RAGE
Authors: Kimberly A. Bettes
Copyright 2011 Kimberly A. Bettes
Cover Design by
Kimberly A. Bettes
Thanks to my Cover Model
Dylan Bettes
Face down on my bed, I buried my face in my pillow and waited for him to finish.
“Tell Daddy you like it,” he said through grunts.
I ignored him. He may be married to my mother, but he was not my daddy. My daddy was dead.
“Say it, Brian,” he said behind me.
I continued to ignore him, pushing my face further into the pillow, which smelled of stale tears from many previous nights just like this one.
He lifted one hand off the bed, slapped the back of my head, and dropped his hand back to the mattress. I peeked up from the pillow and looked at those hands, one on each side of my head. His fingernails were bitten off far past the tips of his fingers. Faded blue tattoos spelled G-O-O-D across the fingers of his left hand and E-V-I-L across those of his right. I doubted there’d ever been a time when his left hand had prevailed.
I tried to stay relaxed. It hurt less that way. The pain was intense enough to make me want to cry. But there’s no way I’d let him see me. No way.
As he sped up and I felt him tense, I knew it was almost over. But I also knew that the worst part was getting ready to happen. I squeezed my eyes shut tightly and tried to imagine I was somewhere else, though even in my mind I had nowhere else to go.
He went at me harder now, grunting like a madman, slamming himself against me faster and faster. Then, he stiffened and held his position for a few seconds before collapsing on me, forcing the stench of cheap beer and cheaper cigarettes into my nose, even through the pillow.
He was sweaty and panting, his bitter breath hot on the back of my neck. He was dead weight on top of me, and I was afraid the moment I’d always feared was now becoming a reality. Had he passed out on me? Was I going to suffocate beneath him? Just when I thought I’d pass out from the lack of air, he pushed himself up off me and off my bed. I took a deep breath - more like a gasp - and was assaulted with more than just the smells of beer and cigarettes. His sweaty and foul body odor hung in the air and clung to my skin where his had touched mine. But more than that was the horrible smell of sex.
I heard him zip his jeans and walk heavily from the room, staggering and bumping into things as he went.
For a while, I lay there, crying silently into my pillow, not caring that the springs from the mattress poked into my flesh. It was nothing compared to the pain I was experiencing in other places.
I didn’t feel sorry for myself. I just didn’t understand why this had to happen to me. Why didn’t bad things happen to bad people and good things happen to good people? I was tired of it. This had been going on for years and it was really wearing me down.
When I was all cried out, I got off the bed slowly, my butt burning. I made my way to the bathroom as quietly as I could to avoid drawing his attention. I sat on the toilet to rid myself of his stuff, and then showered.
I hated him. More than I’ve ever hated anybody. I don’t know why my mother stayed with him. I don’t know why she ever got with him in the first place.
That wasn’t really true. I knew why. My mother was with him because she was terrified of being alone. In fact, as far as I knew, she’d never been alone. She had married my father and moved from her parents’ house into a house with him. Shortly after he died, she allowed Travis to move in with us. That’s when my life went to hell.
After scrubbing away any traces of him, I slowly and quietly made my way across the hallway and back to my bedroom, being extra careful to not do anything to attract his attention. I quietly shut the door and crept to my bed.
It hurt too much to sit on my butt, so I found a comfortable position on my side where no springs poked me and I finished my homework.
I fell asleep that night, like so many before it, thinking of all the ways I could kill my step-father.
Monday morning, I woke as usual. I got out of bed and threw on some clothes that my mom had bought for me at a yard sale. The jeans were too short, showing more than just a little of my ankle. The fabric was worn thin, even fraying in places. On the right knee, a hole had begun to form. The shirt, once black but now faded to gray, barely covered the top of my jeans. In fact, if I raised my arms, you could see my belly button. Most of my clothes fit me wrong, but I rarely got new clothes. In fact, I never got new-from-the-store clothes. I did occasionally get new-to-me clothes, bought at yard sales. Sometimes they would fit when I first got them, but I had to wear them for so long, they eventually didn’t fit at all. I had to keep wearing them, though. They were all I had.
After stuffing my books into my worn backpack (another yard sale gem), I headed quietly to the kitchen. We didn’t have much to choose from for breakfast. Or any other meal for that matter. I settled for stale cereal. It might have not been so bad if we’d had milk, but we didn’t, so I washed it down with a glass of water and headed out the door.
I walked to school as I always did. It wasn’t far, only a mile. I could’ve ridden the bus, but two of those buttholes rode the same bus and I didn’t want to be around them any more than I had to be.
As I got closer to the school, my steps slowed. I dreaded going to school in the mornings just as much as I dreaded going home in the afternoons. I just didn’t know how many more times I could drag myself into that building.
Maybe if it was just the bullies I could handle it. Or if it was just my failing grades it wouldn’t be so bad. But it was both. And sometimes, it was just too much to bear.
As the other kids bustled loudly in the hallway around me, I put my books in my locker and hung my backpack on the hook inside.
My first class was basic Algebra with Mrs. Schmitz. I hated it. I never understood what the teacher was talking about. Maybe it was because she was German and had a funny accent. Or maybe it was because she was dyslexic and wrote half the problems on the board backwards. Either way, I was flunking.
Slowly, I walked into the room, books in hand. There were already a few students in their seats. I knew immediately I was the subject of their conversation. It was obvious in the way they looked at me and giggled.
Stupid girls.
I didn’t really care what they thought of me. I didn’t like any of them anyway. I only liked one girl, and she didn’t hang out with the gigglers.
Walking to my seat, I pretended not to notice their eyes following me. Just like every other day of my life.
I sat down and began doodling in my notebook, paying no attention as the rest of the class filed in and took their seats. I barely paid attention when Mrs. Schmitz began talking about square roots. It wouldn’t have mattered if I gave her all my attention. I just didn’t get it. That was evident when she told us to pass our homework papers one person to the left to be graded.
My paper went to Carly Hanson, the one girl in the whole school I actually liked. I’d had a crush on her since we were in third grade. That’s why it was so embarrassing when she handed back my paper. I’d missed twelve. That was out of a possible fifteen. Another F. But it softened the blow to see that she had written ‘sorry’ on the paper.
I looked at her, and she smiled and shrugged. She was so pretty. Her dark hair was full of bouncy curls. They weren’t the kind that couldn’t be tamed, but the kind that you could run your fingers through without them getting tangled. I knew this because I’d watched Carly do it thousands of times over the years. When she smiled, cute little dimples formed in her cheeks. And she had the most amazing blue eyes I’d ever seen. Normally, I didn’t even notice people’s eyes, but there was something about hers that always caught my attention.
I knew she’d never be with me, though. That’s why I’d never asked her out. And even if she would’ve gone out with me, I didn’t want to make her suffer the embarrassment and harassment she’d have to endure once people realized she was my girlfriend. I liked her too much to put her through that.
We were assigned more homework that I wouldn’t understand, and were released by the bell.
Keeping my head down, I returned to my locker and put my Algebra book in my backpack since I’d be taking it home with me. I grabbed my English Literature book and made my way down the hall through the crowd. I kept my head down as I walked, trying not to draw attention to myself. It almost worked.
“Hey, Boozer,” said Dominic Hawkins. The sound of his voice made my skin crawl. He had been hassling me my whole life.
I kept walking, pretending not to hear him.
“I know you hear me, Boozer Loser,” Dominic said. He was closer now and I got the feeling that he was following me. That feeling was confirmed when he knocked the book from my hand.
I watched as the book flew out in front of me and skidded across the floor, getting stepped on and kicked in the crowded hallway.
Reluctantly, I looked up into the faces of Dominic and his cronies. The four of them stood there, staring at me and smirking. Just like they always did.
Dominic, the leader of the pack, towered over the other three. Puberty had hit him harder and earlier than the rest of us, sending him sprouting up like a weed and causing his face to explode with acne. He’d let his dark bangs grow long, and they hung over his bumpy forehead in a failed attempt to hide the massive amount of pimples that littered his skin.
Dominic’s brother, Garrett, stood to his left, a year younger and a foot and a half shorter. I could tell he didn’t like Dominic much and didn’t want to hang around with him. But knowing Dominic, I assumed he told Garrett what to do and if he didn’t do it, he’d beat him up or tell their parents. He was that kind of bully.
Garrett, having not yet reached puberty, didn’t have to hide his forehead behind his hair. He had pimple-free skin and a voice that didn’t sound like that of someone being tortured. It was even, unlike Dominic’s voice, which was scratchy and deeper now, and broke often.
To Dominic’s right was his best friend, Taylor Reynolds. Taylor, who was a little taller than me, stood glaring, arms folded across his chest. He tried to look mean, but he didn’t need to try. He was mean. He always had been. And it showed on his face. His eyes were always squinty, as if he were constantly suspicious of everything and everyone. His squinty eyes made his brows furrow, which made him always look angry. It didn’t help him that his jaw always seemed to be clenched. Yeah, he looked every bit as mean as he was.
Beside Taylor was Spencer Griffin. He was short and heavy and wore braces, which caused him to talk with a lisp. His face hadn’t seen acne yet, but it had seen an overabundance of freckles. Most people with red hair had a lot of freckles, and Spencer was no exception. The other three boys might’ve made fun of him if he didn’t do everything they said. If they said jump, he asked how high. He did whatever he could do to impress them and seem cool. I guess that was one way to avoid being bullied. If you can’t beat them, join them.
These were the boys that made school worse for me than it already was. They’d made it their mission in life to make me miserable. For years, they’d done a bang up job.
And they all stood there staring at me now, wicked smiles on all their faces except Garrett’s. He looked like he wanted to run away. Him and me both.
“You hear me the first time, Boozer?” Dominic asked.
I considered not answering, just picking up my book and going on to class. But I knew they wouldn’t let that happen. They never let that happen.
“No,” I lied.
Dominic stepped closer to me, towering over me. “No what, Boozer?” His face was only inches from mine. This close, I could see the fuzz above his lip, and I knew he’d had sausage for breakfast. Not only was there a piece still caught in his teeth, but the smell was potent.
“No, I didn’t hear you the first time.”
“He heard you,” said Taylor. Of course he’d agree with him. If Dominic said the world was flat, Taylor would back him up.
“I didn’t,” I said.
Dominic pushed me. “Maybe you need to clean out your ears. Or we’ll clean them out for you.”
The bell rang. Dominic shoved his finger into my forehead, pushing my head backward and creating a small circle of pain on my skin between my eyebrows, and the four of them walked away.
I grabbed my book off the floor and went to class.
Everyone was already seated when I walked into the room.
They all stared at me when I walked in, but I was used to it. They’d been staring at me my whole life. It’d be weird if they stopped now.
I struggled through English Lit. I just didn’t get it. We were reading The Rhyme of the Ancient Sea Mariner. What did the albatross have to do with the story? And what was an ancient sea mariner anyway? And why couldn’t they translate this story into a more modern way of speaking so I could understand what I was reading? No one else complained about not getting it, so I figured it was just me. Dumb old me, once again not understanding something. So I suffered through it in silence.
When Mrs. Wayne gave us a pop quiz, I knew I’d failed it. We didn’t grade it in class, but we didn’t have to. Out of the five questions we were asked, I knew the answers to none of them. But I knew I got my name right. Although, now that we’d passed the papers forward, I couldn’t even remember if I’d put my name on my paper. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d forgotten to label the paper, letting the teacher know which idiot to assign the F.
I returned to my locker, hoping I wouldn’t run into Dominic or his buddies. I’d been trying unsuccessfully to avoid them since Kindergarten. I was getting tired of it.
Luckily, I made it to my locker, switched my English Lit book for my History book, and made it to class without incident.
We had to take turns reading sections out loud. I hated it. I wasn’t good at reading aloud. That wasn’t a surprise to anyone since I wasn’t good at anything. Except maybe pretending I didn’t hear the snickers and sneers as my classmates laughed at the way I stuttered and stammered while I read. They didn’t realize that part of the reason I read that way was because they made me nervous.
But I pushed through and was glad I’d had a short paragraph to read.
After History, I put my book in my locker and headed to Woodworking class. I didn’t drag my feet about getting there like I did to my other classes. It was one class I didn’t dread. I liked working with the wood. I liked the smell of the lumber, the hum of the lathe, and the feel of the tools in my hand. It was one of only two classes I wasn’t flunking.
Plus, I shared my worktable with Carly. I had a lot of classes with her, but this was the one where we talked the most. You didn’t have to be too quiet in Woodworking.
“Could you help me for a minute, Brian?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said, putting down the planer I’d been using.
“I’ve measured this board three times and have gotten three different numbers.” She smiled.
I took the tape measure from her and measured her board. This close to her, I could smell the scent of her over the smell of the wood. Even mingled together, it was a wonderful smell.
“What’s it supposed to measure?” I asked.
“I don’t really know, to tell you the truth.”
I looked at her.
“You think I’m stupid?” she asked shyly.
“No. I’d never think you were stupid.” I said quietly.
She smiled at me. “Well, I feel stupid. I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“I’ll help you,” I said. I began working with Carly on her project, a shelf for her mother. I spent more time working on her project than mine. That was fine with me. No one cared about my project anyway. Travis would probably just smash it during one of his drunken fits.
“Thanks for helping me,” she said after class as we walked to the cafeteria.
“You’re welcome. I don’t mind.” I looked at her. She looked back at me and smiled, and my heart pounded.
Of course, when we entered the cafeteria, she ran off to join her friends and left me to myself. I was used to it. But at least I had the time we spent together to think about.
I stood in line and waited to be served my food. I glanced around the cafeteria, happy not to see Dominic or his friends. I knew they’d be here, though. They always were.
With my tray, I headed out to the tables. There was no one willing to let me sit with them. I always sat at a table on the far side of the room, usually alone. The only time anyone ever sat at the table was if a new kid had no one to sit with. Usually, they had already made at least one friend by lunch, which made it even more pathetic that I’d gone to school with these kids my whole life and had none.
But it was okay that I didn’t have friends. Friends were trouble, work. If I had friends, I’d have to do a lot of explaining. ‘Hey, Brian. Where’d you get that bruise?’ ‘Hey, what happened to your eye?’ ‘Did you cut yourself?’ ‘Is that a cigarette burn on your arm?’ ‘Have you been crying?’
Yeah. It was easier to not have friends.
So I sat alone eating a chunk of dry lasagna with undercooked noodles, tasteless green beans, peaches that tasted a little too much like metal, warm chocolate pudding, and drinking my milk. It wasn’t a delicious meal, but it would fill the hole in my stomach. Besides, I wasn’t paying attention to the food. I was thinking of Carly.