This is post is one of many in a several part webseries. While each part varies, this story, overall, will contain the following; Strong Language, Sexual Content, Graphic and Violent descriptions and it may not be suitable for a younger audience.
It does not reflect the views or opinions of the author and is purely a work of fiction. All names and locations are drawn directly from the author’s imagination. No animals were ever hurt in the writing of this webseries. ;p
If this isn’t your cup of tea but you enjoy my other writings, please visit back time to time and let me know! I’ll be making the occasional post between these mini-chapters as, I think of them.
“Scott? Is there something the matter?”
“No, it’s just…” His words trailed off as he thought about the night before. His thoughts were nothing new; they were still an entangled mess of memories and sounds that he couldn’t decipher.
After taking the garbage out to the dumpster, he had come back inside to find…what? He shook his head back and forth, unable to recall just exactly what it was that had happened.
“Nothing.” He sighed in frustration. His mother sighed in frustration as well.
“I don’t know what’s going on with you lately, but I’m worried about you. You’re coming home from school with all these bruises and you’re forgetting to do the little things that I ask of you. I feel like you don’t listen to a word I say.”
“I do listen, ‘mom’, it’s just that… I’ve got some things on my mind and I’d rather not talk about it.”
His face was resting on his left hand, while his right listlessly stirred the remaining soggy fruit loops floating in his pinkish colored milk. As he spoke, a frown passed over his expression, animating his previously blank face.
“Well, do you want to talk about these bruises? Is there something going on at school?”
He didn’t answer her, just continuing to swirl his spoon around in the milk. She watched him for what seemed like hours before turning back to the dishes, studying his face for something, anything, while she waited for an answer that didn’t come.
He wasn’t thinking of her question any longer. In fact, he was looking across the counter at the fridge. There was nothing out of the ordinary about it. It still looked as it did the last time he looked at it. But… Was that a dent near the bottom of the door? He used the age-old trick of narrowing his eyes as he tried to focus his vision on that one little spot, but it didn’t help.
“…ing today? Scott?”
She must have been trying to get his attention for a while because when he finally heard her, she was reaching over to take his dishes.
“I said; are you doing anything today?”
“No, I thought I’d read a book or something.”
“Well, before you get too settled in for the day, could you please mow the lawn? It’s getting a bit shaggy. I’m going to be out for the afternoon. Going to meet Cheryl over at the Java house for a bit. Maybe do some shopping.”
“Yeah, sounds good.” He was distracted. She had been walking over to the fridge when she seemed to notice something on the ground. As he was answering her, she leaned over and huffed;
“Scott? When you drop something from the fridge, could you please make sure to put it back? This is a full tub of sour cream that I have to throw out now…”
She stepped on the lever to lift the lid to the trash can and dropped it inside.
“I guess I’ll have to add THAT to the…”
He wasn’t listening anymore, however, and she didn’t see him when he got up and left. He moved quickly at first, walking at a brisk pace, but as soon as he was out of the kitchen he was sprinting.
His heart thundered in his chest and the combination of his worst fears and his exertion stole his breath away. He bounded the stairs two at a time as he hurried to the second floor. Memories of the night before came rushing back, of what (had he done?) had happened in the kitchen.
His mother called for him in the kitchen, presumably after she had just noticed that he was gone, but it wasn’t her voice that he heard.
“Please,” she begged.
“Sorry, sis. I’m afraid I’m gonna have to put you on a diet. The first step is knowing when to shut the door.”
With that he slammed the fridge door closed. Her positioning was just right and her legs jumped from the impact.
He had reached her bedroom door. There was a sign hanging on the outside. It was professionally made, she had gotten it from a novelty shop, and it was of the word TWERP with a not symbol over it.
He grabbed the doorknob, then froze. He was unsure of how to proceed. What if it had happened? What if he HAD crushed her head in the refrigerator door last night and now her body was lying on her bed, or in her closet, under a blanket? What then?
He slowly began to turn the doorknob, afraid of what he was going to find.
“…megan,” he called out softly. His voice trembled, cracking in a show of his adolescence.
The handle turned one hundred and eighty degrees and it retracted the small latch back into the door, thus allowing him to push it open.
He pushed slowly, his eyes searching as the light from the hall began to spill into the room.