs again then starts to yell directly in my ear, "THIS IS WHY NO ONE CARES ABOUT YOU, BECAUSE YOU'RE NOT NORMAL. YOU'RE WEAK AND YOU'RE UNTRUSTWORTHY. YOU MAKE EVERYTHING SO WRONG, YOU SCRAWNY, FUCKING FAG!"

She shakes her head at me. I don't look at her.

"You're not even strong enough to look at me. I really should've killed you."

Her words hit me hard, forcing the air from my lungs. She kicks me hard in the ribs. My head spins and I shield myself from another attack, but instead she walks over to the window, slamming it shut and twisting a small key into the lock. Of course she has a key for the window. She walks past me like nothing happened and slams the door, sliding the lock back into place.

I'm alone again. My whole body throbs and hot pain swells in the back of my head.

I'm so mad. She makes me so mad.

After the spinning stops, I manage to drag myself onto my bed. I bury my face into the pillow and let it soak up my frustrated tears. My chest heaves as I splutter into my pillow, trying to let all my frustrations out. But there's just too much wrong in my life and all the things worth living for have been taken away from me.

I don't care if I can't look at her. I'm not going to let her do this to me. She can only think about herself and it's making me mad.

I lay there until I fell asleep.