Page 112 of Twisted Heathens
Not since it burned to the ground.
“Tell me what you think.” Mariam sighs, trying to find some hope in this situation. “Give me something to work with.”
Feeling increasingly angry, I flip the no card at her. She stares, hands laced together and lips pursed. We’re both frustrated, drained of patience.
“Well, I’ve asked a colleague to consult on your case. Perhaps some trauma-based therapy will prove beneficial. It’s clear that this isn’t working. How does that sound?”
I study the crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Imagine it crashing down and crushing me. The glass slicing my jugular and blood pouring free. Metal puncturing my chest and piercing my heart. Anything to end the season of despair that is my life.
“I’ll be in touch with the details. Please think about what I’ve said. You need to start engaging, or I fear that Blackwood may be deemed inappropriate for you. You’ll be sent back to Clearview with no opportunity to leave. This is your last chance.”
Ice wraps around my heart, cold fingers of death and misery. Not that place, I won’t survive it again. Especially without her there. My troubled girl with her dark, haunted eyes. I take Mariam’s dismissal and flee, eyeing the blinking camera above the door on my way out.
Blackwood, Clearview.
It’s all the same thing.
People like me, we’re born to die. Failures bred from our very first breath. I would never survive on the outside. I’ve been in and out of institutions since I got my scars, so much that I’ve forgotten what it feels like to have free will. To experience normality. To breathe without being watched. To have aspirations, dreams, hope.
I begin to head to class, but draw to a halt in the drizzly quad instead. I can’t face them. Phoenix, Brooklyn. The people that actually care about me and see beneath the walls I’ve constructed. The walls he forced me to create. I need to expel the dark energy swirling in my chest. I need to be fucking punished because I shouldn’t be alive. What kind of cruel joke is it when I’m stuck here and my goddamn abuser is at peace in death?
I see Brooklyn in my mind’s eye. Curled up between us, face slack and relaxed. Trusting. Letting her impossibly high guard down just long enough for me to sneak in. I’ll never be able to tell her how I feel. Not now, not ever. The others will make her laugh, tell them they love her, poke fun at her grumpy morning face and sassy comebacks.
I’ll always be the odd one out. The runt in the pack. The worthless piece of shit that my nutjob father made me. When all is said and done, I’ll be the one left behind in this place. Hudson and Kade will go first. Then Phoenix, Brooklyn, and every other fucker that plays their cards right.
I’ll be alone. Always alone.
I should have died in that fire.
You were born broken, Elijah.
Shut your unholy mouth or I won’t put food in it for another week.
His voice is loud and awful in my ears, along with the crackling of flames. Too far ingrained for me to remove, no matter how hard I try. He’s always there. Stumbling through the afternoon rain blindly, my feet guide me to the football pitch.
I’m not thinking straight, my only thought to punish myself just like I’ve been taught to. He’s not here to do it, but I know the drill. Bad Eli deserves to be punished for his sins. The jocks are kicking a ball and messing around on the wet grass just like I knew they would be.
“Get off the pitch, freak!”
“Fuck off before we make you.”
“Come to get your ass kicked?”
“Look lads, it’s the resident sociopath.”
The insults fly, cutting my skin as much as any razor blade. I don’t know what I’m doing. Nor do I care. After all these months, I’m buried beneath the mountain of my failure. Letting Brooklyn get close enough to care has only wounded me further. It’s a constant reminder of what I lack, a future stolen from me before I even knew what it meant.
My fist connects with a jaw, I don’t know whose. The provocation doesn’t go unchallenged, just as I planned. The assholes circle, boxing me in. Taking advantage of the CCTV blind spot, the sneers and laughs escalate the adrenaline flooding my body.
Fucking hurt me, I want to scream in their faces.
“You’ve got a death wish, you psycho!”
I allow myself a sick smile as the many punches land, skin breaking and bones crunching. Pain explodes in all directions and I slump to the ground, gladly taking the beating. I could laugh, it feels so good. Beautiful, bittersweet agony. Blood runs down my throat and I cough, spitting crimson globules out.
“Come on lads, let’s leave him.”
They start to retreat, but it’s not enough. My mind still buzzes with frenetic, destructive energy. I’ve got to release it, the desperate need is corroding me from the inside out. Hand searching around, my fingers latch on to a rock. I throw it with my remaining strength and watch as it sails into the back of someone’s head.
