Messy

Evan

T/W: Mentions of physical abuse and self-harm

My dad. I don't have a good relationship with my dad. I've said something about him before, I think. I've been replaced, he doesn't care about me. All that stuff.

He's hit me before. When I was too little to understand that he was wrong, not me. It, obviously, stopped after he left. And then he came back. One time, and not for long. The memory still stings.

Jared and I were sitting under the tree in my backyard. He was sharing his cheesiest pickup lines, and I was telling him my favorite tree jokes.

Dad- no. Mark. Mark appeared in the yard, looking almost happy to see me. That made me feel good, though the feeling didn't last much longer.

Mark said he was staying for a few days.

For a minute, I was glad he cared. Then I realized what was probably going to happen. I went into a sort of panic, digging my fingers into the dirt to keep from totally losing my mind. It didn't really work. The world was spinning around me and all of the noises seemed to be being heard through water. I couldn't breathe, couldn't focus. I couldn't stand up and run away, even though that was my only clear thought. I had to get out of there.

Mark wasn't- and still isn't- a believer in mental illness. So, of course, when I started having a panic attack in front of him, he was no help.

"Get up, Evan. You don't hyperventilate. You don't have panic attacks. People who do this are only looking for attention. Stand up." His voice wasn't even remotely calming or friendly. It was harsh. He tapped his foot against my leg. It didn't hurt, really, but I moved my leg anyway. It reminded me again of all the times that it did hurt.

I nodded and stood up, wiping my face (I hadn't cried, somehow. I just felt the need to wipe my face). Jared stood up with me. He took a step toward my dad, ready to defend me.

I stopped him.

Maybe I shouldn't have.

Anyways, the day went on pretty much as normal, besides the fact that my abusive father was wandering around the house. I kept myself safe as best as I could by staying away from him, and having at least one more person in the room when I had to be with him. There were a few times where he caught me by myself. Not ever long enough for him to do anything. But every time someone would enter the conversation, every time someone would set foot in the room, he would give me a look. A look that said "you know it will come eventually."

And it did.

Fast forward to dinner. Jared and his parents came over, because it was a Saturday and it was a thing. Every Saturday, all year, the Kleinman's came to dinner at our house or we went to theirs.

So.

Jared sat next to me, like always. He kept his chair touching mine, like always (it was an especially important thing to us after we started dating). He held my hand under the table, like he had the whole summer. He's left-handed, I'm right-handed; it worked out. We chatted away like nobody else was there, just as we had since before we could talk.

Everyone, by then, knew that Jared and I were together. Everyone except my dad. So when Jared loudly shared a pickup line with me at dinner, nobody really minded. Things happened as they normally would: I'd laugh, go really red, and tell him he's cute.

"What, are you guys dating?" Mark asked. I think he was joking.

"Actually, yeah." I said, confident. Jared made me feel that way.

Mark just stared. It was like he died. I couldn't see that he was even breathing. Nobody else was. We were all holding our breath, waiting for his reaction.

And boy, did he react. Not immediately, though. His public reaction was gentle compared to his later reaction.

"I thought I raised you better than that." He said.

That set the room on fire. Even sweet Mrs. Kleinman was yelling. Accusations. Reminders that he did not raise me. Jared told him to go back to where he came from. I hated it. At first, I couldn't say anything. After a lot of yelling, I put a stop to it. It didn't take much.

"Get out." I said. "You have a family now. Go treat them badly instead."

Silence.

I probably don't have to say that, once the Kleinman's left, he hit me. A lot.

He hit me with words, too.

I have scars from that night. Not from him hitting me, but from what I did to myself when it was over. I believed everything he told me.

I remember thinking, what have I done with my life? I'm 14 and cutting myself.

It hurt. I liked it.

I never stopped. After that, it became an almost daily occurrence, even after Mark left.

My mom knows about it, Jared knows about it. The Kleinmans probably know.

Not my dad, though. And I really don't need him to find out. He can't know that he's destroyed me.

"Jared?" I ask in a quiet voice.

"Yeah?" He replies.

"Can we stop at my house for a minute?"

"Yeah, sure."