Sequel: Eat My Heart Out ›
Skin and Bones
Back Home
At the stop sign, I notice that my mom’s kind face has fallen. I guess she’s just focused traffic.
By the first light, she looks tired. I try not to think too much about it.
By the second light, she’s clearly annoyed when I glance up at her. I don’t look at her again before we’re halfway down our street. Then she looks angry.
She barely breaks as she pulls up into the driveway, and she’s quickly out of the car after she’s cut the engine. She slams the car door shut. I jump.
I slowly crawl out of the car and close the door gently, before I quietly, yet quickly, walk up to the open front door. When I close it, I hear a clank from the kitchen and I carefully near the doorway to said room.
My mom’s got a glass to her mouth, but the clear liquid isn’t water – the bottle beside her proves that.
“You said you were sober,” I whisper out. I don’t know if my mind actually intended for my mom to hear me, but she did.
She lowers the empty glass.
“Yes. I was.” I look up at her eyes and the blame in them. She stares at me like that for what seems like several minutes. It’s like my life passes before my eyes when I stare back – a blank look on my face.
I remember when I fell and scraped my knees. I came home crying my eyes out and my mom kissed my wet cheeks about a thousand times while she cleaned my wounds. Even when I stopped crying, she kissed me.
After my first day of high school when I came home and said I’d made a new friend and that the teachers liked me, her smile was bigger and prouder than anything I’d ever seen. It’s still the biggest smile I’ve ever seen.
The day I came home with an F – my third in a row – she was mad, but she still just shrugged it off and gave me my dinner and my desert, before she told me to do better. She said, she knew that I could.
When I told her I was gay and in love, she hit me.
When I refused to go by her rules and not see my best friend and the guy that I was in love with, she hit me.
One day when she saw me, she hated me. When she found out people were contacting me – that someone cared about me – she beat me.
“Go to your room.” She turns her back to me and pours more clear liquid into her glass.
“You said you’d try.” Once again, my voice is only a whisper. My mom still hears it.
“Everybody lies. I bet your boyfriend said he’d protect you. And where is he now?” I gasp – inaudibly.
“Does he need to be here?” This time my voice is loud and clear – and mocking.
My mom whips around and storms towards me. I have no time to react – to run.
“Don’t be cheeky with me!” She grabs a hold of my arm and squeezes.
“Go to your room,” she snarls, before she pushes me away and lets go of my arm.
“No.” I don’t know where this courage is coming from, but it’s scaring me and comforting me all at once.
“What?” Her teeth are clenched and her jaw is tense. Her eyebrows are aching towards the bridge of her nose.
“No.” I hate my fear for taking over – squeezing so hard at my chest that no voice louder than a shaken whisper is able to escape my throat.
She steps closer until her face is so close to me that I can’t escape the sharp smell of liquor.
“You better do as I say, or you’ll be living on the street. Face it; you need a place to stay. You need me.” I blink once.
“I hate how I need you,” I snarl – my anger taking over.
“I hate you.” My teeth are bared – my jaw barely moving from the tension – as I stare into her eyes to make sure she fully understands my statement.
She does.
Her hand races towards me, but I see it out of the corner of my eye. I grab it before it reaches my face.
“No!” I scream – right into her face. I see a flare of fury run through her eyes, before she pushes me onto the floor with the arm I’m holding. My hand hits the floor hard and I hear my wrist crunch. I don’t have time to feel if it’s hurt or broken, before my chest hurts.
I cough.
She kicks me again, but as she pulls back her foot I grab it and somehow manage to twist it. She fall to the floor. When I hear the thud, I get up.
Everything hurts, but I push all pain aside and rip the door open.
Then I run.
“Frank!” I soon hear my mom bellow behind me. I speed up. I don’t dare to look back, but when I hear an engine roar I know exactly what’s happening.
I can’t run any faster. I try, but my feet just can’t.
When I get to the end of the street I turn and cross the street. Out of the corner of my eye I see our grey car heading towards me – fast. I jump onto the sidewalk and sprint down the main road.
She quickly picks up with me.
“Stop right now!” I look to the side and see her furious face. The car is driving besides me.
I look ahead. There’s a hole in the hedge. I’ve walked past it a thousand times.
Suddenly our car speed up. Further ahead it swerves. It drives up and across the biking path and stops an inch before it hits the hedges – the car covering the sidewalk.
I keep running towards the car. My mom gets out. She doesn’t close the door before she walks around the car.
I run through the hole.
I feel the disgusting, familiar feeling of spider web in my hair, but I keep running. I ruffle through my hair with one hand as the other pushes open a gate.
I run out to the street the Way’s live on. I sprint through several front yards – jumping over numerous bushes and flowerbeds before I reach the house across the street from the Ways.
I’m about to run across the street, but I stop. Our car.
I look up at the front door. My mom is there. The door opens.
“Where is my son?! I know he’s here!” She pushes her way past whoever opened the door and disappears into the darkness of the house.
When I see my mom’s silhouette in a window, I throw myself onto the lawn and hide behind the low rose bushes.
My breathing is short and heavy – never going further down than my throat, it seems. It’s not exhaustion alone that is keeping me from breathing properly.
Over my own heavy gasps, I hear yelling. I can’t make out the words, but I know they all belong to my mom.
When my mom comes out of the house, I quickly duck. My panting is so loud that I’m afraid she’ll hear it.
“Frank!” Her voice is so determined and steadfast. She’s found me.
I slowly lift my head. She’s crossing the street – walking right towards me.
I quickly crawl backwards – the grass whipping against my palms and fingers and they slide over the lawn. My hands suddenly gets wet. I stop.
My mom keeps getting closer. I fist the dirt underneath my hands. I stare at her. Her eyes are like nothing I’ve ever seen before. The fury in them has a grip on my stomach. It hurts. My chest feels so tight. I can’t breathe. I can’t feel my body. My head is spinning but my eyes are locked.
Suddenly a black blur steps in front of my mom’s white suit.
Gerard.
“Don’t you dare touch him.” His voice is low and muffled to me. My heart is beating so loudly. The blood is rushing in my ears. So is my loud panting. I can feel my pulse pounding in my neck.
Suddenly a police car pulls up behind my mom.
Without taking her eyes off of me, she pushes Gerard aside and continues her walk towards me.
I back up. I crawl into the soggy, muddy bed of flowers. I press my back against the hard wall of the house. I try to press myself into it. I try to get away. I have to.
“Miss!” A police officer grabs her arm and swings her around.
When her eyes are gone, I close mine.
I try to think of nothing, but I keep seeing her eyes. I keep feeling her kicks. I keep hearing her words.
I pull my legs up to my chest. I cover my ears with my hands, but it’s only a half-hearted attempt to block out the sound of my mom’s scream. They’re already stuck in my head.
“Frank.” I know it’s Gerard. Even though his voice is a breathy whisper, I still recognize it as his.
“She’s gone. She can’t hurt you anymore.” His whispers should be comforting me I don’t know if they do. All I know is that the pain in my chest suddenly becomes so much harder to bear, and I break.
I start sobbing uncontrollably. I rock back and forth to try and stop the pain, but it won’t go away.
“Frankie. Let me hold you.” I sob a few more times, before I slowly lift my head. Gerard’s eyes meet mine. They’re so warm and caring. I’m suddenly more calm – more at ease.
I slowly crawl out of the flower bed and collapse into Gerard’s awaiting arms. He hold me. He strokes my hair. He kisses my scalp – for a long time.
“I’m so sorry.” His voice is muffled by my hair. I still hear it. The small vibrations from his lips travel from my scalp and down my spine. It makes me relax. I slump further into his arms.
“I’m sorry.” My breathing is slow and shallow. My body is so relaxed that I can barely feel it anymore.
“Frank?” Gerard’s lips disappear from my scalp, and slowly I lift my head too. A police officer is squatting beside us.
“How are you feeling?” I don’t answer. My eyes slowly look over at the police car. My mom’s head is hanging low – her hair covering her face.
A police officer gets into the car. The sirens make me flinch.
“Do you think you can handle coming down to the station with us?” I look back at the police officer. In the background I can see the police car drive off.
“We’re just going to ask you a few questions.” The officer looks so sympathetic and understanding. He makes me feel safe.
I nod – my hair ruffling against Gerard’s chest.
“Can I come with him?” Gerard asks timidly. I close my eyes and press the side of my face into his chest – hoping the officer will agree.
“Of course.”
By the first light, she looks tired. I try not to think too much about it.
By the second light, she’s clearly annoyed when I glance up at her. I don’t look at her again before we’re halfway down our street. Then she looks angry.
She barely breaks as she pulls up into the driveway, and she’s quickly out of the car after she’s cut the engine. She slams the car door shut. I jump.
I slowly crawl out of the car and close the door gently, before I quietly, yet quickly, walk up to the open front door. When I close it, I hear a clank from the kitchen and I carefully near the doorway to said room.
My mom’s got a glass to her mouth, but the clear liquid isn’t water – the bottle beside her proves that.
“You said you were sober,” I whisper out. I don’t know if my mind actually intended for my mom to hear me, but she did.
She lowers the empty glass.
“Yes. I was.” I look up at her eyes and the blame in them. She stares at me like that for what seems like several minutes. It’s like my life passes before my eyes when I stare back – a blank look on my face.
I remember when I fell and scraped my knees. I came home crying my eyes out and my mom kissed my wet cheeks about a thousand times while she cleaned my wounds. Even when I stopped crying, she kissed me.
After my first day of high school when I came home and said I’d made a new friend and that the teachers liked me, her smile was bigger and prouder than anything I’d ever seen. It’s still the biggest smile I’ve ever seen.
The day I came home with an F – my third in a row – she was mad, but she still just shrugged it off and gave me my dinner and my desert, before she told me to do better. She said, she knew that I could.
When I told her I was gay and in love, she hit me.
When I refused to go by her rules and not see my best friend and the guy that I was in love with, she hit me.
One day when she saw me, she hated me. When she found out people were contacting me – that someone cared about me – she beat me.
“Go to your room.” She turns her back to me and pours more clear liquid into her glass.
“You said you’d try.” Once again, my voice is only a whisper. My mom still hears it.
“Everybody lies. I bet your boyfriend said he’d protect you. And where is he now?” I gasp – inaudibly.
“Does he need to be here?” This time my voice is loud and clear – and mocking.
My mom whips around and storms towards me. I have no time to react – to run.
“Don’t be cheeky with me!” She grabs a hold of my arm and squeezes.
“Go to your room,” she snarls, before she pushes me away and lets go of my arm.
“No.” I don’t know where this courage is coming from, but it’s scaring me and comforting me all at once.
“What?” Her teeth are clenched and her jaw is tense. Her eyebrows are aching towards the bridge of her nose.
“No.” I hate my fear for taking over – squeezing so hard at my chest that no voice louder than a shaken whisper is able to escape my throat.
She steps closer until her face is so close to me that I can’t escape the sharp smell of liquor.
“You better do as I say, or you’ll be living on the street. Face it; you need a place to stay. You need me.” I blink once.
“I hate how I need you,” I snarl – my anger taking over.
“I hate you.” My teeth are bared – my jaw barely moving from the tension – as I stare into her eyes to make sure she fully understands my statement.
She does.
Her hand races towards me, but I see it out of the corner of my eye. I grab it before it reaches my face.
“No!” I scream – right into her face. I see a flare of fury run through her eyes, before she pushes me onto the floor with the arm I’m holding. My hand hits the floor hard and I hear my wrist crunch. I don’t have time to feel if it’s hurt or broken, before my chest hurts.
I cough.
She kicks me again, but as she pulls back her foot I grab it and somehow manage to twist it. She fall to the floor. When I hear the thud, I get up.
Everything hurts, but I push all pain aside and rip the door open.
Then I run.
“Frank!” I soon hear my mom bellow behind me. I speed up. I don’t dare to look back, but when I hear an engine roar I know exactly what’s happening.
I can’t run any faster. I try, but my feet just can’t.
When I get to the end of the street I turn and cross the street. Out of the corner of my eye I see our grey car heading towards me – fast. I jump onto the sidewalk and sprint down the main road.
She quickly picks up with me.
“Stop right now!” I look to the side and see her furious face. The car is driving besides me.
I look ahead. There’s a hole in the hedge. I’ve walked past it a thousand times.
Suddenly our car speed up. Further ahead it swerves. It drives up and across the biking path and stops an inch before it hits the hedges – the car covering the sidewalk.
I keep running towards the car. My mom gets out. She doesn’t close the door before she walks around the car.
I run through the hole.
I feel the disgusting, familiar feeling of spider web in my hair, but I keep running. I ruffle through my hair with one hand as the other pushes open a gate.
I run out to the street the Way’s live on. I sprint through several front yards – jumping over numerous bushes and flowerbeds before I reach the house across the street from the Ways.
I’m about to run across the street, but I stop. Our car.
I look up at the front door. My mom is there. The door opens.
“Where is my son?! I know he’s here!” She pushes her way past whoever opened the door and disappears into the darkness of the house.
When I see my mom’s silhouette in a window, I throw myself onto the lawn and hide behind the low rose bushes.
My breathing is short and heavy – never going further down than my throat, it seems. It’s not exhaustion alone that is keeping me from breathing properly.
Over my own heavy gasps, I hear yelling. I can’t make out the words, but I know they all belong to my mom.
When my mom comes out of the house, I quickly duck. My panting is so loud that I’m afraid she’ll hear it.
“Frank!” Her voice is so determined and steadfast. She’s found me.
I slowly lift my head. She’s crossing the street – walking right towards me.
I quickly crawl backwards – the grass whipping against my palms and fingers and they slide over the lawn. My hands suddenly gets wet. I stop.
My mom keeps getting closer. I fist the dirt underneath my hands. I stare at her. Her eyes are like nothing I’ve ever seen before. The fury in them has a grip on my stomach. It hurts. My chest feels so tight. I can’t breathe. I can’t feel my body. My head is spinning but my eyes are locked.
Suddenly a black blur steps in front of my mom’s white suit.
Gerard.
“Don’t you dare touch him.” His voice is low and muffled to me. My heart is beating so loudly. The blood is rushing in my ears. So is my loud panting. I can feel my pulse pounding in my neck.
Suddenly a police car pulls up behind my mom.
Without taking her eyes off of me, she pushes Gerard aside and continues her walk towards me.
I back up. I crawl into the soggy, muddy bed of flowers. I press my back against the hard wall of the house. I try to press myself into it. I try to get away. I have to.
“Miss!” A police officer grabs her arm and swings her around.
When her eyes are gone, I close mine.
I try to think of nothing, but I keep seeing her eyes. I keep feeling her kicks. I keep hearing her words.
I pull my legs up to my chest. I cover my ears with my hands, but it’s only a half-hearted attempt to block out the sound of my mom’s scream. They’re already stuck in my head.
“Frank.” I know it’s Gerard. Even though his voice is a breathy whisper, I still recognize it as his.
“She’s gone. She can’t hurt you anymore.” His whispers should be comforting me I don’t know if they do. All I know is that the pain in my chest suddenly becomes so much harder to bear, and I break.
I start sobbing uncontrollably. I rock back and forth to try and stop the pain, but it won’t go away.
“Frankie. Let me hold you.” I sob a few more times, before I slowly lift my head. Gerard’s eyes meet mine. They’re so warm and caring. I’m suddenly more calm – more at ease.
I slowly crawl out of the flower bed and collapse into Gerard’s awaiting arms. He hold me. He strokes my hair. He kisses my scalp – for a long time.
“I’m so sorry.” His voice is muffled by my hair. I still hear it. The small vibrations from his lips travel from my scalp and down my spine. It makes me relax. I slump further into his arms.
“I’m sorry.” My breathing is slow and shallow. My body is so relaxed that I can barely feel it anymore.
“Frank?” Gerard’s lips disappear from my scalp, and slowly I lift my head too. A police officer is squatting beside us.
“How are you feeling?” I don’t answer. My eyes slowly look over at the police car. My mom’s head is hanging low – her hair covering her face.
A police officer gets into the car. The sirens make me flinch.
“Do you think you can handle coming down to the station with us?” I look back at the police officer. In the background I can see the police car drive off.
“We’re just going to ask you a few questions.” The officer looks so sympathetic and understanding. He makes me feel safe.
I nod – my hair ruffling against Gerard’s chest.
“Can I come with him?” Gerard asks timidly. I close my eyes and press the side of my face into his chest – hoping the officer will agree.
“Of course.”