- "If you already hit rock bottom the only way left to go is up. But that assumes life can't be worse. It's more about waking up to your situation and defining your "bottom"-
~ Anonymous
The raucous choir of crickets and the suffocating silence in the room poured consciousness back into the sore body stuffed in a corner, near the kitchen sink. A chill rolled down his spine and as his eyes gradually cracked open, the strange weight burdening his hands left his eyebrows knotting in perplexity. He wiggled his fingers that were wrapped around the object a little. What was it that he was holding, he wondered. Barely awake, everything seemed slightly blurry. Then he thought, how did he even get there anyway? The last thing the boy could recall was waking up seconds ago to a throbbing headache that seemed to even control all the muscles in his body.
God alone knew how many hours had passed since he was crouched in one corner of the kitchen in a fetal-like position. Maybe an hour or two? - he guessed based on the lifeless, tingly sensation slowly creeping up his legs. Reluctant to have pins and needles rob him of mobility, he tried to move his toes. They felt heavy and lifeless, close to nonexistent.
"Sh*t," he swore, nothing beyond a muted whisper.
His eyes flitted about his surroundings and he scrunched up his nose with an image of confusion on his face. He searched with bated breath in hopes of finding the memories hidden somewhere and soon, his minutes-future-self would regret it. The moment his eyes landed on the empty coat rack, hushed in the farthest corner of the room the kitchen, living and entrance hall both shared, waiting with esteemed patience on its so-called loyal master, his heart did a summersault and his spirit dropped to the floor.
Like an unexpected quarry blast, the memories barged in and he had no control over them. He tried to shut them out but no matter how tight he shut his eyes or how loud he groaned, they still made their way in unannounced and he succumbed to the brewing pot of emotions. He remembered it all - Jenna leaving, Derek leaving, and his attempt at following after his father. It was probably the dumbest thing he could have thought of while being high on stress. He gazed down at the alcoholic beverage in his hand and threw it across the room. The glass crashed and shattered into several tiny shards the moment it hit the floor, scattering the pungent substance along with it. He gazed on groggily and groaned.
Everything around him suddenly became a burden and began piling up on his shoulders. They bit away at the already fading daydream mask in big chunks and exposed his wounds to the coarse salt that peppered his limp body. With a heavenward gaze and the bulk of his weight resting against the kitchen cupboard, he made tight fists and he bit down on his lower lip, quivering.
What the hell really happened anyway? Was it even real?
His fingers poked at the creases in his arm and he developed a newly birthed hybrid of anger, hatred and confusion. If anyone were to look at him, they'd be convinced that he was praying and giving his heart out to God by the way his lips danced and contorted to the rhythm of a confined, hidden poem that only he knew. Except he was not praying. It was all futile attempts to hold together the already entirely cracked porcelain vessel for just a little while longer.
His heart galloped. Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub.
His eyelashes, drenched in salty tears, clung together and red lines crept their way across his sclera. The uncontrollably sharp, burning sensation pummeling through his body made a gash in his heart and left almost his entire body rocking with a pain so intense, that it submerged him in a world one only experienced when they were the perpetrator.
The long shadows stretched across the floorboards appeared to grow bodily outlines and were inching closer to him, leaving no space to even breathe. It all happened in one swift move and before he knew it, everywhere was darkness. For a while, the only thing he felt was the pain until he felt the first attack. A pang of fear struck his heart. One shadow plunged from the waters and latched onto his arm, pulling him under. He tried to kick free but he couldn't. The grasp was just too strong. The air escaped from his lungs in a stream of bubbles and he flailed his arms, hoping for some miracle to happen, hoping to be rescued. But there was nothing that could save him then. He was in too deep.
Tufts of hair were all he could find to grab, miserable groans escaping his lips in streams of bubbles as his water-logged lungs prepared him a seat at death's door. He thought it was over, he really did until a sudden, strange vibration told him otherwise.
The water erupted into tiny waves about its surface, dancing about his body. It must have been a miracle, he thought. A surge of hope rushed through his veins and his eyes flew open with uncertainty, only to realize that there was something awfully wrong. Though he felt the water around him, there was no water. He was not drowning. The water must have changed forms or disappeared as before him was what he least expected.
There stood, a few inches away from him, a woman. Big amber doe eyes full of grace and horrors to tell. Polished skin speckled with evidence of a hard life here and there. A soft smile begging you to look on the brighter side. She extended a helping arm towards him and in a short space of time, made her smile contagious. Was that what death looked like? Or was he finally going to be rescued? He accepted her kind gesture, officiating their first-time encounter and her smile grew from ear to ear. He narrowed his eyes. Something about her aura seemed deceptive.
Amid the beginning of a pleasant impression, her figure suddenly began to dismantle. She started shifting and glitching and then, her outline melted, morphing into a creature he couldn't recognize. He fell back on his palms, petrified. His eyes were on maximum dilation and his body, paralyzed. To his surprise, the figure gradually regained features that told him it was still her. Doe eyes. Round, full mounds. Polished skin with evidence of a hard life here and there. Except now, her eyes were slits, glazed with a cynical glint. Her smile contorted into a sophisticated, criminal grin full of teeth like daggers.
His head grew full and heavy. There was too much going on at once and too little time for his eyes to snapshot and file away every minute detail. A sharp pain suffused his body as if someone had sent a fist flying into his abdomen and instinctively, his hands went there to provide whatever support they could. His pupils widened. There was warm viscous liquid oozing out. His gaze penetrated hers. "How could you" was written all over his countenance. He couldn't think with the way he was slowly losing control over himself. His heart raced as his eyes wandered down to his abdomen and the sight left him weak in the knees and his jaws hanging. There was a large slash on his abdomen and a thick, fleshy tube-like lump was slowly slipping out. Pooling beneath him was the warm red liquid that sent flashes of the sleeping soon-to-be skeletons he glimpsed at the few funerals he attended in his life span. Traumatized was an understatement. There was an instinctive need to scream but no sound came out. A need for more air but when he tried to breathe, it felt like he was drowning. His knees collided with the floor. He was losing energy. Taking one last look of disbelief before he sank to the floor to nothing, he locked eyes with his attacker. There was a twisted smile of pity and satisfaction on her face that made him even more horrified.
Crystal streams ran down his cheeks. Everything he hoped for went out the door. Everything he believed in came tumbling down. The wound in his heart was expanding. His breaths came in gaps and a nauseous feeling suddenly washed over him. The weight of the entire world was resting on his shoulders, shoving the hope he had for 'family' out the door.
Over a million thoughts zoomed through his mind in snippets.
You knew that she'd been stressed just a few weeks after hitting Alkia. You should have helped and calmed her. Then she wouldn't have paid any heed to Benjamin in the first place.
You should have convinced her to stay. Maybe then she'd still be here and life would be a little okay.
You should have just gone with her. Even Derek went along. It was probably the better choice.
It's not your fault. She's the one who left you, not the other way around! Either way, she still would have left!
Some unseen force watched him play along for some time, found that he was too comfortable and clicked "game-over". It was the 'test' that the seniors talked about that made you so-called 'stronger'. Or maybe it was a usual occurrence for some that he was just a pathetic loser towards handling. He could never be sure. Yet, even after everything, the truth was that life went on. It didn't matter that his mother had abandoned him and his father for a killer. Life would go on as normal regardless - for everyone else.
As reality began to dawn on him, the temperature in the room dropped to several degrees.
How's the rent going to get paid? Would I have to get a job? What's gonna become of math sessions with Emma? Is it a lead-up to an attack? Is he going to kill Dad and me?
He shook his head and looked up at the ceiling. There was an empty blueprint of his future staring back at him, waiting for the slightest push of a pencil to establish the first design. Weirdly, a crooked smile appeared on his face.
The idea of an 'uncertain future', where the future of his 'family' depended on his choices, brought a strong desire to lead spiraling through his veins. Now that his mother was gone- for a while... she was gone for a while, he corrected himself- he was now the breadwinner, right? He'd get a job, pay the rent, take care of everything and maybe someday, he'd get rich, rich enough to rescue his blind-sighted mom and brother. It was a far-fetched reality, he thought, but it was not impossible.
He took a staggered breath. The warm trail traveling down his nostril tickled his nose and triggered a sneeze. He felt deranged like he was walking up an infinite fleet of steps. He wanted to purge the awful feeling from his body and tried to push himself off the floor.
"I need coffee," he said under his breath, his voice raspy and muffled.
He ran his eyes over kitchen cabinets and captured the envisioned draw of instant coffee packets and just like that, a thought popped into his head that made him feel like he was either taking everything as a dream or had moved on frighteningly too quickly.
He scrunched up his nose. "Coffee huh? Maybe I should be a barista."