Chapter 20 | Aaron

Aaron's sixteenth birthday was a few days away. For pre-celebration, because his life was totally luxurious like that, his father had ordered him to clean up the kitchen.

He placed the plates in the sink and turned to the table again. There was a cup filled barely quarter-way with remaining beer, or whiskey, or whatever his father had been drinking.

Aaron had never been an advocate of liquors. But now, staring at the yellowish liquid trapped in glass, he wondered what it tasted like.

He picked the cup and took the tiniest sip. His face scrunched like he'd tasted shit and he quickly turned and hunched over the sink, spitting it all out again. If it at least tasted good, it'd possibly be worth destroying his kidney.

"I saw that."

Aaron froze. Then turned. Then smiled innocently. "That I'm cleaning up? Yeah, you told me to do that."

David stepped in, movements languid even though he wasn't drunk. He raised a brow. "No, I saw you taking a sip. What's it taste like?"

"Not that great."

"I agree. Do you know why I still drink that?"

The answer clicked too easily: so he'd be drunk and forget about everything. Aaron wanted that too but he never turned to alcoholism. "Yeah."

"Oh, you do." When there was no further answer, David took a hasty breath and sat on a chair, pulling another one out. "Come witness it for yourself and tell me if you blame me for it."

Aaron didn't want to. He'd only wanted a taste of it to extinguish his curiosity but he wasn't looking to becoming an addict.

"I said come here, Aaron. Let me show you why I like drinking."

Aaron walked there and sat, fiddling his fingers anxiously in his lap. His father had put two cups on the table and a bottle of whiskey.

David started pouring the liquid in, glancing at Aaron through the corner of his eyes. "Relax," he drawled, smirking. "Nothing to be scared of. One time won't hurt."

Aaron only listened to the sound of the whiskey hitting glass. His heart pounded. David pushed one glass closer to Aaron's side and picked his own. "Come on, drink it. And don't stop until it's finished."

Aaron knew things would get messy if he didn't. So he did. He brought the glass to his lips and took a swig, eyes squeezed shut. But he couldn't last too long. Not even half the cup done with and he had to put it down, panting at the burn in his throat. Then, he started choking.

David laughed and patted him once on the back. "You can't even drink it right."

When Aaron recovered from the coughing-fit, he quickly finished the glass and leant back in his seat, chest heaving, eyes still narrowed at the aftertaste. "I did it," he breathed. "Now please let me go."

David's grin was connivance itself. He filled Aaron's cup again. "Not yet. I said I want you to understand why I like getting drunk."

"I understand, I swear. Because you want to forget that you have a son like me—"

"Shut up and drink."

Aaron sighed and forced himself to drink it. Then another. Then... another. Then, then—

Why was the world swaying? Aaron clutched the edge of the table. He blinked too much, shoulders slumping, relaxing. Slowly, he smiled. He raised his chin, lashes colliding, and burst out laughing like a manic.

David gave him a weird look. "Drunk on what? Three glasses? Come on, Aaron."

Aaron stopped laughing and turned to look at his father. "I can't see," he mumbled, rubbing his eye with the heel of his palm. "Everything's so blurry—" he giggled tipsily "—I love it."

"You love that you can't see? I knew you were an idiot."

Aaron frowned like he was offended. "Excuse me, I'm not an idiot," he grumbled. "Do you know why I love it?"

"Why?"

"'Cause I don't have to see your stupid face!"

David raised a brow, unimpressed. "Well, you're my son. So if my face is stupid then so is yours."

Aaron bit his bottom lip then said, "No," extending the word a lot longer than normal whilst shaking his head. "I look like mom. I only took your eyes."

"Yeah, great. Now—"

"Shhh." Aaron reached over and slapped David's mouth drunkenly. "Stop talking. Your voice's so annoying."

David caught Aaron's wrist and lowered it. "Don't hit me, you little shit."

"You know, dad," Aaron suddenly said, twisting in his seat so he was facing his father, tucking one leg beneath him. "I hate home because of you and I hate school because of the bullies, so where should I go?" Elbow into his thigh, fist into his cheek, it seemed like he was genuinely mulling over it. "I think I just wanna sleep forever and ever and ever. Actually, I wanna sleep now." Aaron started leaning towards his father's shoulder sleepily but David quickly pushed him off.

Aaron grimaced then rested his arm on the table and leant his cheek on it. "I'm so sleepy, why am I awake? What even is sleep? Is it temporary death—"

"Wait, bullies?" David dumbly repeated. Aaron had never brought that up. "You have bullies?"

"Yeah, there's a shitload of them." Aaron stared at his dad through his lashes. David almost felt something in his chest again. Aaron looked too young and fragile, too impossibly like a child. "I have like five, and, and they bother me every every day. They never leave me alone and they say that I'm a pretty boy but then they say that I'm not actually pretty so I'm not the only idiot who can't make up his mind? I just want them to leave me alone—"

"How come I never knew about this?"

"'Cause you're a shitty father, obviously," Aaron said it like it was common knowledge. "And they keep making fun of my skinny legs." He laughed as he straightened and raised his leg, just about knocking David's jaw with his foot. "Look, it's so thin. Why's it so thin?"

David caught Aaron's ankle and pushed his foot away. "Aaron, lower your damn leg you dumbass."

Aaron shrugged but then he whined when his father forcefully pushed it down. David said, "You know what, I can barely tolerate you sober. You're even worse drunk." He caught Aaron's arm and tried pulling him but Aaron squirmed away. "Get up."

"No." Aaron jerked away sharply then looked at the table, at the bottle. "I love being drunk. I wanna be drunk everyday. I wanna drink more and more and more." He reached for the bottle and started pouring more whisky into his cup. "Do we have wine? It looks fancy—"

"Aaron!" David caught Aaron's wrist and shoved him away. "The hell are you doing? Stop this shit. And get up."

Aaron shrugged one more time. Rebellion. David clenched his jaw. He felt a subtle urge to break his shoulder but fought it back and hooked an arm under his armpit instead. He stood, dragging Aaron to his feet along.

Aaron slumped against David's side like he was dead, head against his shoulder, eyes closed. He opened them and looked up. "I hate you," Aaron mumbled as he tried to straighten and pull himself on his own. "Don't touch me. Your hands are so filthy. Do you even shower with all the hot water? You never leave me enough hot water so I shower with cold water even though I hate it so much—"

"Shut up—"

A knock on the front door. David snapped his head in its direction, heart pounding. No one could know about this. "Move," he whispered to Aaron.

"That's Erika. She said she wanted to tutor me math and I told her I don't want to but no, she has to—"

"Shhh." David forced him along.

Behind the door, Erika frowned. She heard the noises. Aaron's voice, slurred and weak. She asked worriedly, "Aaron? What's going on?"

David cursed. He picked Aaron up bridal style despite his protests and hurried with him to his bedroom. It should've been worrying, how light Aaron was, how easily he could be picked up.

David lowered Aaron onto the bed then ran back to the door. He waited anxiously.

"Hello? Aaron, I heard you. Open the door right now, please. I'm worried."

David opened it. Erika's lips parted then closed again. There were books in her hands. "Is Aaron okay? I heard him—"

"He's fine. He's just... a bit sick. Sweetie, how about you—"

"That's Erika, right?" Aaron shouted all the way from his bedroom. "Don't open the door, she wants to teach me math! Tell her to go shove the book up her—"

"Aaron!" David glanced over his shoulder then back at Erika. He forced a smile. "He's just not feeling well."

"Something's wrong. He doesn't talk to me like that. He wouldn't say that. I know him." She pushed in, but David stopped her. "There's something wrong with Aaron, I wanna check on him."

"Sweetie—"

She pushed past him in and stepped inside. For a second, she stood and listened to distant drunken laughter. She looked at Aaron's bedroom door and scampered towards it. Before she could open, David caught her arm and said, "That's not respectful, you can't break into someone's house."

"It doesn't matter." She pushed through the door, only to freeze when she saw Aaron sprawled on the bed, laughing to himself, hair disheveled and face sickly pale. "God, what happened to him?"

She hurried towards him. "Aaron?" She sat at the edge of his bed and watched him rub his eye. "Are... are you drunk?"

Aaron tilted his head against the pillow. "No, I'm sober. You're so smart."

David interjected, "He's not dru—"

"He's clearly drunk." Erika stared back at his father. She'd always had her doubts about him. She narrowed her eyes. "Can I have a word with Aaron alone?"

"No."

"Why not? Is there something you're...?"

David stared at her. She stared back. He knew what she meant. He quickly donned a normal pretense. "Look, Erika, he messed up. He tried drinking. I caught him but it was too late. He was already drunk. I was shocked too, okay?"

"Let me talk to him."

"No—" David watched the skeptical expression. More insistence and she'd most likely start imagining the truth. "Only for a minute."

"Fine."

David left but he stood right behind the door in case Aaron slurred something he shouldn't say.

Erika frowned sadly as she twisted again to face Aaron. She pressed a hand into the mattress by his torso and leant forwards. "Aaron, what happened?"

"Remember when the girl was crying in twelfth grade?" Aaron suddenly blurted, hand reaching for Erika's hair that slipped down her shoulder. He tugged, a bit too hard. "I felt like punching you that day. And remember the game we played the first day we met? Yeah I just wanted you to shut up because you were talking too much and it was annoying even though I'm probably the annoying one and, and—"

Aaron stopped talking suddenly and frowned. He started laughing again.

Erika's chin wielded to one side. "What?"

"You're ugly up close."

"Well." She realized she could get something out of him. He was drunk. He could slur. He could accidentally tell her. "You think your eyes are prettier than mine?"

Aaron shrugged. "Maybe."

"Hm, at least you're kinda confident when you're drunk." She looked at his torso. Then back at him. Her voice was hushed when she spoke, "Tell me something you think is ugly about you."

"I have a lot," Aaron said. "I hate them." Subconsciously, he started scratching his arm, so hard like he was trying to tear his own skin off. "I don't want them. I don't wanna see them."

"Like what?"

He pointed subtly at his back. Then he urged her closer and whispered, "You don't get it, Erika. I'm so ugly."

"Can I have a look?"

"No."

She didn't listen but she should've. She subtly raised his sweater until his stomach was bare. A bruise stared at her. To the left, there was a tip of a scar that rounded his waist to his back. She swallowed, holding his arm and pushing him gently aside so she could glance at his back.

She gasped the moment she did. Scars. So many of them. Rigid and hideous, pain carved into flesh. She dropped his top again and looked at him with pity in her eyes. "Oh my God, why- why did you never tell me?"

Aaron looked at her, grey eyes surrounded by infinitesimal red veins. "I don't know, I don't know. Did you see them, Erika? Did you see how ugly they are? Do you hate me now?"

The order in which he asked those was an indicator. Erika thought she understood. "No, God, of course I wouldn't hate you for scars. I just want to help you—"

For a second, Aaron was still. Next, his hand was clutching her arm like it was a lifeline. "Please don't help me," he slurred. "Please don't help me. Help me."

It didn't make sense, the contradiction. Erika stared at him as if she was trying to decipher a code. "What? What do you want me to do then?"

"No, no, no," Aaron whined, brows furrowed, one hand lazily pushing her off, away. "You don't understand." The tiniest cry escaped his lips, barely even audible. He turned and buried half his face in the pillow, mumbling, "I hate myself, I hate myself so much."

This wasn't a secret. She could aways tell he hated himself but hearing him say it aloud like that was something else. It hit harder, sank deeper.

"Erika, come on. Leave him."

Erika turned to David then stood. She left Aaron and walked out. At the front door, she faced David and said, "You're gonna stay beside Aaron, right? You're gonna make sure he doesn't sleep on his back because he could puke and choke, right? You're gonna have a talk with him and figure why in the world he tried to drink."

David caught what she was hinting at. He smiled. "Of course, Erika. He's my son. I'll have a talk with him and sort it out. You just don't worry. I know how to take care of him."

*_*_*_*_*_*

Aaron banged his head into his locker lightly. And he'd thought that headaches were torturous. Hangovers were a magnified migraine, a hammer constantly slamming his skull.

"Hangovers are tough, man, aren't they?"

Aaron absently nodded. "Yeah. It's like there's literally a hammer in my head—" he froze. Frowned. Turned. Erika was beside him. "—what? It's metaphorical. When a headache's too strong, I call it hangover. You know I'm weird like that."

"I was there, Aaron."

"What?"

"I was there when you were drunk," she said. "I came to tutor you math but I found you drunk. I talked to your dad. Why would you drink? I know you, you wouldn't do that."

Aaron's eyes widened momentarily. He tried to act normal. "Yeah, well. Um, that was just... I didn't know I could get drunk so easily. I just wanted to try it and... it didn't go well, obviously." He bit his lip and looked at her through his lashes, innocent and imploring. "I didn't slur anything stupid, did I?"

"You said I'm ugly up close."

"No."

"Yes, you did."

"I'm—" Aaron face-palmed, sighing. "I'm sorry. I was drunk. I was just saying stupid shit that's nonsense." Aaron tried not to panic at the thought that he'd slurred something about his dad. "I didn't say anything else, right?"

Ugly scars. She remembered that he'd refused to let her see but she'd raised his top anyway. She knew he wouldn't be happy about it. "No," she curtly replied. "No. Nothing. I didn't understand half the things you said." She twirled the ends of her hair awkwardly. "Uh, I need to go now. See you."

Erika hurried away. It was an odd thing, that they'd both lied to each other but both skeptical. Aaron turned to open his locker but someone slammed a hand on it.

"I notice something about you," one of the group of boys said. This guy was called Blake. The leader's righthand, the one who didn't hold back when it came to people's insecurities. Aaron dreaded him the most.

"I'm so interested." Aaron pushed his hand away. Blake leant one shoulder on the locker beside Aaron's, ankles crossed. Then, he purposely touched Aaron's shoulder.

"You don't like it when people touch you."

Aaron tried to maintain a nonchalant expression. "I like personal space?"

"Nah. Like, I notice how you try to slip away. Every time. I'm sure it's not just about personal space. What's up with that?"

"None of your business." This was making Aaron uncomfortable. Like touch aversion was something he could control.

Blake touched him again, purposely trying to goad a reaction. Aaron clenched his teeth and calmly jerked away from his hand. He said, "Stop it."

"You know what? I found a better name for you. Better than pretty boy."

Aaron knew where this was going. He clutched his locker's handle so hard his knuckles whitened. Don't say it. Don't say. Don't say it.

"The freak with touch aversion."

This hurt. This really hurt. Aaron exhaled subtly and swallowed down the pain. He busied himself with opening his locker, desperately pretending that Blake didn't exist.

Blake removed his hand off Aaron's locker. He repeated, "The freak with touch aversion." He chuckled mockingly. "I love it so much better—"

"Stop." Aaron didn't look him in the eyes but his voice was adequate warning.

"Or what? Huh? What're you gonna do—"

Aaron kept his eyes fixed on the locker. Then, without warning, he swung it open until it crashed into Blake's nose.

Blake stumbled a step back, cradling his nose. "Or this," Aaron said. "I told you stop." He closed his locker again and reversed away, lips pulled into a sly smile, but only two steps and Blake shouted back:

"You little shit. You'll pay for this, Aaron. I swear you will."

"Yeah, sure." The moment Aaron turned, for once head genuinely high, he clashed with his principal. Because he couldn't have one proper triumphant moment.

"To my office, Aaron. Now."

Aaron's jaw slackened. "But—"

"Move."

Aaron did. He followed his principal to the office and watched him close the door. Aaron stood but the older man gestured him to sit.

Aaron sat, warily watching him behind his desk, elbows on the table, fingers clasped beneath his chin.

The principal said, "Aaron, son, are you even aware about how much you're going downhill? Your grades, your behavior—have you noticed?"

Aaron combed one hand through his hair. His arm slumped by his side again. "Yes, sir."

"Why did you just slam the locker in Blake's face like that?"

"He just touched on my insecurity. I got... triggered." Aaron laughed awkwardly. "It was a reflex."

The principal kept staring at Aaron, eyes boring deep, deeper. His fingers untangled and he placed one hand down on the table. "Aaron, do you have some sort of problem? Is there anything wrong you want me to—"

Aaron tilted his head slightly. "I kinda just told you what the problem is..."

"No, that's not what I mean." The principal shifted in his seat. The narrow of his eyes seemed that of an interrogator's. "I'm talking about something else. Other than Blake—I'll deal with that kid. Do you have a problem?"

Aaron knew what he meant. He sighed. "No, sir. Everything's great."

The principal still didn't look convinced. He raised a brow. "Are you sure you're happy? Are you sure you're fine? You don't look like it to me."

The edge of Aaron's lips pulled into a soft smile. His eyes had been downcast but now he caught the principal's gaze. "The connection between being fine and being happy is just a fallacy. A misconception."

"How so?"

Aaron straightened his shoulders. "You can be happy but not fine. You can be not happy but still fine. What makes you fine isn't the happiness or pleasure itself, it's the knowledge that it's fine to be sad sometimes."

"Where do you stand in this theory?"

"By this theory, I'm fine."

The principal seemed impressed. Still, he pressed, "Your intellect won't get you out of this, Aaron."

"Why not?" Aaron hadn't intended it but his voice came out far too helpless. "It's all I have."

The principal was oddly the first to break the eye-contact. He gestured to the door. "Leave, Aaron, leave. You're the weirdest student I've met so far."

*_*_*_*_*

hi! if u're wondering the bullies thing was a buildup for something you'll see soon. It's not pointless i promise lol.

approx 12 chaps left and the prequel ends. but i have a new thriller coming too!

thank you so so much for reading/voting/commenting <3