whenurestrange (whenurestrange) wrote in light_of_may, @ 2012-07-03 17:24:00 |
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Entry tags: | #solo, 2009-09-11, jack |
Yeah I think that I might break
Who: Jack, his mother and his mother’s current boyfriend (NPCs)
Where: Their trailer
When: Mid-morning
Warning: Violence, bad language, very very sad happenings
Jack was always in the same mood whenever his mother brought another stranger home. He didn’t like it, he didn’t trust any of them, and he hated his mother for doing it. Especially because she had done it when he was little, and he had always been scared shitless of the types of men that hung around like this was their place but respected nothing and no one in it. Back then he couldn’t say anything. He wasn’t tall enough, strong enough, and he actually held hope that someday things might somehow get better.
These days, however, if Jack was home he would make it as clear as possible to his mother and her boyfriends that he hated both their guts and that he hated their presence there. He made absolutely no effort to be anything but passive-aggressive, although he avoided being outright hostile as he knew things might get very ugly with some of these guys and he felt a little something for his mother still; enough that he didn’t want the violence to affect her, even though she never did anything to deserve this kind of consideration on his part.
Today when he got up from his makeshift bed he came to the kitchen to find a half-naked trucker type with too much facial hair and not enough hygiene rummaging through the cupboards in search of something to eat, supposedly. Instead of attempting to help, which would have consisted in telling him to go out someplace else to eat because there was nothing remotely edible in the premises - again, Jack stood there with his arms crossed over his chest, smirking at the gall of this man. He had picked up a woman, he had come home with her, he’d fucked her, and suddenly everything she owned was his too. All his life Jack had met nothing but men like this. Born with such a sense of entitlement over women that even what they owned also became theirs if the women let their guard down. Which his mother had, over and over again. Still, Jack had grown up with the notion that this was a very wrong way of understanding things; just because you fucked a woman you weren’t suddenly entitled to her and her things, and the reverse also applied.
The man cursed and hit things as he couldn’t find anything to chew on, and when he finally gave up by closing the fridge he noticed Jack’s presence behind him. “Instead of standing there why don’t you get me a fuckin’ beer, you girly-faced piece of shit?”
“Because fuck you, that’s why.” Jack was very clearly not in the mood for this, and his already fragile mood had soured considerably at being called a piece of shit by the stinkiest, most foul thing he’d ever laid eyes on. The stranger stopped, remaining for a few moments perfectly still with his back to Jack, who also remained where he was.
“I see your mama didn’t teach you any manners.” He groaned. “But hey, from what she got goin’ on I bet she been too busy her whole life, hey?”
“Really, you’re that much of a dumbfuck that you’ll insult the woman whose bed you slept in tonight in front of her own son?” The stranger finally turned around, and the look on his face made Jack hold his breath for a second, though he tried not to show fear. “I don’t think you should really be in this trailer anymore.”
“Who’d you call a dumbfuck, princess?” He leaned forward, menacing, but Jack stood his ground, arms crossed over his chest.
“Jesus, when you don’t get when someone’s referring to you, I think that’s some kind of retardedness right there. Sorry to break it to you.” Jack was fully aware he wasn’t making this any easier on himself and things would most likely end badly for him, but he had reached the point where he couldn’t give a damn anymore about twenty seconds ago. He could see the man fuming, getting red in the face and filling his chest with air; something oozing from the man (that was not his horrid body odour) told him there was about to be some physical violence. Not that Jack wasn’t used to that, either. Most of the hard-ass beating he’d gotten had been from strangers and not from his mother, though she’d had her share as well. Jack got ready to retreat into whatever place in his mind he went to when shit hit the fan this way, just as he got hit by the very strong feeling that some unspecified thing was going to go very, very wrong for him.
He’s going to kill me, Jack thought, looking up, and smiled.
The smile, though not directed at him, seemed to send the man over the edge and Jack was proved right. Violence did indeed ensue, with the big fat man lunging forward to push Jack against the wall - which broke on impact, causing Jack to fall into his mother’s “bedroom” and hurt his back on a chair he half-fell on. Jack could vaguely hear his mother’s hungover whines to let her sleep, and then the man was on him, pulling him up by his shirt. His jaw cracked as the man’s fist made contact with his face, and Jack winced at the noise it made right at his ear. Very little time later Jack wasn’t sure he could really see out of his left eye anymore. And then his jaw cracked again, and again, then he felt his cheek wet and was sure it was blood, and still the man kept punching him. Not just in the face anymore, either.
Now he could hear his mother screaming, but he doubted it was to make the man stop. Christina cared very little about her son, not enough to risk her own physical integrity going against a big-ass trucker type, anyway. As Jack finally fell back on the floor following the series of left and right hooks, he felt the bits of the broken chair still under him, and slowly pulled a leg from under himself. The trucker was leaning forward to pick him up again, and just as he did Jack swung the chair leg, hitting the man somewhere between his shoulder and his head. He’s going to kill you, why are you fighting back?! he asked himself, but Jack did not know the answer. One could say that for a suicidal teenager he was very particular about the way he died, and part of him wasn’t keen on dying by the hands of some inbred trucker who had fucked his mother just the previous night. That’s probably it, he heard himself say just as he pushed the tip of the chair leg into the man’s stomach, causing him to double over and dry heave. And then, Jack hit the man on the head until he fell over to his side.
“Oh my God what did you do!?” Screeched his half-naked mother, crawling over to the trucker, checking his vital signs, babbling and pleading things like ‘baby oh baby don’t die on me baby please’ while her own son lay on his back, bruised and bloody, spitting up blood and one or two teeth and very sure he had a broken nose. Jack felt drowning in his mother screeches, reality escaping further and further away as he slipped into unconsciousness. However, his mother shaking him violently brought him back to the world and Jack found he couldn’t pass out just yet. Because now his mother was screaming at him, calling him a violent little prick, a disappointment, her worst mistake and wondering why he couldn’t even die right like that one time he’d thrown himself into traffic. Through bloody teeth Jack smiled. “Not even when your own son is only half conscious, huh Tina?”
“I want you out of this place.” His mother replied simply, much to Jack’s shock.
“Wh-what?”
“You heard me. You’re gonna back what shitty things belong to you and you’re gonna go.”
“B-but mom-” He pleaded, calling her ‘mom’ for the first time since he was little.
“Don’t mom me. I’m not your mom, I’m no violent degenerate’s mother! You brought violence into this place for the last time!”
“What, but them hitting me is fine? Because I remember more than a dozen times where that happened and you didn’t kick them out!”
“They didn’t ruin my life. You did.” Said his mother bitterly, getting on her feet. “That’s that, go before I call the police. I swear to you I’ll do it.”
“The one time I defended myself?! I defended you, he insulted you first!” Jack argued, livid and scared, more so than he was sore. He could feel pure disgust and disdain coming from his mother, and he knew at once there was no turning her around. This was the bad thing that was going to happen to him, not dying. Dying wouldn’t have been bad, he realized.
“I don’t need defending. If you hadn’t been a rude little asshole none of this would’ve happened.”
“I have nowhere to go...” He pleaded weakly, still lying on his back, the weight of the world keeping him there.
“That ain’t my problem anymore, you’re not a minor anymore, I don’t have to put up with you. I should’ve done this a long time ago and maybe then I wouldn’t have had to put up with your crippled ass either!” She kicked him on the side, and then pushed him to a seating position despite his protests. “Go on, go! And god help you if he doesn’t wake up. Little motherfucking freak, had to go and almost kill a man too!”
It took a greater effort on Jack’s part to fight off the tears than it did to move, and that was saying something, considering his state. Very slowly, as his mother nagged him about taking too long, Jack gathered what little he owned - and still he had to listen to his mother tell him how big a favor she was doing him for letting him keep anything since it was her money that had paid for all he was stuffing into his backpack.
She stood against the kitchenette counter with crossed arms as he made his way to the trailer’s door, and when Jack looked back at his mother she showed no remorse. He felt none from her, either. In fact, he was almost certain he could sense relief from her, as if she was finally being set free from a great burden.
That was the final straw, the thing that set the tears flowing despite his better efforts; hearing her say those horrible things was one thing, but feeling the relief and happiness oozing from her as she kicked her own son out of the only place he had to stay in felt to Jack like a thousand punches to the gut. Jack only thanked God she wasn’t looking at him anymore when the tears came.
“Goodbye, mom...” He tried despite it all, as he opened the door.
“Get fucked. LEAVE, GODDAMMIT!”
And Jack left, all he owned in the world stuffed in an old backpack, without so much as a chance to wash the dry blood from his face or change his clothes. This was how Jack cut all his ties to his mother. This was how he became homeless.