Scarper House

4•6 - Balls of Blood

6 - Balls of Blood

"Tracy, you're a good girl, right?"

"P-Papa, I..."

"You don't want papa to get mad, right?"

"Babe!"

As usual, Saint's voice woke me up from the nightmare that is my childhood. He looked so worried when our eyes met. He hugged me so tight, as if I'd be gone if he let go.

"B-Babe..." I gasped when I tried to hug him back and felt that his shirt is wet with some warm liquid. I lifted my hand so I can see what it is and froze when I confirmed that it was blood.

"Okay lang ako. Okay lang ako," mabilis na sabi ni Saint. Humiwalay siya sa yakap saka tumingin sa 'kin. Umiiyak siya. "Ikaw ang hindi."

It's only then that I felt my entire body aching. There was a throbbing pain near my left waist, and a sting on my left forehead. Saint wiped something off my left cheek and that's only when I realized that blood is dripping from my forehead.

"Wren! Wren, nandito 'ko. Nandito 'ko."

My eyes automatically searched for Chad when I heard him say that. I found him slumped on the floor while hugging Wren who seemed to be in a lot of pain too. She must've been pushed to the wall when—

Wait.

"Sean..." I tried to call. "Babe, where's Sean?"

Matagal akong tinitigan ni Saint. Para bang hindi niya kayang sabihin sa 'kin ang sagot kaya lumingon siya sa isang kaibigan naming tahimik nakaupo lang din sa isang tabi.

Tinignan ko rin si Kurt na tulad naming lahat ay sugatan din. Tapos umiling lang siya sa 'kin.

"Kayo lang ang inaalala—" I held my breath as I recalled Sean's last words.

Did he really sacrifice himself for us?

I cried. All the wounds and bruises were nothing compared to the pain in my heart, knowing that Sean died for us. It felt so saddening knowing that he decided to do that in just seconds, when he saw that Wren and I are in great danger. And it upsets me that he knew he would die but he didn't think twice.

Was I even a good friend to him? Was the friendship I gave to him enough to sacrifice his life? I understand it for Wren. She's the kindest person we all know. I'd definitely do the same for her. But for me?

Am I worth it?

Or is this just another reminder that I bring people to their end?

A reminder that's—as it turns out—not enough.

A rope with a hook suddenly appeared out of nowhere and took Kurt like he was some fish in the sea. We could only scream in shock and confusion, until another rope took Saint. I tried to hold him as tight as I could but another rope pulled me away from him.

"Wren!" we heard Chad screaming as she was also lifted by a rope like us. Not too long after, a hook took him too.

Our ropes were swaying here and there, banging us on the walls for about a minute until we found ourselves hanging at least five feet above the ground, side by side. It was Kurt, Saint, me, Wren, then Chad.

It confused us more when ten male kids entered, pushing one cart each. On the carts where shining balls. Shining, because there were shards of glasses around them. How did I know? They started throwing them on us.

We all screamed again, in pain. Every ball they throw, another wound for us. It was so excruciating... and degrading. We were like objects. We were like those targets on shooting games.

The humiliation I felt increased when the kids started laughing. They were enjoying it—our pain. They must've really thought that they're just playing. How can whoever's behind this use them for something so cruel?

They're just kids.

"They're just kids," I whispered as my tears fell, thinking about those teenage boys my father had sexually abused 12 years ago.

They were just kids. I wonder how all of that affected them. Justin just died for the justice he needed, how about the seven other boys? Are they alive? Are they doing well?

Did they kill themselves too?

"Babe!"

The kids cheered louder when one of them hit me on my face. It must've been a really long shard as it took seconds before gravity slowly pulled it off my skin. The ball fell down, covered with my blood.

"Trace, tumingala ka!" rinig kong sabi ni Wren. "Para hindi tumulo nang tumulo—" She wasn't able to finish her sentence when another ball hit her and she screamed in pain.

I remained looking down. Blood kept coming out from the fresh wound on my cheek. Saint kept calling for me. But how can I look up? How can I afford to face anyone when I really am that kid?

Twelve years ago, I knowingly lured boys for my father to sexually abuse. I was aware of what he was going to do with them but I still did it.

I am the daughter of a pedo and rapist. I was his accomplice to those crimes.

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