Chapter Text
It wasn’t like Melissa Schemmenti didn’t care for the boy.
It was just- well, maybe she didn’t like to show it. Or maybe she just didn’t care about him, period. But mm, mm, mm, Barb would say, whenever Melissa tried to complain about Jacob, “You have love for the boy.” Her response was always curt. “I have love for the rent he pays me,” and Barb would always give a long side eye to the camera over her cup of coffee.
Melissa didn’t care about Jacob Hill as much as he had wished, because whenever he tried talking about anything he was remotely interested in, Melissa would just do that thing where she stared into the camera in a ‘you’ve got to be kidding me’ way, and when there were no cameras, she’d stare at him in the same way.
Well, and the mean comments, which he understood were always in good humour, or was it? A part of him remained convinced that some of her words were true. Not to mention getting waitlisted for Christmas? Even when Melissa knew he had no family in Philly, really? Or when he’d asked Melissa if anything about his life even interests her, and she’d given him a preoccupied ‘huh?’, because it doesn’t. And that time, when he got lost in the woods… it still stung that no one cared enough to notice that he was gone. Janine and Gregory were, well, being Janine and Gregory, getting lost in each others’ eyes and whatnot, and Barb was preoccupied with all the kids, and Ava- well Ava never really cared that much, so that doesn’t count, but he thought at least Melissa would notice, but she was busy cooking up a delicious meal that Jacob wouldn’t be able to try.
Perhaps that was when the idea got planted in his head, that no one would notice if he was gone. He hated that idea, but at the same time, it seemed to answer many questions he had had. And it wasn’t his first time he had to deal with those thoughts, and he’d push through it, like he did last time. And the time before that. Honestly, he’d been used to this feeling since he was, gosh, fourteen?
At first he’d slap himself. He’d count the number of times he did something too self-centered, something that annoyed Melissa, said something that no one cared about, and he’d go home, up the stairs, and into his room, and give himself a hard smack on the cheek for every time he did or said something stupid.
Once, Melissa had followed him up the stairs, and he hadn’t known. That day, his idiotic self had forgotten to shut the door to his room, and Melissa had heard those sharp whacking sounds from the hallway. She’d whooshed into his room like a gust of angry wind and gripped his hand with a strength he didn’t know was possible, got all up in his face, said “Stop it”, gave him a hard look, and marched right out again. He’d waited for her footsteps to disappear down the stairs, and given himself a small slap on his other cheek.
She never brought it up again.
When the slapping ceased to hurt, and all that was felt on his cheek was nothing but a numb pressure, Jacob shakily found the penknife he had kept since grade school. It was in his box of things-that-he-should-never-touch-again, along with that angsty notebook he had written in in eighth grade, that drawing of an eye he had made with blood from the tip of his pinky finger (he really was an angsty teen), and the remains of a glass Pikachu figure of Caleb’s that he had smashed in a sudden fit of rage when he was seventeen and Caleb was ten. Just one look at the box had Jacob wincing, shoving the box under the bed, hoping that the dust mites there would take a liking to its contents and take them away forever. He really was a child.
Jacob paused with the edge of the penknife on the tip of his left index finger. I’d do a small one, it wouldn’t even bleed, he thought, it’d just hurt a little, but it wouldn’t bleed. And it did hurt, but the sharpness of the pain was a refreshing break from the now ineffective slapping. He did one small, bloodless cut on each finger on his left hand, and oh, how neat they were, lining up in a single reddish pink line across his fingertips.
Melissa was afraid. Now that was a word she would rarely use to describe herself, but it seemed fitting now, because she’d seen the neat little lines that suddenly began decorating Jacob’s hands and forearms, seen how Jacob almost always wore gloves now even though it was barely autumn.
And Melissa was terrified (when was she ever terrified), because she didn’t know what to do, because Jacob didn’t know that she knew, because the only thing she knew was that whenever Melissa Schemmenti got afraid, she’d pull away and wrap herself in a blanket as icy as a winter breeze. Not that she could help it, because she didn’t know what else she could do. She didn’t want to corner the boy, because she knew that he would only continue, in an even stealthier manner, and what could she possibly do then? She didn’t dare to tell anyone, because Jacob wouldn’t want anybody else knowing. Heck, he didn’t want her to know.
And so she pulled away. She’d started paying less attention to Jacob’s ramblings, not that she normally paid much attention, because she didn’t like to see the way he pretended he was okay as he went on and on about things that apparently excite him. She began to find ways to slip away from their Real Housewives watching sessions, casually coming up with an it’s been a long day or Barb’s invited me to her house for dinner or I’ve gotta start preparing for that lasagna I’m gonna make tomorrow, because she knew that if she spent any longer than five minutes with him, she’d pull up his sleeve and pull off his glove and yell at him for doing this to himself. And that’d only make him do it more, Melissa knew, because she’d heard that extra smack that day when she was going down the stairs.
If Jacob picked up on any of her half-assed excuses, he was doing a great job of hiding it, just waving it off and settling down on the sofa by himself. But whenever Melissa played the too tired card, she would tiptoe down from the stairs and watch Jacob sitting in the dark room with his knees drawn up to his chin like a child. It broke her heart a little every time, but she’d never admit it to herself.
Melissa’s been acting strange. More withdrawn? Jacob’s sure it’s because of him. He’d managed to annoy someone away again. He’s really lucky Melissa hasn’t evicted him yet.
Last night, she’d refused when he asked, again, for the twelfth night in a row, whether she wanted to watch the Real Housewives of New Jersey with him. She shut him down with a simple hey kid, can’t you just watch that show on your own? Ya gotta stop askin’ me every time, I’m tired, okay? Straightforward and cutting. Ha, cutting.
He realised that she hadn’t cooked his favorite spinach lasagna for a while.
Every day, he feels like he’s sinking back down the depths of where fourteen-year-old Jacob Hill was. He no longer tries to fight the current, either. Every time he looks down at his arms, he wants to throw up. Those reminders, those reminders of how to become a better person, as he had told himself ran down his left arm like zebra stripes. He hated that the scars didn’t heal prettier. But again, nothing he was doing right now was remotely close to pretty. If only they were smaller though… he had always gotten caught because the scars healed in such an obnoxious, grotesque way.
Jacob remembered the first time he had gotten caught with that green-handled penknife in his hand, remembered the way his father’s open palm had come down on his face far too viscerally. He flinches instinctively every time the scene crosses his mind. Stupid boy. Mr Hill had said, did we bring you into this world just for you to do this? Do you wish not only to be a failure, but a burden? Do you know how this looks to others? Like we’re bad parents! It had gone on for close to half an hour, with his father’s specks of saliva hitting him on his inflamed cheek as his mother sat and watched him with a look of utter distaste. And seven-year-old Caleb had shrunken into a cowering black spot behind the door.
His parents were terrible, Jacob thought as he absentmindedly dragged a fresh pink line across a patch of unmarked skin, no wonder little him was like that. But now, he had no one to blame it on, because the situation he was in was brought on by no one but himself. The thought depressed him, and he made another cut. It didn’t seem to hurt enough, though, so he brought the penknife to his neck and tried to imagine what it would feel like to draw a swift gushing line across the exposed skin.
Blood, crimson like the sky after sunset, seeping out of the neat little line. The pain would subside after a second, and be replaced by the bliss of poetic tragedy, the fragile beauty of one’s worthless life slipping down one’s neck, cell by cell, until that little line turns into a festering void, a blackened mess of congealed blood and soul. Oh, he could feel the pain drip-drip-dripping out his eyes, the lonely fire in the pit of his stomach extinguishing, dissipating as smoke, watching his prone body lie blue and ugly on the tiled bathroom floor–
His eyes snap open, and he flings the penknife across the room, petrified. That darkness of his thoughts, how they scared him! He clutches at his throat, exhaling as he finds it in one piece, without a neat little line across it. He gets up shakily, off the tiled bathroom floor. He must find someone to talk to. Janine? No, she was too busy being with Gregory, as she should be, because he was so happy for them, they had lost so much time in those three years… “Jacob! Focus!” He stilled, surprised he had said it out loud. He’d sounded uncannily like his father, he thought, shuddering. Gregory? Gregory would be with Janine, stupid. Yes, Melissa!
Jacob raced down the stairs like a madman, like his life depended on it, because maybe it did. He caught Melissa as she was getting ready for a night out with Barb and Gerald.
“Melissa!” Jacob called, then stopped in his tracks. He had no idea what he wanted to say. He couldn’t just start talking about… all that. It would just ruin Melissa’s night. Melissa raised an unamused eyebrow. Jacob knew he was running out of time, so he began talking about a new environmental initiative New York City was pushing, and he knew he was rambling, and he knew Melissa didn’t care, but he just had to say something to someone.
Melissa rolled her eyes and moved around the living room, packing her bag and putting on her earrings and shrugging on her blazer and putting on her shoes. Jacob followed Melissa like how the little lamb followed Mary. As Jacob talked, he noticed Melissa’s eyerolls becoming more exaggerated, finally converging into a sudden stop and narrowed eyed glare. Jacob nearly bumped into her.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Jacob, no one cares about a dumb initiative from an even dumber city, so stop your ranting before you annoy me into walking onto moving traffic!”
“Lucky as hell that I’m used to your consistent yapping.” She continued under her breath. Jacob opened his mouth to say something, but she had already half-slammed the door behind her.
Jacob waits for the door to lock before swaying, light-headed. He gripped the corner of the wall to stabilize himself. Bile was rising up the back of his throat and he felt like throwing up again. That feeling just refused to leave him alone nowadays. No one cares about a dumb initiative from a dumb city, Jacob, no one cares about your dumb initiative, Jacob, no one cares about you, Jacob, why do you want everyone to care about you, Jacob?
He misses the coolness of the penknife gliding across his skin.
Melissa puts one foot out the front door, and then she’s swaying. She grips the doorframe for support as she locks the door. It was a good thing the camera crew wasn’t around these few weeks. She could imagine how disgusting she would’ve sounded on replay.
It shouldn’t have hurt her as much as it did, the look on Jacob’s face when she turned away. The way his face fell- no, the way it darkened- no, the way it betrayed absolutely no emotion whatsoever. No emotional outburst. Just a facade of numbness, stony across his brown eyes and slightly parted mouth. Melissa wondered if he was still standing in the doorway as rigidly as he was when she left.
At the bar, Melissa confided in Barbara about the whole Jacob situation. It had taken her multiple rounds to finally get hammered enough to spill the beans. She knew she shouldn’t’ve been telling Barb, but the words were just tumbling out her mouth like rocks in a landslide, and she was gagging on every other word. Perhaps it was the alcohol, but the more she spoke of it, the more her head filled with that ringing noise that occasionally accompanied her since she saw those lines across Jacob’s arms. And Barbara, sweet Barbara, she was saying so many words with a worried look on her face, words that Melissa couldn’t hear over that ringing, that insistent ringing! And so she slammed her glass down, the sudden bang interrupting the noise, and buried her head in her hands as Barbs rubbed circles on her back and said things to Gerald that she couldn’t hear. She couldn’t remember much after that.
Melissa could only hazily recall the end of the night, when Gerald and Barbara sent her inebriated self back home. Barbara had called Jacob, she must’ve, because when Gerald pulled into their driveway, Jacob was standing there in the purple pj’s Janine had gifted him last Christmas, with the door held open, casting a long pathway of yellow light down the front steps. She remembered her legs, useless, stumbling up the staircase with Jacob and Gerald half supporting, half carrying her. She had been helped onto the bed as well, with the last thing she saw being Jacob’s blurry face, with eyes so tumultuous with emotion that it physically hurt her to see. The last thing she heard was Jacob’s slippered feet padding down the hallway softly, as if the world would come crashing down if he stepped too heavily.
In the days after, Melissa began to notice bloodied band-aids in the bathroom trash can, hastily covered up by toilet paper. She didn’t dare pursue it, for she knew that if she did she would break, and if she broke, Jacob would too. And what good would that be?
Jacob would admit that he was trying out a new cutting method. Well, that’s to put it lightly – he’s drawing blood.
He didn’t even know he was bleeding until little garnet beads had formed along the line of the cut on his little finger. Hm, it didn’t feel too bad. He didn’t dare to move away from the fingers, though. Those ugly old scars on his arm only got ugly when he drew blood. But the next thing he knew, he was buying band-aids from the convenience store down the street every few days, and wrapping them in toilet paper whenever he disposes of them, so furtively someone on the outside looking in would think he was hiding evidence. Which he was, in a way.
Jacob didn’t understand why he was so afraid of Melissa knowing. Or anyone knowing, but Melissa in particular. She wouldn’t even care. He’d even tried talking to her about it a few times, when the group was out at a bar and he had had a few drinks, but she’d always look at him with an indecipherable expression and go right back to talking to Barb. Now they were at the bar again, and Melissa was talking to Barb again. For some reason, both of them weren’t drinking. Jacob had tried to talk to them on multiple occasions, with the ladies offering him nothing but a quick once over before going back to their very animated conversation.
He had paced about, with no one to talk to. Janine was now chatting to Barbara, with Melissa listening in (still without a drink in her hand?), and Gregory was, for some reason, talking to Mr Johnson about cleaning supplies or whatnot. The silence was unbearable. No, he corrected himself, the lack of attention is unbearable. Stop being an attention whore, Jacob. But he really couldn’t stand it anymore, attention-whore or not, so he stood up and loudly stated, “I’m going to head back now.” Like he was going to get any response anyways.
He decided to bike back home. He wasn’t drunk enough to fall off the bike, after all.
At home, he hid away in the bathroom. There was no place else to go. Green penknife in hand, shaking, the blade still tucked away in its plastic sheath. No one cared, Jacob. You tried putting on a show by leaving early and no one cared, Jacob. He wanted to laugh, but it came out as a choked sob. Melissa doesn’t care, Jacob. Stop gaslighting me, Jacob, you’re making me spiral. I’m you, you’re going insane. There was a dull throbbing in the front of his head. Tears, gathering and spilling like a waterfall. You’re insane, Jacob, for thinking that they’d give a shit. But they do, they just didn’t hear me. No they don’t, did you see that crease in Melissa’s brow when you spoke to her? Give it up, kid. This laboured breathing, it was as if he’d forgotten how to breathe. The penknife was so close, heck, it was in his hand. Stop spiralling, jeez, Jacob, what’s gotten into you? How’re you gonna face the kids tomorrow, all blotchy-faced and hungover? So much for responsibility, Jacob! Jacob couldn’t tell whether the voices were from the past, or if they were just sprouting inside his head. All he could tell was that he couldn’t breathe, and he couldn’t stop crying, and the green plastic penknife was now unsheathed, the now dull blade digging into his wrist. Don’t draw blood, the kids are already talking about how you’re wearing gloves! It’s on my wrist, Jesus, they’re not gonna see even without gloves on. This wheezing, like he’s asthmatic, this rocking, like he’s lost his mind, this pressure on his wrist, like release…
Jacob, open up that damn door! Jacob gripped his head. What door? What fucking door? He asks his head. Jacob, open the door, ya gabortz, you’ve been inside for fifteen minutes! My towel’s inside, kid, ya know that! Melissa? No, she didn’t leave early. And he hasn’t been here for fifteen minutes. There's a muted hammering somewhere in his periphery. Uh oh. No way Melissa’s really back already, he needs to get himself sorted, but he can’t, because he can’t breathe, can’t breathe at all. Gasping like a fish out of water, but there’s no air. Smearing at his eyes, making the mess go everywhere. Get a hold of yourself, Hill. I’m coming in, you better not be naked or I swear to God- The knob’s turning Jacob, she’ll see you like this, get up off the floor, you useless piece of-
“Jacob?”
Jacob pressed the penknife deeper. Was it in his flesh now? He couldn’t tell, because he was rocking so much, and his eyes were screwed shut, he couldn’t see at all.
Melissa had prayed to a god she didn’t believe in that she wouldn’t see him like this. Because she wouldn’t know what to do, she didn’t know what to do right now. The kid was cowering, shaking, beside the bathroom sink, a green object pressing into his skin, something red dripping from the green thing…
Her heart stopped. No, no, nope. He’s not doing this, not on my white tiled floor. Is this really about the tiles, Melissa?
Her first instinct was to tug at his hand, the one holding the green thing that was somehow hurting him. Surprisingly, it didn’t budge. “Hey kid, can ya hear me? Of course you can, you just can’t answer.” Melissa fought to think of what she had learnt to do in case of a kid getting a panic attack at school.
“Right, uh, Jacob, if you can hear me, could you open your eyes just a bit, and tell me three things you see?” Her voice quivered, her words so uncharacteristically soft she didn’t think she would hear her.
Jacob just shrank back and gripped the green thing tighter. Oh no.
“Uh, hon, could I just have a look at that?” She tugged at the penknife, expecting resistance, but it just fell, limply, clattering when it hit the ground. Oh God, the wound was deep. What do you even do when there’s an open wound? Right, apply pressure.
Shakily, Melissa reached over to grab a wad of toilet paper, pressing it against the heartbreaking gash across Jacob’s wrist.
“Could you tell me three things you see? Or at least one?” Melissa herself was surprised by how calm she sounded. She bit her lip to maintain this calmness when Jacob did not answer, and instead started shaking more violently.
“Hey, Jacob, just relax, okay? Look, start by not squeezing yourself to death. Deep breaths?” Melissa didn’t even know what she was saying anymore. All she did was try to unravel Jacob’s hands, now tightly hugging his knees against his chest, and evening out her breathing so Jacob could follow. Jacob’s hands fell to his side in one tug like a ragdoll’s.
“Three things you see?” Melissa asked, barely a whisper, her green eyes imploring, pleading with God to let Jacob be okay.
Jacob cracked an eye open. “You… my hands, blood.” His voice trembled, and was so, so small, like he was universes away.
“Right, I’m gonna just clean this up, okay?” Melissa fumbled as she wrapped the toilet paper as tightly as she could around Jacob’s wrist.
Jacob’s chest was heaving, sweat and tears wetting his face. A sharp inhale, a sharp exhale. His head dropped to his knees. And he was looking so, so small.
Melissa Schemmenti then did something she never thought she’d do to Jacob Hill. She gingerly stretched out her arms, closing them around the boy. And the way he crumbled into her arms and lay there, sobbing into her cashmere sweater well and truly broke her heart. Gently resting her head on his, she rubbed circles onto his back.
“Hey, kid, I love you okay? So don’t ever scare me like that again.” She had tried to sound tough, she really had, but she couldn’t help her voice breaking at the end.
Jacob just clutched at the back of her sweater and sobbed.
Melissa Schemmenti did care for Jacob as much as he wished (and maybe much more). She just had a little trouble expressing it. Well, that little trouble had turned into a big problem when he, Jacob Hill, had misinterpreted her words and spiralled down the Abyss of Never Ending Self Hatred. Though Melissa had pulled him back up, now, even if it was only for a breather.
They had gone to the ER to get Jacob’s arm checked out. Melissa was unusually nervy, and Jacob could tell by the way her hands were white knuckling the steering wheel, or the way she was tapping her foot, as if she was desperately trying to get her mind off him. Jacob blamed himself for her anxiety.
Melissa remained relatively quiet, which was sorely unlike her, for the entirety of the incident, only opening her mouth to ask him how he was feeling now and then. Her words were kind then, too kind; it make Jacob fearful. When they were finally consulted, Melissa looked so small as the doctor spoke and dressed his wound, as if she was unable to look him in the eye. His stomach churned, his heart clenched, and it took every ounce of strength in his body to not break down again.
It wasn’t until they got home that Melissa asked, “You wanna talk about it?” Jacob froze, then felt a sudden surge of nervous anger in his chest. I’ve wanted to talk about it, but you keep cutting me off, and ignoring me, and now you’re asking me if I wanna talk about it? He shook his head no.
“C’mon hon, I know you wanna talk about it.” Her voice was tender, those olive eyes boring holes into him.
“I’ve tried to talk about it! You, you just keep blowing me off, for like a month now, I’ve tried to talk to you for a month, Melissa, you can’t blame me for not wanting to talk to you about it!” Oh God, his heart was racing, it might not be long until he had a panic attack again. He clenched his hands at his sides, then unclenched them again because it hurt to do so, and at last resorted to running it through his hair.
And the way Melissa was looking at him, all wide-eyed and guilty-looking, made him want to shout and cry and laugh. What was she going to do now, gaslight him into thinking she cared? Tell him that he was severely misinterpreting her actions, and that he had hurt her? Jacob firmly swore to himself that he would not believe a word she said.
“I know. I know I can’t blame you.” Melissa’s eyes were looking at the floor now, which was a funny change, because Melissa always looks you directly in the eyes when she says something. Jacob huffed, and waited for a but.
“I mean, I ignored you on purpose, because I knew you were hurting yourself, and I- I guess I didn’t know how to deal with it. Which sounds fucking stupid now, doesn’t it?” She looked up and gave him a half-smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Well, you shouldn’t’ve, because if you were willing to talk to me earlier, things wouldn’t’ve gotten so bad, and-” Jacob caught himself projecting, and corrected himself. “I mean, it was my fault too, I overthink a lot, but it really seemd like no one really cared, you know? Like that time I asked you whether anything about my life even interested you, and you went huh? It’s like I don’t even mean anything! Wait, did you say you knew I was…?” Jacob made the familiar gesture of dragging a knife across his hand.
Melissa seemed physically wounded by the action, because she took a step back and averted her eyes. “I thought that if I confronted you, you’d just do it more, and I wouldn’t even be able to catch you in the act anymore, because you’d be doing it more secretively y’know? It was silly, but I guess I was in denial or somethin’ like that and wanted to avoid the problem.”
She looked up, and when Jacob said nothing, she continued. “I’m… I’m sorry, Jacob, I know I always made you feel that I didn’t care, but I really did. An’ I know I don’t show it enough, but you just gotta trust me okay? Just- just don’t do that anymore. I know it started because of me so I shouldn’t getta tell you want to do, but you just gotta trust me.”
Jacob was silent.
Guilt was washing over her, nearly consuming her now, because Jacob was still just standing there and not saying anything. She opened her mouth to speak, but a small voice stopped her in her tracks.
“It really hurt when you stopped watching the Real Housewives with me.” Jacob was fiddling with his fingers, his voice tiny like a child’s. Melissa realised with a start that he was a child, he’d been stuck as a child because his parents… no, thinking about this brought tears to her eyes, and she had no right to cry right now.
“I’m sorry, Jacob, I truly am. I’ll watch Real Housewives with you every week, okay? And how about I make you that spinach lasagna you like?” Melissa looked at him pleadingly. Jacob offered a small smile, almost unnoticeable, but it was enough. Things weren’t going to fall back in place immediately, but it was a start, because Jacob Hill had finally smiled.