A Fever You Can't Sweat Out

As I sat there in my cushy twin-size bed, salty tears began to slide down my face and across my cheeks. I knew that at any given moment my Dad was going to be home from the local bar where he slams back beer after beer at the end of the week. Every night had been filled with shouting and tears of pain and anger since I could remember and every time he would come home in a more horrible mood than he normally was in after coming home from work.

"Where are you, you pathetic excuse of a son?"

I got up out of my bed so as not to let him hear me, and I turned the corner out of my room to see Dad searching the hallway, wobbling around in a drunken stupor. I slowly turned around and went back around the corner, but he must have seen me because a few seconds later I could hear him chasing after me. I got to my room, slammed the door and locked it. I cowered behind the door when I heard him pounding his fists on it and cursing. Tears fell freely down my face as my whole body trembled and he continued to shout obscenities. He knew I was never that strong enough to fight him back.

"I've been waiting to talk to you," Dad said in a low, menacing voice. I was terrified but I couldn't let him know it. The next thing I knew the door was digging into my back and I was swung into the other wall. I held my nose before stumbling away from him and falling against my closet door.

He started walking towards me, while stumbling over his own legs. Dad didn't say another word. He walked up to me, and slapped my cheek hard. I tried protecting myself by putting my arms up, but it never worked. First, I tried getting one of my beds between me and my drunken father, but he caught my arm, and slammed me against the wall. Then he threw one of my text books, and it hit me just above my forehead. As I curled up on the floor in pain and slipped in and out of consciousness, I felt him start kicking my stomach over and over again.

When I woke up the next morning, I found it hard to move. My body felt so numb, but I finally lifted my hand up to my forehead and felt a sticky substance. When I looked at my hand I found it to be semi-dried blood. I tried to cry out but not a sound would come. I looked around the room and Dad laying, passed out, on my bed.

All I had to do was stay away from that room and all was good. My ribs ached along with my wrist and head, but other than that I was able to go to school without anyone noticing what had happened. I had to put some concealer on my wrist to hide the bruises, and I had to make sure my AC bandages wouldn't fall off.

Wearing my favorite pair of jeans and my favorite shirt, I walked into school with my friend, Spencer Smith. I made sure that my front that covered all of the abuse and scars was up firmly because the last thing I wanted was for me to move and to leave my friends behind.

Anyway, I was at my locker getting all of my things for first period history when a shadow fell over my books. I looked into the mirror that was in the back of my locker and saw another one of my friends, Brendon Urie.

"Hey Ry," Brendon said shooting me his signature semi childish smile.

"What's up?" I asked while trying to get books out of my locker.

"Not much, just looking for something to do on a Friday night," he replied casually. He leaned on the locker to the left of mine.

"I see," I said wondering what the heck he was talking to me for when he was trying to find something to do on a Friday night.

"Got any plans?" Brendon inquired like he was really interested.

`You mean other then getting beaten to a pulp?' "Not that I know of," I told him while slamming my locker shut with my foot.

"I think some of us are going to a movie or something," Brendon said, walking with Spencer and me. "Do you want to go? Spencer's asking Megan and I'm asking Jen."

"Yeah, that'd be great," I answered as calmly as I could.

"Oh, and Crys is coming too. Maybe you can ask her to go with you," Brendon continued as I sighed. He claims that I have a crush on her just because she's my only girl best friend. I've told him many times before that we're just friends but he wouldn't believe me. That's Brendon for you.

Brendon, Spencer, and I went our separate ways to first period, and I found it very hard to concentrate on anything but what could happen on Friday.

In the back of my head all through class I was thinking about what I was going to tell Dad. He would never let me go out with any of my friends. Also, who would be there to take the brunt of his drunken anger if I wasn't there?