Even If Saving You Sends Me To Heaven

The sound of the front door slamming shut woke me up with a fright. As I gathered my thoughts after getting scared, I thought back to the dream I had had just a couple of minutes earlier. Chills went down my spine. I felt the bile rising; telling me to throw up, but I couldn’t right there in my bed. And I wasn’t going to the bathroom when George was home. Hopefully he was too drunk to get up the stairs, and he would pass out on the couch down stairs. I laid there in the dark, waiting for the snoring to begin, but it never came.

Chills ran down my spine again, as I heard the heavy steps making their way up the stairs. I held my breath and shut my eyes tightly as I counted the seconds like I always did. I could hear him pausing outside of my door. The door creaked open, and I could see his thick, sausage-like fingers holding min steady as he leaned against the doorframe while opening the door further. I quickly closed my eyes before I saw his face, and pretended to sleep… As if that was going to help. I could hear him make his way towards me and pause right next to the bed again. “Wake up” I heard him grunt, but I ignored him, as I pretended to keep sleeping. For that, I was awarded a fist to my face.
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As I woke up the next day, I could feel my hair sticking to my forehead. I tried raising my arm to brush it away, but enormous pain shot through my arm and shoulder, so I quickly gave that idea up. Flashbacks of the night before shot through my head. I tried to think and remember exactly what happened. I didn’t get fucked that night. I didn’t suck him off. I didn’t even give him a hand job. I was never touched in a sexual way. I was never kissed, and I never got the comments and demands from his sick mouth. I thought about how he had hit me, how he had physically hurt me more than he ever had before. I couldn’t do this anymore. I had to get out, and I had to get out quickly.

I gathered enough strength to sit up in bed. I looked out the window and saw that it was early. The sky was still dark, but I could see the beams of pale yellow sunlight fighting to get up. I sat there for a while, waiting for the sun to show up, but it seemed that it never came. Soon enough, I gave up the idea of watching the sun rise, and concentrated on myself instead. I lifted my bed sheet and carefully pulled it off. I was in my jeans from the day before, and managed (with a lot of pain and many whimpers) to pull them down my legs. Every time I took a breath, I felt my lungs gasp for air, telling me to lay back down so I could breathe. I couldn’t though. I had school in a couple of hours and I needed a shower first. Hopefully I had more of Gerard’s concealer to coverup the bruises I knew were spread all over my face. I could feel it, but I hadn’t seen it yet. I looked down on my bare legs and sighed in disgust. My crooked, long and skinny legs were littered with blue, yellow and purple bruises begging for attention and some care. I slowly slid my arms through the arm-holes in my t-shirt and slipped it over my head with a lot of caution. My body was in so much pain. It felt as if I had purposely stabbed myself everywhere, and that I had hit the bones in my body every single time. With my shirt off, I tried to bend my head and look down, but with no success. My neck was screaming for me to keep my head up, and there was nothing I was able to do to keep it down. No matter how hard I tried, I had to give in and at last force myself out of my bed. I took the bed sheet with me, and carefully wrapped it around my body as a protective shield. The journey over to the bathroom was longer than it had ever been before. Every step I took shot needles up my body, hitting me everywhere possible; drilling themselves through muscle and digging into my bones. At last, I got to the door hiding the black tiles and my comforting shower. I eased the door open, and stepped in quickly, ignoring my body’s demands of a slow and easy step. I locked the door as quietly as possible, before I let the sheet drop to the floor in front of the mirror. I couldn’t look at myself for many seconds before I had to turn away, but I got in enough. My entire torso was blue and yellow, with some red, bloody spots every now en then where the skin couldn’t take it anymore. I felt myself gag, and quickly make my way over to the toilet, dropping down on my knees, whimpering in main as the sore joints hit the hard, tiled floor. The cold bowl felt good on my sore arms as I leaned over it and waited. I gagged several times, but I was never able to get it out. Simply because there was nothing to get out.

I laid down on the tiled floor, feeling the cold surface calm and numb some of my muscles. Was this what my life had turned into now? Were the bathroom tiles my only comfort in life? Was my bruised face what people would see in my printed yearbook picture? As I laid there thinking; feeling the comfortable coolness of the floor touch my sore back, I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if Gerard didcome back, and how wonderful a life with him would be.

Without permission, my thoughts flashed back to the dream I had had, and I quickly sat up, finally letting my gagging take over as I leaned over the bowl. But I wasn’t surprised that the only thing coming out was spit. I sighed in defeat, before getting up, wriggling myself out of my boxers and carefully stepping in to the filthy shower. I turned the water on and felt the relaxing sensation eat away my pain bit by bit. I stood there for a long time. After the hot water had run out, I kept standing in the cold water, just wanting to feel something, anything, there for my pain. I knew I would get in trouble for using all that hot water when I got back from school, but I just couldn’t bring myself to care about that. When I finally stepped out of the shower, I pulled my dirty boxers back on, before grabbing the sheet and wrapping it around me. Once again, the trip between the bathroom and my bedroom seemed too far.

Notes