Same Experiences

Chapter Seven

George

As Wannabe blared from my phone's speakers, I slapped around on the nightstand till it was in my hand. I accepted the call and put it under my ear and mumbled, "Hello?"

"It's eleven in the morning. Wake up," Brent's irritated voice said. I cracked one eye open to see the sun up in all its glory. I looked at the phone and it was in fact eleven in the morning. I groaned as I got up, my body feeling stiff.

Either I don't sleep at all or I sleep in a way that every bone in my body aches. I didn't feel that good, but I'd promised Brent I'd help him with painting the stairs back home.

"I'll be there in fifteen," I said, yawning. Brent hummed and cut the call. I dragged myself to the bathroom, brushed my teeth and took a cold shower to wake myself up. Then wearing a tank top, denim shorts and my worn-out sneakers.

Half an hour later, I ran into the house to see Brent looking at his phone. He looked at me and got up.

"Is that your worst shirt?" He asked. I looked at it and shrugged. He sighed.

"Here, take mine," Dave said from behind. I turned around to look at him and froze.

God help me.

He was shirtless. I should be used to this. It's summer. It's fine. I took his shirt and went inside to change.

Two minutes later, I was out in his shirt and we all got to painting.

An hour and a half later, we all went in for lemonade, which Marissa had kept on the table. There were pretzels too.

I drank the lemonade and marveled at the feeling of the cold drink going down my throat.

Brent sat down and smacked my hand when I reached for his pretzels. He immediately looked at my hand, perplexed. He touched my hand and his eyebrows went up to his hairline.

"What?" I asked. He placed the back of his hand on my forehead and said, "Jesus. You're burning up."

I touched the place where his hand had been and said, "I feel fine."

Brent gave me a look and said, "You're going inside your room and sleeping."

I opened my mouth to protest but couldn't as he said in a firm voice, "Now."

I kept the glass on the table and went into my room.

As soon as my head hit the pillow, I went to sleep.

The door barged open and I jumped. Dad was back. Immediately, I ran inside my room, locked the door and sat in a dark corner of the room.

The door shook from him banging on the door. Finally, unable to stand against the force, it swung open, hitting the wall.

In the darkness, I shrunk against the wall. I hoped that in the darkness, he wouldn't find me. That he'd give up and collapse somewhere in the house.

But then, his eyes locked in on mine. Chills went down my spine. The anger in his eyes, the eyes I'd inherited, it was enough to make me sit there frozen in the spot.

He roughly grasped the front of my shirt, stood me up and pushed me against the wall.

"Don't ever hide from me. You hear me?" He said. My voice seemed to have died in shock. He threw me against the bedpost. Pain shot up my arm and I cowered.

He punched me and yelled in my face, "Did you fucking hear me!?"

I sat up, my chest constricting and my throat closing up. I wrapped my arms as I closed my eyes and steadied my breathing. I absentmindedly rubbed the scar on the side of my left arm just above my elbow. I'd almost forgotten about that.  I'd cut my arm on the corner of the sharp corner of the bedpost. I'd touched my arm and after seeing blood, I'd immediately rushed to the nearby clinic and fed them some fake story so that the doctor would check and see how bad it was. After getting ten stitches and a prescription for some pain killers I'd come home to see Dad on the floor.