The Pajama Kid

Chapter Ten- Butts

Apologies- this chapter is quite dark and upsetting. Freddie is quite a complicated soul, and you'll get to see why.
[...]

Freddie's PoV - Yup, PoV change!!

I wander back into the house that stinks of smoke and agony.

My father lays upon the sofa, a lit cigarette hanging loosely from his rotting mouth. His eyes are wide open, bloodshot and bulging- lifeless as always. Mum says that it's not his fault; that he's too 'caught up in his ways' to stop now.

I hate my house- it reeks of spilled blood and spoiled food. I try to spend as little time as possible here- for obvious reasons.

I throw my coat on the splintered banister, gripping it gently before climbing up the stairs- the rough floor creaks below me.

My father stirs slightly, coughing madly- his hoarse throat contracting. Mum says that it's because of the dust, but the scattered pamphlets about throat cancer say otherwise.

Would it be evil to say that I'm grateful? That I wish for secondary tumours?

The answer is yes. But I can't help but rejoice. Father's caused so much pain, so much agony, so much torment...I can't help but hate him.

Mum turns a blind eye to it, she has always idealised disasters. Even when the paint started peeling and the fridge was almost empty, she would be seen- in town- buying a new handbag or £300 dress.

The money comes from the council, to look after me I suppose, but I scarcely see a penny of it.

"Freddie!" My father croaks out from the lilac-coloured living room.

I freeze, cursing myself- I should've walked faster...I should've been quieter! As I scuttle towards the man, dread spins throughout my body. I pull up the sleeve of my shirt and lay out my arm- already knowing what he wants.

A soft sizzling can be heard, my eyes squeezing shut; trying not to make a sound. The cigarette, that was once in his mouth, now lays on my skin- burning the fragile flesh.

The butt is thrown at my face, swiping a bit of soot on my cheek. Father makes a shooing motion, still glaring at the dimmed tv, and I scuttle back up the stairs; into the comforts of my room.

My brother- Benjamin- is waiting for me, sitting on my battered bed. He silently tends to my recent wound, with professional precision. He wants to be a doctor, but father won't pay for the school fees.

Ben is 18- he's saving up to move away and go to some fancy medical school. He's reluctant though, afraid about how I'll cope without him.

I go to climb out my window, after retrieving some more clothes, but I'm stopped-

"Mum says that you have to stay for tea. She'll get mad if you don't- which'll anger dad...it's better if you do what she wants. I'm sorry."- he whispers slightly, shoulders tense and eyes alert.

Tracing the scabbed surface of my stomach, I tense up in regret. My father has a habit of using me to test his new knives, and as a human ash tray. That's what Will saw, the scars.

I don't want him to know.

Will knows me as a happy-jolly soul that always makes unfunny jokes and tells countless tales about his family. He won't like this side of me, which is why I'm reluctant to tell him.

My lips tingle, remembering the countless times that his have touched them. He's so sweet and gentle; I feel a tale as dark as mine might scare him.

Mum hates that I spend so much time at his house, and demands that we eat 'as a family' at least twice a week.

I don't think that we're a family. Not a proper one anyway.