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Issues always lie behind closed doors

Jack

I sat in my room for  few hours before wandering around the house. I was clearly alone. Malcolm most likely having the only other key aside from my ma. Most of the boxes in the kitchen were sill packed, so I took it upon myself to unpack them and put them away. I had nothing better to do. 

I looked at the clock on the oven, five hours had passed since I had gotten home. I was hoping that Malcolm would be home by now, but I was still the only one here. I arranged the pots and pans in one one of the cabinets, put away spices, silverware, and plates. I cleaned up any glass from the broken dishes and swept the floors. Once that was done I moved to the living room and started unpacking pictures and hanging them up. Placing books on book shelves and tucking DVD cases in their places. 

Eight hours total since I got home. Still no one. I sighed and flopped down on the couch, tired and bored. I couldn't really watch movies, I wasn't in the mood for drawing or games. Sleep it is then.

--

After some unknown amount of time I woke up still on the couch. It was getting late. I walked around still hoping for Malcolm or my sister to be home. Still no one. My mom didn't get off until really late at night, so we would all be in bed by then. I figured I would make some dinner with what little food we had so that everyone could eat once they got home. 

After searching through the small pantry cabinet I found stuff to make spaghetti. I poured noodles into a pot of water and set it on the stove, waiting for the noodles to become, well, noodles. Maybe ten minuted into staring at the pot, trying to will it to cook faster what I guessed was the door slammed shut so hard that the floor shook beneath me. I turned and poked my head out of the kitchen. Malcolm stumbled forward awkwardly. For a moment he seemed like he was just dizzy or tired, but then the scent hit my nose. Sour and pungent smelling. I remembered that scent from my dad, of course I had to be close to smell it on him. I could practically see the clouds of the alcoholic sent on Malcolm. He was still several feet away from me. I backed away slowly and turned back to the stove. The last time he was like this he hurt me. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. 

I pretended to ignore him, hoping he'd walk by and not notice me. 

Seems like lady luck was against me at the time because he walked right into the kitchen and stared at me. I knew he was talking to me. Most likely telling me how useless I was. How much he hated me.He grabbed me and pulled me away from the stove getting in my face and shouting at me. I closed my eyes and turned away, trying to escape the smell and heat of his breath. Tears welled in my eyes and I struggled against him. He eventually threw me to the floor and kicked me as he stepped over me, knocking the air out of me. I gasped and rolled onto my stomach, coughing, desperate for air. 

I curled up in a ball and hugged myself, crying. I wanted everything to back to the way it was. When I was happy. When my dad was around and I had people in my life. I lifted myself slowly from the floor and stood. My body ached and shook with every breath I took. I went back to the stove and finished cooking the food. Eating a small portion before putting the rest away and leaving a note on the fridge for my mum and sister.  I walked as quietly and quickly as I could past Malcolm's room and down into my own. 

The last thing I needed was to make him upset. 

I closed and locked my door before collapsing on my bed. Today had been hell and sleep was what I needed. Well... That and a hot shower. Lifting myself off the bed I grabbed some clothes and a towel, sneaking down to the bathroom and locking the door behind me. 

The hot water running down my back and soothing my muscles was relaxing. I rolled my shoulders and neck, popping my bones and stretching. I opened and closed my jaw in an attempt to pop my ears. Giving myself false hope that it would fix it and I could be normal again.

Well.

As normal as a loud, green haired, short Irishman could be.

I washed the week away and sat down in the tub, letting the water drip down on me. Thinking. I hadn't properly let myself feel everything yet and I knew there would be consequences if I let the weight of it all sit on my shoulders. I closed my eyes and focused on the day that it all happened. I remembered the music on the radio. The cool air of Ireland and the green hills. My mum and pa's smiles. The feeling of happiness. Then I let reality sink in. The screech of tires. The fear coursing through my veins. The jolt from the other truck hitting us. Glass embedding itself in my arm and face. My throat closing up as fear over took me. Vision fading. Sound slowly dissipating. 

Warm tears fell down my cheeks. 

The news of my hearing. My father passing away. The move.   It all crashed on me and I could do nothing but cry and shake. staying there until the water turned cold, I drained myself of emotion. I dried off and dressed myself before going back to my room, hoping not to be stopped by my brother. Someone grabbed my shoulder and I tensed up. I stayed perfectly still until they shoved me. It was him. 

I fell to the floor and waited. There was no point in trying to run. A sharp kick to the stomach. A punch thrown at my cheek, another to my gut. Kick to the back. I laid and took it. I probably woke him up with my crying. 
Good going Sean. 

He was yelling at me again, most likely not remembering that I couldn't hear him. When he was done I was covered in bruises and blood. I knew that almost everyday would be like this. He blamed me. I know he did. They all did. 

If I hadn't asked to stay with my grandparents instead of staying home with Malcolm then he would still be alive. We'd still live in Ireland and I wouldn't be laying here in self pity. I slowly got onto my hands and knees, unable to stand, my body screaming at me to just lay there and rest. I crawled back into the bathroom and pulled myself up onto shaky legs. My reflection wasn't me. A black eye and busted lip. Bloody nose and bruised cheek. There was no hiding this from my ma. Not anymore. I washed my face and shuffled to the kitchen to get some ice for my eye and cheek. 

--

The next morning I couldn't bring myself to even sit up. I was on my side in pain. My door still locked to keep people from coming in. Malcolm hated me. My sister probably did to. My ma blames me. I know she does. Why should I even be here right now? I looked around my small room and my eyes landed on the picture of all of us on a camping trip, a week before I broke my arm and lost my tooth. We were so happy. 

This was all my fault. 

I wouldn't let myself take the easy way out. I would force myself to suffer. I deserved it. I destroyed our family. 

A single tear slipped down my cheek and I burrowed into my blankets. Not wanting to leave for the rest of the week.