by Ann Grech
I went to my own room and slipped inside, pushing the door shut after me and shifting my desk partly against it. I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t a pussy, but in truth I was. I was tired. Weary. I wanted to close my eyes and never, ever open them again. I wanted to sink into a black abyss and never come up again. I wanted to be safe again. Secure again. But how?
My room didn’t look like my space anymore. It was a child’s room, a delusional little teenager’s who had no idea what the world was like. I’d changed. I was no longer that kid anymore. Maybe now I knew what people were really like. They told me I’d remember my first time. Fuck, I hoped not. I hoped that when I woke up, I’d be clueless again, that I’d be that dumb teenager who thought the worst thing that could happen on a Friday night was his team losing.
My folded washing sat in the same place I’d left it—on my bed. It seemed inconsequential, but I was grateful for the sweats and hoodie I donned. I hoped that the thick fleece might somehow make a difference to the cold that had settled within me. My bed and its heavy covers beckoned me, and I crawled in, curling into a ball and waiting for sleep to take me. The blackness swallowed me fast, its turbulent waters pulling me under and holding me there, drowning me. And I was relieved. Maybe I wouldn’t wake up. Maybe this was all a nightmare.
I was being pinned down, held there. I thrashed, desperate to pull free. Something dark loomed over me, evil in its nature. I gasped, opening my eyes to a light-filled room and shouting, fists pounding on my door.
“Keir Trenton, get your ass up. Now. What the hell do you think I am? Your personal maid?” More banging, loud enough to wake the dead.
I groaned. My head throbbed. Every inch of me hurt. I now knew how the losing boxer felt after a fight. I pulled the covers higher and desperately tried to drown out the noise. Each thud on the door made me want to puke. The banging, the yelling, it was all too much. “I’ll get it in a minute,” I whispered, but even that was too loud. My stomach turned and I puked all down the side of my bed, my throat now on fire with the rest of me. I couldn’t stop. Once I’d started, I heaved again, but there was nothing left inside me.
“Did you hear that?” I heard Mom ask before she rattled the door handle, trying to push the door open. “Keir, you better not be spewing on the carpet.”
“Go away,” I groaned between heaves, but it was clear she wasn’t going anywhere. Dad must have been there too now because the knocking on the door and the jiggling of the handle stopped. Instead, the whole door shuddered. Dad was using his weight to bust it open. He was an ex-rugby player, still bigger than me even though he hadn’t played in well over a decade. My puny student desk and bedroom door stood no chance against him. The furniture skidded across the room and the door slammed against it, splintering on impact.
“What the hell?” Dad roared as he saw the mess we’d both made. “This is how you repay being treated like an adult? You’re given one drink and you finish the rest of the beer in the fridge as soon as Ryan turns his back? You go five rounds with the pavement after disappearing without a trace from his house? You think that’s what a man does? I’m disgusted with you.” He was shouting, and the words jarred my skull like physical hits. It took me a moment but then his words sunk in. Getting drunk and disappearing? Is that what happened last night? Confused, I dragged myself out of bed and swayed on the spot, trying to piece back together the night before. A beer, the game, the kitchen. The words. The hit. The pain. Oh God, no.
“I…” I breathed through my nose trying to stop myself from spewing again. “I didn’t. I….”
“You didn’t get drunk? You didn’t fall over and give yourself a black eye? You didn’t leave your clothes everywhere? You didn’t just spew all over your bedroom?” Mom asked in rapid-fire, her words like slaps to my face.
“After you clean up this mess, you’re going to Ryan’s house to apologize. Then you’re going to do whatever he wants for as long as it takes to pay him back for the beer you drank and the damage you caused to his garden.” Dad was in my face, pointing his thick finger at me, poking me in the chest as I swayed. All I could do was stare at him like a deer in headlights.
“No,” I breathed, shaking my head. It hurt. I was going to vomit again, but they couldn’t make me go there. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. Not again. Please, no. “No,” I said louder when Dad paused and stared at me. I saw the disbelief that I answered back to him and the moment it turned to anger. But fear propelled me. Ryan had clearly gotten to them. He’d told them some bullshit story; they wouldn’t believe me. Dad would never accept that his best friend would hurt his kid, especially if I couldn’t tell him why it happened. And there was no way I’d give him the full story anyway. What? I thought I was gay so I told Ryan but then I realized I was wrong? What sort of rubbish was that? It didn’t even sound believable to my own ears, never mind Dad’s.
“You answering back to me, boy?” Dad snarled.
“I’m not going there. You can’t make me.” I was screaming, terrified of the monster lurking a few streets away and angry all at once. My heart pounded in my ears, thudding so hard it was all I could hear. My breathing shallowed out. The walls began closing in on me, crushing me. I needed to get out. I needed to lock myself in. I had to protect myself. He wasn’t going to hurt me again. Not ever. I lashed out like a cornered animal using attack as its first line of defense. “I won’t go. Never again.”
Dad stepped forward, bringing himself chest to chest with me. He was only a few inches taller, but so much heavier. I was intimidated. He’d only ever done that once before. Last time, I’d respected him and apologized, immediately doing what he’d asked. But this time I reacted on instinct. I lashed out at him, kicking and punching, trying to hurt him the same way I wished I’d hurt Ryan. I was crying and screaming incoherently, shaking with anger. Ryan had hurt me. He’d broken my trust. And my parents let him. They let me spend time with him, they sent me there so they could get a night alone. I hated them all. I hated myself. My fist connected with Dad’s face, splitting his lip. But it wasn’t until Dad wiped the drop of blood away with his thumb and looked at it, that my brain registered I wasn’t hurting Ryan but my dad. I stopped short, and Dad took his opportunity to grab me by my sweater and drag me. I couldn’t get purchase on the carpeted floor sliding under my feet as Dad pulled me to the door. Flailing around, I tried to grab onto something, anything, but all I did was knock a picture off the wall. I watched as it fell to the floor, the glass shattering as it landed on its corner. The photo was one of the four of us—we were all in our jerseys cheering on our team. I didn’t remember the day. I was only a toddler, but it must have been one of the first football matches they’d taken me to. That image, the one I’d grown up seeing, was a fraud, just like my life. The shattering glass matched the splintering of my soul. I’d never be the same again. But that was okay. Now I knew what bastards human beings were. Now I knew I needed to protect myself.
“You think you can disrespect me like that in my own house? You think you’re a big man now, drinking and playing up? We’ll see how you like being a big man. Get outside and stay the hell out. You sit out there in the cold until your attitude gets readjusted. Then when you’re done thinking about it, clean up. You will be going to Ryan’s no matter how long you try to put it off. So stay out for an hour or a whole bloody day, I don’t care.” He pushed me out the front door and pointed to the chair on the front porch. It was the same chair he’d punished me in since I was a kid. He made me sit outside in a time-out until I was ready to come in and apologize. They’d chosen the front yard because of the neighbor’s kids, my best friends growing up—they loved riding their bikes and skateboards up and down the street. Seeing them but not being able to join them was the purest form of torture. Now it seemed insignificant. Pathetic.
As soon as the door slammed, I looked down and saw my sneakers at my feet. I kicked them over to the chair and inched down, propping myself on one ass cheek. I was too sore to sit down any other way, and the last thin
g I wanted was to start bleeding again.
Lacing up my shoes, I didn’t conscientiously decide to leave. But once I stood up, I knew I’d never see them again. I gazed at the house, trying to remember happy times. But every one of them were so intimately tied with the monster I called my godfather that I couldn’t. I lifted my hood up over my head, shoved my hands deep in the pockets, and trudged down the front path away from them. I had nothing, not even money for a bus fare, but in that moment, it didn’t matter. I needed to get away, and it needed to happen right then.
2
Keir / Trent
I walked without a destination in mind, but I soon found myself in front of my best friend’s house. We’d started as freshmen in school together and had been in all the same classes for that first term. By the end of the first week, we were inseparable. Mom and Dad would know that’s where I went, but I needed something warmer than what I was wearing. I hoped Jake could help me.
When I knocked on the door, he opened it and took one look at me before stepping aside and motioning for me to go in. I went for the stairs, but he stopped me, pointing to the kitchen. “Go in there. Mom and Dad are upstairs putting their laundry away.”
I did and found myself being watched like a hawk. “What the hell happened? Who did this to you?”
I shook my head. I couldn’t tell him, couldn’t tell anyone. They wouldn’t believe me. Or maybe they would and that’s what I was scared of. I was ashamed of how badly I’d screwed up. If I hadn’t been dumb enough to think that I was gay, none of this would have happened. It was my fault. I’d made him so angry that he punished me in a way I’d never forget.
He must have seen something in my eyes, or maybe my best friend knew me well enough to know what I had planned. He blinked back tears and shook his head. “No, Keir. Don’t leave. Stay here. Mom won’t mind.”
“I can’t stay,” I whispered. “They’ll find me here.”
“Your dad did this?” he asked, horrified. When I shook my head, he breathed out in relief, closing his eyes momentarily. “Then stay. Dad can call your dad, talk to him for you. Tell him that you’re staying here for a while. Weeks, months, they won’t care. Please. Don’t leave. Just… stay.” He was begging, but it was futile.
“I can’t. I can’t tell you why, but trust me. Please. I can’t stay.” My voice broke on the last words, wobbling as I fought back tears again.
“Where will you go?”
“My cousin’s in Hamilton. I’m going there.” I didn’t have a cousin in Hamilton—they all lived close to us in Auckland’s suburbs—but the city was an hour away from my house. It was far enough away that I could get lost between the two. Disappear. Jake looked at me and shook his head. He knew I was bullshitting but didn’t call me out on it. “I can’t stay.”
From his turned-down mouth and the unshed tears glistening in his eyes, the sadness etched in his features was obvious. We both knew this was goodbye, and it killed me knowing I’d never see him again. But I had to get away. I had to run. I couldn’t keep a secret like this staying in Jake’s parents’ house. They’d ask me why I ran, and avoiding a punishment wasn’t a good enough reason. They’d walk me straight back home themselves. No, leaving was the only option. I’d hit the road, get a job and a place of my own. I didn’t need school anyway. I was just filling in time until Dad would let me leave, and I could start my apprenticeship with him at the body shop.
“It’s too cold out for you to wear just a hoodie. Lemmie get you some stuff.” He placed his finger over his closed lips to shush me and motioned to the stairs. I followed him up, skipping the creaky third step by second nature. We entered his bedroom and he closed the door quietly behind us. Not talking, he opened his closet and started with his heavy coat, passing it to me. It was expensive, the best quality ski jacket. He pulled down a backpack and stuffed socks and underwear in it, together with tees and more hoodies, a beanie and gloves.
“Jake, I can’t—” His hand on my shoulder stopped me.
“No, Keir. You can. You need this stuff way more than I do. If you’re leaving, at least let me give you the best shot.” He reached into the drawer of his desk and fished out his wallet before passing me his ATM card. “You know the PIN. There’s only a few hundred dollars in there, but it’s everything I have. I’ll keep putting money in there as long as I can.”
“Thank you,” I whispered. “I’ll try to keep in contact but….”
“Get yourself set up with your cousin, and I’ll come visit next weekend. Text me the address.” I nodded, but I didn’t have my cell. I doubted I’d have one again anytime soon. “Come on, we’ll go raid the kitchen too.” I nodded again and followed him back down. He went straight for the dry storage pantry, plucking cans of fruit and tuna off the shelves and a bag of candy before stuffing them into the already full bag.
“I don’t know what else you’ll need, bro.” He turned to me and looked helpless, his brow creasing and his lips turning down.
“You’ve done more than you could ever know, Jake. Thank you.” I hugged him close, holding him tight as the telephone on the wall started ringing. I stepped away from him and eyed the device before turning back to him. “I’ll see ya round, okay?” My voice broke and I blinked back tears. I wasn’t going to cry again. I didn’t have time.
“I’ll walk you out.”
I stepped away from the front door, carrying the bag and wearing the warm coat just as Jake’s mom called out to him. “Jake, have you heard from Keir?”
“Go,” he mouthed before he spoke to his mom. “No, not today.” I nodded my thanks and sprinted down the street before realizing I had no idea where to go. Dad hadn’t let me get a job yet, wanting me to concentrate on my studies and rugby training until I had finished the school year and started my apprenticeship, so I supposed the first step was to get some work. I figured I’d have a better chance closer to Auckland than in the burbs where we were, so I headed for the train station.
I’d had no luck job hunting during the day. Most turned me away as soon as I asked. Some were polite. Most weren’t. They dismissed me before I’d even finished the sentence. Those who told me they’d keep my enquiry on file wanted a copy of my CV and my ID, but I didn’t have either. I could do up a new resume, but I needed my birth certificate, which I didn’t have. Maybe someone would pay me cash under the table—a restaurant or maybe a tradie. Either way, getting a job was going to be harder than I thought.
Now, as night fell, I knew I needed to find somewhere to sleep. I’d seen a motel near the train station that looked as rough as they came. Hopefully it’d be cheap enough. I didn’t have much, and I had to make it last.
I trudged down the streets to the hotel, relieved to see the neon Vacancy sign out the front lit. I pushed through the door to reception and smiled at the lady behind the counter. She looked up, gave me a once-over, and went back to her book. “You lost, kid?” she asked when I still stood there a moment later.
“Ah, no? I want a room?” I hesitated.
“You sure about that?” She put down her book and stared at me. “You need to be eighteen to rent a room. You eighteen?”
“Ah, yeah. Absolutely.” I nodded, replying quickly, “Turned eighteen a few weeks ago.”
“Are you in some kinda trouble?”
“No. No trouble.” I shook my head, hoping that I didn’t have that deer in headlights thing going on again. “I just wanted a place to stay while I was passing through.”
She sighed. “It’s sixty bucks a night, payable upfront.” I pulled out Jake’s ATM card from my bag and handed it over. I finally got a smile from her. “Okay, Jake, let’s get you set up.”
Less than five minutes later, I had the key to the room and I’d been lectured on the check-out time and how I wasn’t to do drugs or kill myself on their property. It’d apparently give them a bad rep. Like they needed help with it. Room 103 was on the first floor of the motel, up a set of rickety stairs and along an open passageway. The spackle on the walls had
fallen off in places to expose the gray cinder blocks underneath. Paint peeled off the doors, and they’d swelled from the moisture. It looked straight out of the seventies and clearly hadn’t been remodeled since. The door to my room needed a good shove with my shoulder before it would open and again close. Still, it was home for the night, and I was grateful for having even that.
The bed sagged in the middle and the pillows were flat and lifeless. The carpet and drapes were definitely original too, the orange and mission brown on them contrasting wildly with the faded green carpet. The room resembled what you’d see in bad seventies porn. Even though the bathroom was just as outdated, it was clean and warm. More than I could ask for with sixty dollars. I dropped my backpack on the floor and slumped onto the bed, immediately regretting it. Pain shot up my spine, taking my breath away. The predicament I found myself in hit me like a freight train. Everything was foreign, my whole life entirely different now to what it was twenty-four hours ago. I wanted to go home. I wanted to see my mom and dad and eat dinner with them. I wanted to pile up on our old sofa and watch trashy game shows on television together. I wanted to go to sleep in my own bed and have my stuff back. I wanted to finish school—something I’d always just assumed I’d do, but that I now wanted desperately. I wanted to be me again. But it’d never be. That innocent part of me died a painful death the night before, when he had violated so much more than my body.
I lay down and clutched the stale-smelling pillow and cried into it. What the hell was I going to do? Jake had given me everything he could, but it’d barely last me the weekend at this rate. I had hardly eaten all day, trying to ration out my supplies, but I needed food. There was so much I took for granted before. And now everything was uncertain. Would I even have a place to stay after tomorrow? I cried until no more tears would come. I was utterly spent. Exhausted. But it wasn’t an exhaustion that could be solved by a good night’s sleep. I felt old. Worn out. Like I had nothing left to give. What would I be feeling in a week or a month? What about a year? Would I even make it that long?