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The bruise bloomed over his left cheekbone, dripping down to his collarbone. It hurt. Like it had been snapped, but she had told him it was okay. Smoothing soft hands over his reddening skin, just put ice on it. He had. Hawkins's falls were cold, colder than he remembered them being as a kid. Like something was wrong, off, different. He always shrugged it off, can’t fix every problem in the world right now. There was already so much to do.
“Jonathan?” The voice was small and hesitant, the boy it came from even smaller. He was freshly 10 years old, with hair that was too long and ratty and a lunchbox in his hands. It was the same one Jonathan used when he was younger.
“Yeah, Will?” The door swung wide open and the child waddled up to Jonathan’s unmade bed, jumping onto it before smiling up at his big brother. “What is it, buddy?” Before Will could say what was on his mind, his eyes flitted over his brother’s face and concern passed through his gaze.
“Jonathan, are you okay? What happened?” Jonathan winced and smiled at his brother best he could.
“Oh, don’t worry about me, what did you want to tell me?” Will’s eyes lit up again before he started rambling about Dustin’s new D&D campaign.
“I can’t fight back!” He had been sobbing, his chest hurt from the weight of his sobs as Joyce ran her hands through his hair, holding an ice pack to his collarbone.
“It’s going to be okay.” Jonathan pushed back, grabbing his mom’s face in his hands and making her look him in the eyes.
“When?” Her eyes were so empty, searching his for something to latch onto. “When, mom? When will he stop hitting me? When will he stop yelling at you for doing your best? When will he get a job that supports us or god forbid, when will he start taking care of us? Actually? Never, mom, that’s when.” Jonathan shoved himself away from her and got up, ignoring the stabbing pain in his chest. His hands were so strong, hit after hit on Jonathan’s small body. He was a sophomore in high school, he should weigh more.
“Johnny…” Joyce got up after him, leaving the ice pack on the couch and staring at her son as he paced the length of the living room. “He is your father, he is trying his best.” Jonathan turned and stared at her, his head running a hundred miles per hour.
“Trying his best?” He spat, finding his fingers playing with the air but unable to stop his body as he started yelling. “He hit me! Mom, he hit me in the face because I applied to work at the fucking grocery store! And he hit me in the neck and chest as I laid there unable to stop him because I didn’t thank him for feeding me! He slaps me every time he catches me chewing my fingernails and bouncing my leg! And guess what? I let him! Because I’m not strong enough to fight back! So I just lay there and let him beat me until he’s bored of it. How is that his fucking best?” Joyce stared at Jonathan as his body started to shake and the heel of his hand started hitting his upper thigh over and over.
“Baby,” Joyce stepped towards him, but Jonathan shook his head.
“I’m going to the library, don’t follow me.” And he was out the door.
“Are you listening?” Will chirped from his spot on the bed, making Jonathan look away from his reflection in the mirror to his younger brother. Will’s eyes were so big and so excited.
“Of course buddy, Dustin’s never DMed before right?” His smile widened over his little face and Will nodded. “That’s really impressive, that he’s brave enough to try doing it without experience. You should try doing it sometime, you’d be great at it!” Jonathan never understood how Will was one of them. Lonnie who always rose his voice at a moment's notice and hit tables, who never talked for fun only to punish, Lonnie who watched baseball in silence for hours without a hint of joy in his gaze. And Joyce, with soothing hands and quiet actions to show her love, with boxes of cigarettes scattered everywhere. It made sense how Jonathan was their son. Soft palms but rough fingertips, fragile bones like a bird’s, and angry thoughts that filled his head from sunrise to sunset. He was his mother in the ways his father hated and he was his father in the ways that his mother hated. Will though, he was gentle. Kind always and when he enjoyed something he showed it. Crayons littered the kitchen table, but he always cleaned them up when he was done. Joyce called him sensitive, Lonnie called him a fag, but Jonathan called him brilliant. Will was strong, even though he was little, but he would never use his strength for anger. When he was angry, Will drew. When he was happy, he drew too. He was able to escape. Able to be a weird kid with weird kid friends, because it was impossible to hate Will. Impossible for you to dislike the kid. Meanwhile, everyone disliked Jonathan. Meanwhile, Jonathan couldn’t escape his mind. He read stacks of books from the library and sat in the photo-developing room after school, but the bruises on his thighs and fingernail-shaped cuts in his palms showed how he was stuck. Unable to escape.
“I don’t think I’m good enough. I’m a drawer, not a writer.” Will was taping his lunchbox softly, the noise itching into Jonathan’s ears.
“It’s artist, not drawer.” Jonathan smiled at his brother and ruffled his hair before laying down on his bed next to Will. Will shrugged. “And you can be whatever you want to, no matter what dad says. Right?” Will nodded and laid back next to his brother.
“Jonathan, can I ask you something?”
“Yeah, anything.” Jonathan watched as Will blinked and tried to think of the right words. Sometimes he saw himself in the way Will stuttered or the way his eyes unfocused at the ceiling.
“Was it dad? Who hurt you?” It felt like another punch. He never kept it from Will, Lonnie was hard to keep from anyone. While Lonnie had never laid a hand on Will, and Jonathan made sure never to let Will see the punches hit, he knew it wasn’t a secret. The way Lonnie slapped his bruises and mocked him over dinner, or kicked Jonathan’s books off the coffee table and yelled that Joyce couldn’t even give him a good son.
“Yeah.” Jonathan looked as Will’s eyebrows furrowed and he met his older brother’s gaze.
“Why does he do that?” It was quiet for a few moments as Jonathan thought. Before he could think through exactly how to respond he grabbed Will in his arms and buried the younger boy in his oversized sweater and long arms. Will faked a struggle before burying his little face into Jonathan and hugging him back.
“I don’t know, I really don’t.”