No More Bruises

Chapter 5

I wake up in my bedroom, a glass of water next to me. I look down to find my shirt off, and multiple blankets on my bed. I see the many bruises lining each bump of muscle, even down my forearms.

I begin to sit up painfully as my mom walks in the room. She has a bowl and a wash cloth in her hand.

"Look who's up!" She says, smiling. I groan.

"How long this time?"

"A day." She walks over, and sits down beside me. I just now realize the chair beside the bed. "Better than usual." 

She brings the washcloth to my head, and I flinch at the pain. Thank goodness it's not cold though. I feel the warm water as it leaves the cloth and covers my skin in little drops. She taps my forehead and along my cheekbone, her face serious.

"You're leaving today." I can tell by her face that this is not debatable.

"Mom..."

"No. Stop it. The other day was awful, and yesterday was miserable. I can't keep doing this. It's one thing when he beats me, I'm a grown woman, but as a mother, seeing him beat you is another thing entirely." 

I stay silent, knowing it's probably a better idea. She's my mother, and she's always right.

"You're also going to school today." 

Of course I am. "Get dressed, it's almost third hour. You're late."

She stands up, putting the washcloth in the bowl and faking a smile. She nods at the cup of water, telling me to drink it up. She leaves the room, closing the door behind her.

I get up, the pain filling every part of my body. My stomach is purple, my feet are swollen, and my hands are covered in scabs and bruises.

I put on my favorite outfit: black, distressed jeans and a black leather jacket. Oh, and there's a black, v-neck t-shirt underneath. I end up changing though, into sweatpants and no jacket. They were too painful-- I've never walked so slow.

I grab my backpack, wincing at the pain. I didn't think my backpack was that heavy. I open the bag and see that there's a change of clothes, my toothbrush and toothpaste, and a few other things that aren't for school. 

I should have seen it coming. Of course she wouldn't want me to come back after school and run the risk of getting beat again. 

I slowly head up the stairs and see my mom in the kitchen. She's cleaning some glass up off the floor. She looks up and we just stair at each other. I see a tear fall from her face, and from then on, waterfalls. We can't help it. At least with her, we have a relationship. 

I head over to her slowly, trying not to limp. I don't want her to see me hurt, not now.

We give each other a tight hug. I hear her sniffle, and another tear falls. 

"You better go." I nod, swallowing hard, and we say nothing else as I head out the door.

As I shut the door, I heave in a big sigh, desperately trying not to fall apart. I feel like a poorly glued vase, ready to shatter into pieces on the ground.

Step by step, I make it to the car. An old truck, held together with old parts and frequent cleanings. After I climb in and shut the door, tears fall. 

They fall and I set my hands and head on the steering wheel, wondering if I should even be driving. But I have to, for my mother. 

Reaching the school is so difficult. I can't even stay between the lines, constantly reaching up to wipe my eyes free of the tears. Once I do though, I can't help but notice how everyone's lives seem to be going perfectly. 

How is it that it can be that way? How can I be over here falling apart, and everyone else is acting like everything's normal? It doesn't seem fair.

When I get out, everyone's staring...at me. I know why they're glaring. I'm glaring at myself on the inside. 

I remember.

I head up the door to find Britney in my way. She's not happy, and I'm not in the mood for her attitude.

"Who do you think you are?" she doesn't wait for a response, "You think that you can come here like nothing is wrong, when you literally took advantage of her. I've seen you break girl's hearts way too many times, and I'm sick of it. How can you be so cruel? She just came here!"

Her face is red, the hand not holding her books is in a fist, and it's almost like there's steam coming from her ears.

I take the criticism as she continues to yell and everyone continues to stare. I take it, because I'm not paying attention. My mind is remembering June.

The times we had together were amazing, yet painful to remember. They hurt more than my beat-up body does.

I remember the first time we kissed. I remember how she was shy for so long, but eventually, she wasn't anymore. I also remember her disappointment.

I look up, Britney staring at me, knowing I wasn't listening.

"Are you done?" I ask.

"No." 

"Okay," I say as I walk past her and into the school.

I look through the mirror on the school wall and see Britney staring at me, surprised at my reaction.

I know she is. I know I'm not acting like myself.

Normally, I would be more than willing to take her on and argue. Not today. Today, I need to find June. 

I walk through the school, to every corner. I start with her locker, remembering her pin from when she let me store my stuff in their when I didn't feel like cleaning mine. I look in it to find it painstakingly empty.

I go everywhere, asking everyone if they've seen her. School starts though, and I eventually go to my classes. It didn't matter though.

Even though I was in there, I wasn't listening. I don't care what lesson they're teaching.

I don't care about school.

Right now, I don't care about living. Not without June.

I thought what I did was right. I see that it wasn't, and that I need her. I realize that she had become everything. Everything to me. Even when I had bruises, she rid me of the memory. When I had scratches, she rid me of the scars.

The school bell rings, the day over. June never crossed my eyes. She's not here at school because of me, because I hurt her. That's why Britney was so angry. She's probably at home, disappointed with me, never wanting to see me again. And I don't blame her.

Everyone gets up, frantically chattering and excited to leave and do their thing. Here I am, still in my seat in the back, thinking about June.

"Zachariah?" I look up to find Mrs. Strict in front of me.

"What?" I ask, barely moving my lips. Lifeless.

"It's time for you to go home. Your new one."

"Yeah," I say. I'm nodding, looking off to nowhere. I slowly get up and grab my bag. I start leaving the room.

"Goodbye Zach." I turn to see those same eyes of sympathy. I realize that someone I thought to be so cruel cares about me. She cares about us.

"Goodbye," I say back and nod. I walk out, and at this moment, I'm thinking about what my new home might be like. Mom said that they are a nice couple, moderately wealthy, and never have had any children. I'd be the only child still. I've always wanted a sibling, but that is a dream that will probably never come true. 

I've always wanted a sister rather than a brother. I don't know why, I just do.

I know I'm supposed to wait at the school, but I decide that I'll go back to the woods one more time. That place I'll miss; I won't need it anymore. Isn't that weird? Something that you've visited for so long somehow feels as though it's a part of you. A place of many good and bad memories.

An escape that's no longer needed? Like a trapdoor that you cover with a rug. But you can move a rug. You can move it from where it was placed and visit that escape again. This is only temporary, right? I can stay there for a year, come back and get my mom, and go anywhere we please.

I touch each tree along the trail created by time. The trees, yet faint, still have the marks from the first time I came through here. That way, I'd remember the way.

Now, the trail will fade too. I'll remember it though.

I can't do this. I can't leave, I can't.

I can't go somewhere and pretend these people are my family. I can't. I'm not someone who can follow rules and be suppressed by expectations. Responsibility is one thing, rules are another.

I'm a dog without a cage, without a leash. Free. 

At least that's what I wish to be.

Also, would I be putting them in danger if my father found out? I'd never be able to live with myself if something happened.

Maybe it's better not to go? I don't know. 

I've got my car and my stuff packed, I guess that's what I'm going to do.

June doesn't want to see me anyway. Maybe it's best. 

I jump in the water real quick. It's cold and I hurt, but I don't even care.

I look around one more time and take a quick breath. I watch as a butterfly flies around in circles, finally landing on a purple flower in front of me. For a moment, I almost forgot everything.

"Goodbye," I whisper as I go back and grab my bag.

I walk out to the edge of the woods and get in my truck. I drive out, almost hitting someone with the back end. I stop to take a breath, surprised.

After my pulse has calmed, I turn left, the opposite direction of where I'm supposed to go. I turn on the music, a mix of Tool, Michael Jackson, and Disturbed. And many others.

I watch as I pass by farms and abandoned homes. As far as I can get is best.

I drive until it's dark, where I pull over to a gas station. I park in the parking lot and turn the music off. I've made it from Minnesota to the tip of Colorado. 

It's almost black, even the gas station looks abandoned.

I begin to fall asleep when my track phone rings. It's almost dead.

"Zach?" I see that it's from the house phone.

"Mom?"

"Honey, where are you?"

"On the way to..."

"Don't lie to your mother," I hear from somewhere else. My father.

"Honey, you need to come home."

"I can't mom."

"Son," my father starts. I'm surprised that he cares. "You need to come home. We love you and we've been worried for hours."

I look and see that I have a bunch of missed calls. You can't interrupt the music.

"Like you care, dad."

"I do. I'm not the best at showing that--"

"You got that right," I interrupt. There's a long pause.

"I'm so sorry, Zach." I hear him begin to cry. He has to be sober; there's no way he would treat me this nice if he was drunk.

"You need to come home," my mother says.

"No, mom. I know what that means, and I don't want it."

"Zach, I understand--" and my battery dies. I see the brightness of the screen fade, and the only light allowing me to see is the street lights.

I lean back in my chair and realize the seriousness of what I'm doing. 

I'm a criminal, my phone's dead, and my car is almost out of gas. I'll think about this tomorrow, now I need to get some sleep.

I lean back in the chair, lock the doors, and fall asleep.