Don't Let Morning Come

3:21 - Take Back

You pushed me once to far again
I'd love to break your fucking teeth
Stick a knife in the centre of your back
You better grow some eyes in the back of your head
I'll fight dirty just like your looks
Can't take, Can't take it anymore
Take Back
Take Back
Take
The taste of bad blood on the tip of my tongue
An eye for an eye
Gun for a gun
Cold-cocked and I'm taking back what's mine
Expect it when you're least expecting t
No loss of love, the smell of regret
Lights out
Can't take anymore

I'm getting hungry. It's strange, I haven't been able to eat since I came back to Berkley, but now I'm ravenous. But I won't move, I'm going to stay here all night, remembering. My Dad doesn't eat much now, he drinks though. He asked me if I wanted to stay in a hotel, or in his new house tonight. I said no, I wanted to stay in the house which still smells vaguely of my childhood, and is still filled with everything familiar. He never offered to sleep here too, I don't think he could take being around all these memories of Mum and Jakob. I don't know if I'm coping either. I want some company now, but it's too late. It's too late for Jakob as well. I feel under my pillow, finding Jakob's copy of Nimrod. It was our Mum's actually, but we snaffled it. We played it when our Dad was away touring, when we missed him. It's been there for years. Even when we got older, and our Mum didn't mind us listening to them so much, we still kept the CDs under our pillows. It was what we'd always done. I'm putting it on now; I can reach the stereo without moving from the bed. I turn it up as loud as it will go, not caring that it's the middle of the night and the window's still open. The neighbours can sleep anytime, but after tonight, I'm facing a lifetime of nightmares.

***

I had nightmares at the hospital. Most of the time I was drifting in and out of consciousness. My whole body ached when I was awake, but the images which played on my mind while I slept were far worse. I was surrounded by demons, being tortured. And Frankito was always there, laughing. Sometimes I was forced to watch with him, while the red-eyed demons killed Jakob. I shook, had fits as I looked on in horror. Doctors came in and out, but they had the same evil eyes, and terrified me more.
Then, three weeks after I was admitted, I woke up properly. There were no demons, no torture, and no fire. Just an eerily white hospital room and a few machines. And my Mum. She wasn't crying, like she had been with Jakob. Her eyes were burning with anger, her fists clenched.
"You went after Frankito?" she said angrily, "How could you, you nearly died. We haven't told Jakob, and he's been asking for you. What the hell are we supposed to tell him?"
My Dad put an arm around her and patted my shoulder.
"Hey Joey" he whispered, "Don't worry mate, you're gonna be okay. And Jakob's coming home tomorrow"
I wanted to say something, tell my Mum I was alright. I wanted to tell them why I'd done it. But my mouth just wouldn't budge. I panicked, realising I couldn't move at all. My legs felt oddly heavy, my arms seemed to be tied to my sides. I couldn't even turn my head to look at them properly.
"Calm down" my Dad said, seeing my fright, "Your legs are in plaster, so you won't be able to walk for a while. And you're a bit bruised too, but you'll be fine."
My Mum still couldn't look at me, and it was my own fault. Nothing had been achieved by getting myself beat up. I'd only hurt everyone more, especially Jakob. I knew he would be distraught when they told him. Frankito had won now. He had got to go what he loved most in the world, hurting people. And he would have been laughing at my stupidity. I really thought I could change him, when he saw what he'd done to my family. I thought I could save him, give him a chance, like Laurie and Ramona had done with Jakob.
My Mum gave me a gentle flick on the nose.
"It's okay Joey" she said, "I'm not mad, you just gave us a fright, that's all. It's all right, just go to sleep"

I spent the next few weeks asleep, though thankfully free of the nightmares. Jakob came to see me every day, and I'll never forget the look on his face when he first saw me lying there. He was only fourteen at the time, and his whole expression just crumpled when he entered the room. I couldn't even reassure him that I was going to be fine, as my jaw had been broken. It was his turn to comfort me then, and this time he sang Platypus (I hate you), as I lay unable to move. Tears were falling down his scratched cheeks, but he managed to finish the song. At that moment, I think I hated Frankito more than I ever did, and I'm sure Jakob did too.
They never let me near a mirror for months, and I knew why. But strangely, I wasn't too worried about how I looked. Something was happening to Jakob, and that got to me a lot more. He became more and more withdrawn, saying less every time his visited. My Mum said it was trauma, and he'd be over it in a few weeks. But I knew it was more than that, it was a deep and powerful rage. I knew it very well. It gurgles away inside you until it's ready to erupt. It swallows up any happiness in your heart, leaving only misery. And the misery turns to anger. Sure I would have like to be at school, not worrying about how badly damaged my legs were. But I'd have liked my little brother back a whole lot more.

I finally saw myself nearly seven weeks after the incident. To be honest, I wasn't that shocked. My Mum was crying again, but I was okay about it. It was much better than I'd been expecting. I'd been picturing myself looking like some kind of walking corpse from a horror film. But the swelling had gone down a lot, just a few bruises were dotted about my face. A long salmon pink scar ran under my eye, but it wasn't as bad as it felt. I was offered some kind of surgery to disguise it a bit, but I said no thanks. I never wanted to sleep again, let alone be put under anaesthetic. Laurie never said anything about how I looked, and I was grateful. I don't think I could have faced talking about it with her. I didn't talk about Frankito with anyone but Jakob; he was the only one who understood what that terror felt like. Not the terror of being beat up, I hadn't felt a thing. But the fear that lingers, the memories that haunted me. I was sure Jakob had similar fears, but he never spoke about them. Maybe he thought it would make things worse for me, maybe he just couldn't find the words.
Two months after the attack, I was allowed to go home. It should have been a relief to get back to normality, but I felt so exposed in our house. We might have installed a new security system, but I didn't feel any safer than I did the night they nearly killed me. I was twitchy and snappy, and it wasn't helping anybody, especially Jakob. The police were constantly coming over, at all hours of the day and night. Frankito had been arrested, following another three attacks. Truthfully, I didn't think locking him up would do any good; I wanted to shock him, show him what he'd done to us. I didn't want the eight year prison sentence my Mum was pushing for.

We never saw my Uncle Tre much after that, he didn't visit me or Jakob in hospital, and he didn't come to the house. Our Dad said we needed time away from their whole family. He repeated this to Ramona when she came round, but she tried again. She told my Mum she thought of us as her family a lot more than Frankito. They let her spend almost every day with us, insisting they just felt sorry for her. But I knew they needed her as much as me and Jakob did. We were constantly plastered all over the newspapers, and we rarely left the house. Nearly every day there was some stupid story. Either I was insane, Frankito had punched a prison guard, or my Mum had run away.
"Let's see what crap they've come up with today" my Dad would say, turning on the six o clock news.
Most of the time we laughed at the stupidity of their reports and flicked it off again. But once, only once, we had reason to worry.
"Welcome to Newsnight" the smiley newsreader said, "Let's take a look at the day's headlines"
When we were younger, we'd all agreed that newsreaders were creepy looking teachers. They were too perfect, like they'd been mass produced in a factory somewhere in space, and plonked in front of a camera.
"Our top story tonight" she continued, bearing her straight white teeth, "Convicted criminal Frankito Wright has been reported missing from Cresthill Young Offenders Prison"
Jakob and I looked at each other in horror, as our Mum gasped, spilling her tea all over the sofa.
"The twelve year old, who was arrested for unprovoked attacks on a number of youngsters, is thought to have arranged to meet several older friends. Members of the public are being urged to contact their local police, should they spot Frankito. However, staff at Cresthill are advising that he should not be approached as he may be carrying a weapon.
My Dad made a sound like a gurgling plug and punched the wall. My Mum was hanging onto Jakob, howling and begging him to be careful. And I sat, in the midst of all that hysteria, feeling sick. Frankito didn't need to escape, he just wanted to. This was his final revenge before he was put away. He wanted us to sweat, they way he had when he was hiding from the police.. Jakob knew that too.
Still sore form the last beating, he got to his feet and pulled on a jacket.
"No" my Dad said in panic, "Let the police find him, he'll be back in jail by tomorrow"
Heading towards the door, Jakob gave him a sad little smile.
"Or he could have murdered ten innocent people" he said, "He could set the house on fire while we're in bed; we know he's capable of it."
Jakob knew he had won, and our Dad turned back to our Mum and hugged her hard. I couldn't believe them; they were sending my brother off to the slaughter.

And they were so busy consoling each other, neither noticed Jakob silently lift a long knife from the counter and slip quietly out the door.