Chapter 3

<Jasper Coven>

I stalk to my pick-up truck a few minutes after the bell and huff angrily as I get inside. My day sucked as usual and I just had to bite my tongue to keep myself from lashing out at everyone the way I had to this girl in my French class. I'm not even sure why I lashed out at her, but the way she said what she did got completely under my skin.

It was like she never had a problem a day in her life and for a guy with more problems than the average soap opera, it was infuriating. I get that she probably meant her comments to be taken lightly, but when your home is a life or death situation, there's really no time to take things any way except seriously.

I turn my key in the ignition and drive down the road towards the "redneck side of town", as it has been deemed by everyone with money and power in this town. I roll my eyes at the thought and pull into the dirt driveway of my dad's farm. Mark and David, my dad's cattle hands, give me a wave and a pitying look as I walk towards the front door with my backpack.

"What are my parents doing to each other now?" I mumble as I open the front door.

My question is answered the minute I walk through the door. My dad, with red eyes and slurred speech, is holding my mom in a chokehold. She has tears streaming down her face, but no sound escapes her lips as my dad tightens his hold on her. He shoves her a little harder against the wall, his face only an inch from hers.

"I told you to get me the whiskey, slut." My dad slurs in a gruff voice.

"And this is what happens when you try to take the alcohol away from the alcoholic." I think as I drop my bag.

"Get the hell off her!" I shout and race towards my dad, trying my hardest to pry his hands off my mom's neck.

He lets go and she drops to the floor with a loud thud. I tighten my grip on his wrists and shove him backwards, away from her. My grip loosens a little and my dad takes that as an opportunity to punch me hard in the jaw. I clutch it in pain and let out a low growl towards my father. My eyes darken as i nurse my mostly likely bruised jaw.

"You're not an animal, Jasper. Now go get me the whiskey." My dad chuckles as he sits down in the armchair by the fireplace.

"No," I turn around and walk towards my mother who's still lying on the floor.

I help her up and walk her to the kitchen. She gives me a grateful squeeze before taking a seat at the breakfast table. I notice two giant purple marks on her neck from where my father held her and tried to take the life from her. My hands shake as I hand her an ice pack and a glass of water.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, Jasper." My mom looks like she's having trouble speaking.

"No, I'm glad I came in when I did, otherwise you might be dead." My voice falters a little as I look at my mom's sad expression.

"He did love me at some point," She looks like she's about to cry.

"Mom, I'm sure he did, but now he loves the alcohol and the drugs more than he could ever love anything else." I mutter bitterly.

"Don't say that about him...He was a good man at some point." My mom's voice is small and pained.

"He almost killed you! How can you sit here and defend him, Mama?" I shout and give her an angry glare.

"It's complicated, Jasper. When I married him, I vowed to love him through the best and the worst. That's what I'm trying to do, love him and all his faults."

"These aren't just faults, though. He almost killed you; you can't just sit here and let him walk all over you like this. He shouldn't be allowed to expect that you'll still be here and still take care of him after all the hell he's put you through!"

"I know, but I still love him and I believe that deep down he still loves me. Someday he'll realize what he's been doing is wrong and I intend to be there for him when he does." My mom crosses her arms defiantly.

"You'll be waiting a long time," I roll my eyes and give her a harsh look.

"Jasper, he will realize it someday."

"No, he'll realize it after he OD's and wakes up burning in hell. Don't let him drag you down there with him." With that I stand up and walk up to my room to grab my guitar.

I sneak out the backdoor, but not before grabbing my dad's Jack Daniel's. Guitar and whiskey in hand, I stalk towards my sacred playing spot along the train tracks. I drop my guitar case on the hill and walk over to a large oak tree that lines the land at the top of the hill. The bottle of whiskey in my hand still smells like my father's liquor cabinet; the thought causes me to tighten my grip on the neck of the bottle.

I bring it up and swing the glass against the trunk of the tree. It cracks and the disgusting substance spills over the tree and onto the ground. Glass is scattered among the short grass and half the cracked bottle is still in my hand. I throw it onto the ground and walk back over to my guitar. With a huff, I pull it out of its case and tune it so I can get out some of my anger.

"I believe this world is burning to the ground. Oh well I guess we're going to find out. Let's see how far we've come. Let's see how far we've come. Well I believe it all is coming to an end. Oh well I guess, we're going to pretend, let's see how far we've come. Let's see how far we've come." I sing, but my hands are still shaking from seeing what my father tried to do this afternoon.

I set my guitar down gently in the grass. I pull my knees up to my chin and after making sure that I'm completely alone, I begin to cry. The forceful sobs echo in my ribs and the tears burn hot on my cheeks. He almost killed her; he was five damn seconds away from putting another family member in a grave. I continue to cry and curse everything I can think of until my tears have run dry. I wipe my cheeks on the back of my hand and draw in a deep breath. Tears are weakness; you are not weak.

I'm not allowed to cry at home because it's one sure way to receive a furious beating from my father, who believes that all displays of emotion are weak and not befitting of a man in his house. Ironically, treating his family like dirt and getting drunk off his ass every night is perfectly okay. He's always been that way, though; always seeing the worst in others rather than the worst that has always lived in him.

I pick up my guitar and try to strum a few chords, but my hands have begun shaking again and I can feel more tears burning just behind my eyes. I breathe deeply and grudgingly put my guitar back in its case before I stand up. The locks click shut and I grab the handle as I slowly make my way back to my house and all the hell that lives inside.

~~~~~

I walk back in the back door and notice that an eerie stillness has taken over the house.

"Great, he's probably found something else to pass out on." I roll my eyes at the thought and run up to my bedroom where my book bag is set on my bed just as I'd left it an hour ago.

I drop my guitar in the back of my closet and plop down on my bed to do my homework. I have so much to do and no will to actually do it. My French worksheet taunts me as I try to figure out the conjugations that all seem to run together in my mind.

Once French is done, I begin to work on my algebra problems. They're simple, but require way too much writing for what they're actually worth. However, my math teacher forces us to write down all our work whether we want to or not. My pencil moves across the paper as I write down all of my work for the first problem.

"Too much effort for one damn problem." I grumble after I've finished my first problem and moved on.

An hour later, all my homework is finished and I walk down stairs to scavenge anything I can for dinner. My mom has gone to bed early tonight, most likely to avoid any late night confrontations with dad. I look at the clock on the stove and see that it reads 9:00 P.M. My eyes travel over to the counter between the living room and the kitchen where there's a plate of roast chicken and vegetables along with a note.

For you, Jasper...Had to go to bed early tonight...

Mom

"Well at least it's an actual dinner." I think as I dig in.

I look into the living room and see my dad passed out with a bottle of tequila in his hand. His head is hanging over the back of his chair and his arms are sprawled out wide. The tequila bottle is half empty and hanging dangerously from his hand. I want to take it from him so badly and break it against the tree like I did with his whiskey, but he can always buy more so that won't help very much. I finish my dinner and set the dish in the sink before walking cautiously back to the staircase so as not to wake him. I hear some faint breathing coming from his passed out figure,however, I don't pay much attention to it as I walk up the stairs. I slowly make my way towards my room, but not before looking into my parents' room to make sure my mom is okay.

I stand in the doorway and watch her delicate figure sleep peacefully. Her breathing is content and there's a faint smile on her worry-ridden face. My dad hasn't slept in this room in almost a year; he hasn't really done much of anything in the last year except buy out all of the alcohol in Everington. I know it hurts my mom something awful to watch my dad do this to himself and her family, but she can't stop him. All she can do is hope and pray that we'll both wake up alive. I walk quietly into the room and stand directly over her, bending down to place my lips gently on her forehead.

"I'll get us out of this." I whisper and walk back towards the door.

"I love you, Jasper." My mom mumbles as she rolls over and falls into a deep, much-needed sleep.

I nod and make my way towards my room where I take off my clothes before slipping underneath my tattered, handmade quilt. I stare at the ceiling and breathe deeply. There's nothing I can do about my dad, sadly, except make sure he doesn't kill my mom while he's in one of his drunken rages. I've tried to make my mom leave him, at least for a few weeks and live in a hotel in town, but she refuses to go. 

She always tells me that he'll realize what he's been doing is wrong and he'll apologize, but I don't think the man knows how to apologize to save his life. I hate sitting by and watching her get walked over while she waits for him to love her again. She doesn't deserve this and he doesn't deserve someone who loves him as much as my mom does, especially since he treats her like dirt.

I know she said she'd love him through the good and the bad, but why does she have to love him through the worst? Why does she have to keep her promise to a man who would never do the same for her?

I turn on my side and close my heavy eyelids. The silence of the house makes me anxious because I don't know when something's going to happen, but it also reminds me that my dad is passed out and can't hurt my mom any more than he already has. With that less than comforting thought, I fall into a deep sleep.