Chapter Text
I don’t really know when this all first began. So maybe I should just start from the beginning…
In Ohio not too long ago I was born,
Okay, maybe that’s too far back.
I suppose there’s always those key points that lead up to certain moment in your life. For example, right now I’m lying on the floor, at least I think it’s the floor. I was headed there was a wave of grey washed over me and here I am now.
I’ve never been afraid of life or anyone in it. Living
in a trailer park really toughens you up, I guess.
having Eddie as a step-brother does too.
Second times the charm? That’s what they say, so here we go. A while ago mom left dad and I. She just took off, leaving a note on out kitchen counter.
I read it so many times to try to find any justice as to why she would have left, so many times. Too many times, I could even recite it.
Dear Chet and Shawn,
I’m sorry, I can’t do this anymore.
Don’t come looking for me, I won’t be there.
I know this seems drastic but it’s for the best.
I wish you both well, please accept my decision.
Just because I became a mother meant I wasn’t ready to be one. If I could turn back time, I would change things.
Love always, Verna.
I could tell she was being polite, she always thought that manners should come first. But what they both didn’t know is that I had overheard their big argument, and that I hadn’t left fast enough and I had faced a drunk, furious, pained dad.
This was different however, normally she’d come back, she’d always come back, even after weeks, she would return and everything would be great, until the next day, when they’d be at each other’s throats again. And cue the never-ending, vicious cycle of my life. Sounds fun, right?
Every dad hits his kid when he’s mad, right? Pretty much every kid in the trailer park is hit. Normally I can stand it. Even drunk my dad could be very rational when it came to punches. Only ever hitting where I could cover up with a hoodie or longer pants.
But after mom left, dad just drank and drank and got worse and worse, unbearable to excruciating. You get the idea. Sometimes dad wouldn’t even remember who I was, that hurt more than the punches. That's not my dad though, my dad loves me, it’s just the alcohol that doesn’t.
And when he did remember who I am, he blames me for mom leaving and I suppose he’s right. She even said herself that she would change things if she could, like having me. It hurt when dad called me names, names that cut deep. Engraved in my memory forever, reminding me I was worthless, trailer trash, pitied, waste of space and life, homewrecker and other names I can’t quite bring myself to say.
School, I guess it became a sanctuary, although you wouldn’t catch me saying that aloud. I could just be the Shawn everyone knew about. The one with the happy family, best friend and cool hair.
Yes, my hair is a hot topic of conversation.
Everything went well at first. I would go to school concealing all my secrets with the usual façade, catch up on the sleep I never got the night before and then go home, sometimes taking a detour to Cory’s house before I went to the trailer.
That was how today went, or at least, along a similar basis. Dad, surprisingly, was awake when I was leaving. I don’t think he had even slept. Maybe he drank the night away, or spent it in his sorrow. When our eyes locked, He looked so sad and crestfallen. It truly made me remember that he really did love me and it was the alcohol that made him that way.
The way he glanced back down made my heart fall, his one jovial expression long gone, filled with a broken gaze.
“Why’d she leave me, Shawn?” He broke the deafening silence, his voice was raspy and obviously slurred. I sigh, so maybe he is drunk, he still loves me.
He tried to stand but I knew from that wobble on his feet that he would not make it up. I rushed over to him as he sat back down, on the floor, defeated.
“C’mon dad.” I say with more conviction than I felt. “She left me.” He repeated as if it was slowly sinking in. I wish it didn’t have to. “She left me… with you. You’re still here.” He looked almost angry, I sighed, that hurt, it’s just the drink talking though, he still loves me, right?
“C’mon, let’s get you to your bed, try to sleep it off.” I gently took his arm which may’ve been the worst decision of my life, I’ve lost count on the amount of those kinds of decisions I’ve made.
“She left me, because of you. It’s all your fault.” He slurred. Pointing his drunk index finger at me. I swallow as a wave of emotion catches in my throat. He still loves me, doesn’t he?
My attention gets drawn back by the clinking of glass, beer bottles and cans. He must’ve drunk through the night. Subconsciously I begin to count them. 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9…. How had he drunk all these overnight? 14, 15.
15 empty cans and empty bottles. I bite back the natural urge to react, I don’t know how I would, would I be angry? Or sad? I think I’m both. I want to shout at him and cry at the same time, I want to hug him but I want to cry, but Hunter’s never cry.
“What you looking at boy?” He boomed bringing me back from reality, before taking a swig of the sixteenth bottle. “Dad, maybe you’ve had enough beer.” I try to take it from him. Guess what? I think I just did another one of those terrible life decisions.
He grabs my collar firmly. Catching me off guard, With his new found strength, he lifts me up by it. “What you say?” My legs curl and thrash about due to the lack of ground beneath them. He breathes heavy, the stench of alcohol radiating through his mouth. I try not to puke, “Oho think you know so much more than your own pops. Do you? You think that as you clear off to school all day with your fancy friends you are better than me?” He finishes his speech with a punch to my eye, rattling my skull and a well timed kick in my stomach. Causing me to groan.
“DON’T IGNORE ME SON, HAVEN’T I TAUGHT YOU TO SHOW YOUR OWN DAD RESPECT? OR ARE YOU TOO HIGH AND MIGHTY FOR THAT?” His voice echoes through the trailer, I’m sure the neighbours would have heard. Maybe if they cared enough they would do something.
“No, dad, look, I’m sorry. P-please.” I knew I was blubbing. My eye was throbbing and I felt a warm trickle of blood leak down the side of my face from where he hit me, it was at this point I knew I had to go, now. Perhaps it was from practice from being in these situations or the feeling in my gut that told me things would only get worse if I stayed, all I knew was I had to go.
Dad suddenly and mercilessly threw me across the trailer, I sailed through the air for a few seconds, I felt almost free and weightless, and…powerless. I heard the bang before I felt it, heard the snap before I felt it. But when I did feel it, all hell broke loose on my body. The bang still echoed in my head as a warm grey fuzz overcame me.
I squinted trying desperately to see anything, and then I saw him. His red almost purple face, filled with rage and inner turmoil.
I felt the continuous pain, from every hit, kick and punch. Call it luck or misfortune but I at least passed out before he retrieved the dreaded belt.
He still loves me, right?
I wake up a while later, I have no idea how long however. I’m just looking up at the ceiling. How long I just sit there is, once more, unknown. After what could’ve been hours, days or years I try to stir.
Then it came, like the flash of a lightning bolt it hits me. Pain. And not just a headache or a bruised knee. Total pain. Rocking my body, radiating through it. Coursing through my veins causing me to groan. At least this isn’t as bad as sometimes, but I haven’t had this when I’ve needed to go out to school, and all I want to do right now, is let the grey to wash over me and let me sleep. But life is not so kind.
Somehow, I got my hand to my head, just to hold it, it felt so heavy and….wet? My hair was a matted congealed mess. I sighed. How was I meant to hide this?
Dad was passed out on the floor next to me. Once more I didn’t know whether that was lucky or unlucky.
Gingerly I stand up, abruptly sitting back down in agasp. I felt like dad did when he was too drunk to stand, but that was from the drinks, this was completely different. I reminded myself.
Taking it even slower I crawl on my belly to the bathroom door. Slowly shifting into a crouching position, I make it to the mirror and gasp at what was staring back.
I knew it was me, I’m not stupid, but it was accepting that the image Infront of me was real, let alone myself. My right eye was swollen shut; a bruise displayed for the world to see. I had, as expected, a gash on my forehead, clumps of dried blood streaked my face.
Red handprints on my cheek and neck surrounded the bits of broken glass, cutting into my skin. Did dad smash a beer bottle over my head? It doesn’t matter, that wasn’t dad, dad loves me.
How many times have I told myself that? Why was I struggling to believe it? Under my blood-stained clothes was just as bad, I even had a rib sticking out at an awkward angle. And just a tip, for future reference, if you ever have an oddly placed rib, don’t poke it. It’s not as fun as it seems.
I quickly hopped into the shower, literally, I think I twisted my ankle. The hot water soothed me, well, it would’ve done, if we had hot water, but dad didn’t have a job and so the water we have was as cold as an ice cube.
But imagining the icy water was boiling and that the burn from the cold hitting your skin was just the heat of it being excruciatingly hot was almost welcoming. Almost.
When I looked at myself in the mirror, I looked much more presentable, My hair masking multiple scars, new ones and old. If only my eye wouldn’t swell so, and the bruises and hand marks litter my face.
I still can’t go to school like this, I bite my lip. Where were all my foolproof ideas when I needed them? A half formed idea slowly crept in my mind mind, mom had left some of her stuff here, and as she was a woman and she always said that
“Proper ladies wear pretty make-up.” (Her voice in my head made my eyes water. Stupid onions…wherever they are.)
I tiptoed into mom and dad’s old room; she had left some random bits in her makeup basket. If any of the kids at school saw me right now, I would be a laughing stock, I would lose my respect, self-esteem, and dates. What could be worse?
An empty tube rolled out of the basket…. What was it, Mascara? What was that? It looked like a torture device, or a brush to clean a tiny chimney. There was no way that would help, I place it to the side and delve back into the basket of random, foreign items.
Concealer…what’s that used for?
Wait, I remember that! Mom said she used it to get rid of her tired lines… that I caused. If it could get rid of those, then surely it could make me look presentable enough to turn up to school without social services and those do-gooders turning up on my doorstep.
I crept back into the bathroom, not only because of the pain but so as to not waken dad’s sleeping form.
To anyone watching, this must look dumb, even I would laugh at the absurdity of this situation. I carefully unscrew the lid, it comes out thick and feels horrible, it cakes my skin in a sticky mess, but it’s all covered. My eye, cheek, forehead and neck. Covering every blemish. Every sin.
I look at the clock before rushing out the door. Ignoring the excruciating pain surging through my body. 1.30pm how was I to explain this one?
The halls are empty as I fly down the steps of John Adam’s high, ignoring the pain, once more.
I enter into mass of students finding their seats for English literature, or Maths or science…or whatever Turner teaches.
I sigh, when I reach my chair, I made it. I made it.
“Hey Cor.” I whisper to the boy in front of me, he snaps his head round and stares causing an awkward atmosphere to commence, his quizzical gaze made my leg tap up and down under the desk.
“You are making me feel uncomfortable.” I say jokingly, although writhing uncomfortably in my seat. he can never stay serious for long and before you know it, a small smile creeps on his lips.
“Where were you?” He intently asked his brow knitted together in concern. I can’t say
the truth so I just lie, lie, lie, lie. All I ever do is lie.
“Overslept.” The slice on my lip turned my grin to a
grimace.
“Did anyone here miss me?” I try to change the subject.
“Yeah Shawn, not just Topanga, me and all the girls in John Adams but Feeny REALLY did miss ya.” Oh no, Feeny’s class was this morning. He has the comfier desks to sleep on, and I missed it?
Oh, and he probably won’t believe a word I say and I’ll end up with detention or something bad.
“Yeah, and Jon, well he reall-”
“Jon really’ what?” Jon loomed over cory staring at me in a ‘you’re in trouble’ mixed with a hint of amusement face.
“Right behind me?” Cory asks,
“Like I need to ask,” He says to himself,
“Hey Turner, how ya doin’?” He waved his arms theatrically, still facing away from Jon.
“Well,” Oh no, nothing good came out of asentence that started with ‘well’ “I’m a little bit annoyed Matthews.”“Oh? Only a little bit? That’s good then. I thought we might’ve been in trouble heh.” Oh cory, why? Just why? So far, I’m doing a pretty good job of just fading into the background, not even looking at Jon but I can’t help but facepalm. Never ask why a teacher is not satisfied, it always means detention, more work or a confrontation. Even Jon would know that.
“Hunter, you seem awfully quiet…Makes a change.” I know he’s joking but there’s that hint of concern.
I can feel him move away from Cory’s desk, towards mine for some reason it makes me feel all queasy inside.
The world starts to spin, the fascinating ink stain on the desk, I was staring at swirls in and out of focus.
“Hunter?” Jon put his arm on me, that brought me back to reality. Almost.
“Turner.” I abruptly return like a greeting, hoping it was a goodbye and he’d actually get on with the lesson. Maybe then I can get to sleep. Sleep sounds good.
“Earth to Shawn, come in Shawn.” Cory coughs.
“Huh?” Wait, someone’s gripping my shoulders. I cannot help but let my mind flick backto earlier in the day. Dad.
My heart feels like it’s going to explode with its pace. Dad’s here, I can’t ever escape him. He’s here. My breathing quickens as I try to act normally. People are talking to me but I can’t hear them. Voices, floating around my head. Travelling underwater, talking to the wind.
“SHAWN?” I hear that. It was a shout like when dad would get angry before a blow. Instinctively I pull away from the hand on my shoulder. Slowly the world comes back to me, it stops spinning but I still feel uneasy. Why?
It all comes back to me like a brick, dad was standing over me, waiting to beat me up, like a punching bag, in front of all my friends, peers and teacher.
The second brick came a bit gentler but altogether still too powerful. Pain.
My mind ran a mile a minute as my chest felt all tight, dad’s waiting for me to look up, look at him, to see my face when he hits me. The looming dread encircles me, I can’t stay like this forever. So, I look up.
“Jon?” What’s he doing here? Where’s dad? “What are you doing here?” The whole class giggle, why? “It just so happens, that I work here and this is my class.”
And there’s that third and final brick. Almost like a relief but still terrifying. Dad wasn’t here, Jon was. Chet was still at home, wasted.
Was that Turner gripping me so? A small unwelcome voice crept into my head ‘Jon wants to do the same to you.’ I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut, trying to make it go away. Jon wouldn’t hurt me, no, shut up Shawn.
“Shawn?” I hear him say, quietly. He bent down to my height. Since when did he work out so much? He could easily throw me the other side of the school. No, get that stupid thought out of your head. Shut up little voice.
“Ya?” I try to sound confident but it feels almost strangled. He raises his eyebrow.
“You know-” A student’s well-timed cough stops him. Oh yeah, there are other people in the room. “I want to talk to you after class.” And that’s where he’ll hit me. No one would be around. It would be the perfect opportunity; he could make it quick.
Look like an accident, wait what? What am I thinking about? Jon would never do that. Right? What is wrong with me? But I can’t bring myself to risk it, after class, I’m out of here.
Jon begins his usual, boring lesson and I begin my nap. Surprisingly he doesn’t wake me up. Is he going to hit me when I’m asleep? Shut up. That little voice is going to be the death of me. Or he will.