Chapter 18 | Aaron

For once in Aaron's fifteen years of life, he thought he could have some rest. Sitting alone in the living room, father somewhere out (he hoped in hell), legs stretched across the couch, watching a documentary about astronomy-right now, everything seemed peaceful.

But there was a voice in Aaron's head telling him that peace was only a state of pre-calamity. When he'd been six, Jannette had come to that conclusion.

During commercial break, he stared down his front at his bare toes. He curled them, then relaxed again. The movement usually hurt because the muscles underneath burnt skin contracted. This time it didn't. David hadn't burnt his foot in a while, which meant he hadn't cried. Aaron felt proud.

Aaron lazily glanced at the window by the television. It was inky black outside, only the stars' silver flickering, moon's luminance shining. He liked the night's light more than the day's. But then a yellow beam expanded along the road, engine sounding right behind.

Aaron groaned and reluctantly pushed his feet down to the floor. He turned off the TV and prepared to nestle in his room now that his father had come back.

Just as he was trudging to his room, his father busted in, swinging the front door open a bit too violently. Aaron squinted at him across the distance. Lethargic movement, body swaying like it was still under the effect of the wind outside. A second later, the stench of smoke and beer reeked. Aaron made a face, turning away.

Drunk. David was drunk. So today he was a monster.

Aaron chose he'd rather calmly lock the door on himself and wait until he'd be sober again.

"Aaron!" David drawled, stumbling across the corridor. Aaron ignored him and quickly slipped into his room, trying to shut the door. Except David slammed a hand on it and forced it open. "Where are you going? Hiding? Come here, let me tell you what happened today."

Aaron tried to stay calm. "Dad, we'll talk in the morning, isn't it better? Right now you're tired and I'm tired and it's better if we just sleep."

"I said get your ass outside and let's talk."

David caught Aaron's arm and dragged him to the living room. He made him sit by his side on the couch. "Wanna know what happened today?"

Something about David's voice changed, suddenly became melancholic. Aaron frowned. "What?"

"I was gambling," David explained, eyes set on his callous finger as it absently traced the front of Aaron's clothes. "And I lost a shit ton of my money. I never lose. Why did I lose today, Aaron?" He caught Aaron's shoulder, pulling him closer. Aaron clenched his teeth and tried not to lash out. "Why did I lose?"

The last word was accompanied by a cluster of spit. Aaron screwed his eyes shut. With his free arm, he wiped his face off. He said, annoyed but composed, "I don't know why you lost. I'm sorry that happened."

"I know why I lost."

Aaron just stared. He wanted to make a run for it, but he knew his father well and that would only make him angrier. He stayed still as David continued, "Because of you."

"Me," Aaron repeated, mockingly apprehensive. "That makes sense."

"Yeah, yeah it does." David leant forwards, too close, jabbing a finger in Aaron's chest. His words slurred into each other. "'Cause you're bad luck."

"I know."

"You know you're bad luck?"

Aaron didn't have to lie. He spoke what he thought of himself, "Yeah. And I'm a piece of shit. Useless. Everything you say, it's right."

This was an effortless attempt at just going along because right now David could turn into a monster any moment. Protest meant rebellion and he didn't like that, not even in his intoxicated state.

"You're happy about it?"

"No. I'm sorry about it."

"Does sorry bring back my money?"

"No."

"How're you gonna make it up then?"

This was making Aaron's head hurt now-the stench of smoke, his father's grip on him, the creeping aura of monstrosity. "You name it," he said. Tired. He was tired and just wanted to sleep.

David stared at Aaron like he was staring at literal shit. Disgusted, repulsed. Aaron wasn't surprised. He hated himself too.

When everything remained silent, Aaron scooted away from his father. He waited for a reaction. Nothing. He got to his feet then tried slipping away.

"Where do you think you're going, you little shit?" All of a sudden, David lunged forwards, clutching Aaron's arm and forcibly spinning him around. The moment they were chest to chest, David gripped the front of Aaron's neck and pushed him back against the wall. "Pussy. Scared? All these years and you're still not a man."

Aaron lifted his chin, tried to lessen the pressure against his jugular. If he said yes, David wouldn't stop. If he said no, David also wouldn't stop. There was no way out. Stuck in a pothole made of glass that cut into bruised flesh, or maybe it was just his grave.

This close to each other, the revolting stench that wafted out of David's mouth made Aaron's eyes water. David stared at the teardrops welling along his lower lids.

"Are you crying?"

Aaron wanted to slam his head into the wall. Perfect timing for his goddamn body to perform stupid reflexes. "No," he quickly said. "I'm not crying. That's just because of the beer, the smell's making my eyes water."

"So you're crying." David slowly pressed his fingers harder into Aaron's neck, in a way that slowly cut off his blood circulation. He coughed and swallowed, hand gripping his father's arm, trying to yank it off. "God, you're so weak. Look, look at this."

"D-Dad," Aaron choked out around his constricted neck. "You're gonna kill me, stop."

"Coward. Such a coward. That's all you are, all you've ever been."

Aaron's breath hitched as the fingers around his neck squeezed deeper into his flesh. He fidgeted against the wall, trying to free himself. Air. He needed air. His lips parted, lungs desperate for intake, cheeks flushing a deep crimson.

Aaron felt his hand that clutched his dad's arm weaken. Air. The lack of oxygen was almost dizzying. Let go, he wanted to scream. Take your hand off before you kill me.

David was drunk enough not to realize that a bit more pressure and he could kill his own son. Aaron let go of his arm, forcing his hand to pat around the space beside him until it bumped into the vase atop the coffee table.

Aaron didn't know how the hell he finally managed to grasp it, but when he did, he raised it shakily and slammed it into the side of David's head.

David groaned, tumbling back. Aaron inhaled, deep and desperate, chest heaving, hand holding the front of his neck as he slumped against the wall. Air. Finally air.

Aaron opened his eyes just to find his father crumpled on his back in front of him. He hadn't even fainted, only struggling and groaning to himself. Then, he started throwing up.

Aaron almost gagged as he watched. He pushed himself to stand, crossing over the shrapnel, and caught his father's arm, trying desperately to drag him over to the couch. He couldn't move him even as he hunched over, spine uncomfortably bent. Even as he gripped his arm with both hands again and tried pulling him-all he managed was getting him to roll on his side.

"Dad, get up," he mumbled. David looked at him, almost like he'd regained a bit of his consciousness. He heaved himself up, holding onto Aaron's arm with one hand, most of his weight leaning against stick-thin bones, until he slumped on the couch.

Aaron didn't know why he cared, or why he was making sure right now that his father was on his side. He could've left him throwing up whilst laying on his back until he choked and died. Just like he could've left Jannette without a hug a year ago. He shouldn't give a shit.

When he straightened, he heard multiple cracks in his back and he cringed. Fifteen-year-old with a seventy-year-old's spine. It was a curse. He'd declined any medical help because he knew chiropractors and physical therapists required a lot of touching and he couldn't tolerate that. He'd probably give the doctors a heart-attack with all the flinching and jerking away.

Aaron grimaced. He was about to turn when David gripped his arm, his blood-shot eyes suddenly flinging open. Aaron sighed and tried jerking away.

"You know what you are, Aaron?"

Aaron blinked.

"A mistake."

Throughout his childhood, this had been a constantly repeated word that no one bothered to explain to him. He'd connected the dots on his own because he knew his mom was too young.

But now, caught in the webs of liquor, David was open. He hiccuped, hand progressing up until his fingers tangled in Aaron's hair, pulling him closer. He slurred, "You, you-" he gestured at Aaron elaborately with his free hand "-are a mistake. We didn't want you, we never wanted you. I didn't want a child."

David let his head back against the couch like talking about it was painful. After a silent second, he continued, "Sixteen. She was sixteen when she got pregnant with you. I told her abort him, abort him. But, but she didn't." He beat his hand against his forehead multiple times like that'd been the biggest mistake in his life. "She didn't. The idiot."

Aaron forced his father's hand off his hair and watched his Adam's apple bob. He'd linked everything in his head but the confirmation now made his heart burn. He'd feel more worthless, only he didn't think that was possible. He didn't know what to say, how to respond.

But David knew. He concluded, "This is your fault. We would've never gotten married if it wasn't for you existing in the first place."

Aaron almost snorted. So that was where the insistence that the gambling loss was his fault came from. He walked to his room, mumbling, "It's not my fault, it's the condom's."

In his bedroom, Aaron closed the door and locked it. He trudged to the dresser and looked into the mirror, lifting his chin so he could watch his neck. The red lines embedded along his skin, back and forth like Saturn's ring.

His galaxy was different than the world's. It was the one everyone despised. If he had to explain his placement in this world, he'd associate himself to pluto: there but not quite, precariously existing. Deliriously part of something.

How different would things have been if she'd aborted him?

Aaron knew his neck was going to bruise by morning. So he'd be clinging to turtle-necks for a while. He couldn't pretend these bruises weren't ugly or that he wasn't a mistake, but he could pretend that he didn't exist in the first place as he slept.

*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Morning was another curse. A reinforcement of waking up to a map he knew the way out but dare not.

The first thing Aaron did when he pulled himself off the bed was check his neck. Surely, the red lines were now purplish, color of the galaxy, sore against his fingers. He hissed and pulled his hand back.

He wore a turtle-neck because he knew he wouldn't want anyone seeing those. When he finished changing, he lazily stepped out and meandered to the kitchen, only to find David there, sitting, smoking. All he ever did.

David caught Aaron's eyes through the smoke wafting up the tip of his cigarette. He stared. Aaron knew at what.

"Show me your neck."

So he remembered? Parts? Bits of the last night? Aaron looked away. "Trust me, you don't wanna see."

David stood, took a short step closer to Aaron and pulled the neck of his sweater, catching a glimpse at the chaos he'd carved with his own hand into his own son's neck. Today, he was sober. Today, he was a monster with a half-beating heart or maybe a human with a half-dead heart. He let go and sat in his chair again, lashes downcast.

When David looked at Aaron, there was candy-floss remorse in his eyes. "I... I did that to you, right?" he asked. He touched the side of his head. "That's why you hit me and-"

Aaron just nodded. David sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. Of all things, he chose to say, "I'm sorry. You know I didn't mean to. I was drunk."

Aaron snorted. He hadn't meant to, but he did. What was he supposed to answer? Apology accepted, dad? Or, no worries, every father tries to strangle his son every once in a while?

He looked around the kitchen. He'd come here to grab a snack, but now, standing in front of his father, listening to him apologize for just about strangling him, he lost the appetite.

Aaron slung his backpack over his shoulder, grunting inconspicuously at the pain. David heard it. He looked at him then asked, "You tried to pull me to the couch?"

"Who the hell would it be if not me?"

David narrowed his eyes. Not resentfully, more like questioningly. "Why? Why do you care?"

"Good question."

It really was. Aaron couldn't answer it. He left, but he hadn't stepped two strides past the threshold when his father spoke again.

"Hide the bruises well. No one can know."

This time, Aaron laughed. "I don't want people seeing them anyway." Why would he? They'd see chaos and torment. He didn't want pity.

As Aaron walked out of the house, mapping his way through his neighborhood to his school, he just hoped that no one would notice that he was hiding his neck, specifically a certain group of boys. He knew what would happen if they did.

That day, it passed. No one noticed.

Second day, it passed.

Third day, it didn't pass.

Aaron was walking down the halls with Erika beside him. Three days since his father had tried strangling him and the bruises were still bright and tangible.

Erika had noticed something was wrong, that he'd fidget every time her eyes swept somewhere along his neck, that his fingers constantly tugged the fabric, making sure his skin was entirely constricted. But she didn't say anything.

She wasn't the only one who'd noticed.

Erika cleared her throat. She'd been talking for the past five minutes but she knew Aaron wasn't focused. "Aaron." She clicked her fingers in front of his face. "Hello?"

Aaron shook his head then looked at her, eyes wide like she'd caught him red-handed midst a heist. "Sorry, I was just thinking."

"Obviously. About what?"

"Nothing."

"Thinking about nothing? That doesn't make sense."

Aaron grimaced. "I know I don't make sense, don't rub it in the face like that."

She laughed because she knew he wasn't serious. When she opened her mouth to speak, turning so she could look at him square in the face, she noticed a boy behind Aaron. Her smile dropped.

Aaron didn't have to guess. He knew. He felt a hand clasp the nape of his neck and pull him away from Erika. Aaron was aware the way he was caught was a taunting giveaway that they'd figured it out.

The boy grinned. "I'm sorry to interrupt this but I need to have a word with the pretty boy, can I?" He slung an arm around Aaron's neck, pulling him closer until his thin shoulder crashed into his side. His question wasn't really a question.

But Erika opened her mouth to protest. "No-"

"I'm taking him."

"Aaron, come here, you don't have to listen to him-"

"Erika." Aaron looked at Erika, soft but firm. "I'm fine. You just go." Don't watch this happen, he thought. Don't watch my weakness.

Erika sensed the finality in his voice. She knew what he meant and what he wanted. This pride will be the end of you, she wanted to say. But she didn't. She left him like he wanted.

The boy careened Aaron along with him further down the hallway. He said, "So, how's the neck?"

Aaron knew what he meant but he avoided it. "Great. How's yours?"

"Idiot. You know what I mean." The boy stopped and raised his brows, gesturing at the turtle-neck. "You've been tryna hide your neck. I can tell. Spit it out. Why?"

"It's windy. I get a stiff neck easily. Where's the problem?"

"The problem is that you're lying. We both know that's not why you're wearing turtle-necks." The boy reached over to Aaron's neck, tried pulling the fabric but Aaron jerked away. "What're you hiding? You and Erika been hooking up?"

Aaron understood. He narrowed his eyes, nose crinkling like he'd smelt vomit. "Shut up. Don't bring her into this shit."

"I bet you're hiding a hickey. Is the pretty boy a naughty boy? No need to be embarrassed, let me have a look."

Aaron cursed. "What the hell?" He turned away as the boy invasively reached for his sweater, this time pushing him against the wall. "Don't touch me," Aaron hissed, hand helplessly trying keep the fabric veiling his skin. "There's no stupid hickey! I'm not lying. Just leave me alone."

The boy realized this could attract attention. He stopped. Aaron was almost relieved. But then the boy clamped a hand against his mouth and dragged him along to the bathroom just to their left.

There, the boy locked the door and slammed Aaron against the wall. He gave himself the freedom, the power of being safe from authority's scrutiny, and gripped Aaron's sweater, pulling down the fabric around his neck until his throat was bare.

But then he froze. He eyed the bruises, all around, a noose drawn on Aaron's neck rather than tied around it. He pulled back all of a sudden. "What is this?"

"Clearly not a hickey, smartass," Aaron spat.

The boy's glare turned piteous for a moment, mouth half agape, brown brows furrowed. He let go of Aaron in a sudden thrust. "Did you try to hang yourself?"

"No. I didn't. Now get out of my face." Aaron turned away, fingers smoothening the fabric against his neck again. Why people couldn't mind their business was a mystery to him.

Aaron walked out of the bathroom. The boy's wingmen were gathered around. He didn't meet their eyes as he prepared to pass by them.

He didn't know someone was planning to touch him until he heard the boy say, "Leave him."

Aaron turned around just enough to see the same one who'd spoken and torn his privacy hold back one of his friends. In one sense, his hand was still on his throat. He could tell everyone about what he saw. Aaron stared at him straight in the eyes, pleading: don't make a scene. Don't tell anyone.

The boy stared back. "I messed with him enough today. Keep it for later, guys."

Aaron saw everything he hated in the expression on his face. Pity. His own bully pitied him. What high-class pathetic idiot was he?

The boy leant towards Aaron's ear. "I'm only sparing you this time, pretty boy. Only this time."

Aaron could be a sarcastic jerk right now but he decided against it. So he didn't answer.

He tore his way past the ring of boys. Two steps forwards and he clashed with Erika. He didn't want to see anyone right now. Aaron hurried the other way just so he could avoid her but she mimicked his speed until she caught up.

"Aaron," she said, holding onto his arm. Right now, Aaron had been touched enough so the fact that she had a hand on him was annoying even though it normally wasn't. "You need to tell someone about this. Why-"

"I'm fine. It's fine. Nothing happened."

"Is it? I mean, just tell the principal."

"If I wanted, I would've done that."

"Why're you so stubborn?"

"I don't know. I just am, okay?" Aaron finally looked at her. "So I'd really appreciate if you'd stop telling me what to do-" He stopped and bit his bottom lip, squeezing his eyes shut. "-I'm such an asshole. I'm sorry."

She just stared, smiling softly. "It's alright. You're not, don't worry." Silence. Then she said, "If you ever wanna talk about it, I'm here."

He wished he could, wished he could burst, tell her that he'd had enough of everyone bossing him around, telling him what to be and not to be. He wished he could tell her about the galaxy in his head, tell her about everything weighing his heart.

But as always, he went with the inadequacy of avoiding eye-contact and keeping his mouth shut. These thoughts in his head belonged there. Only there.

*_*_*_*_*_*

hey everyone. there was some important info in this chap. Hope u enjoyed!

thank you so much for reading/voting/commenting <33