Be Somewhere

Undeniable thumps echoed in his ears; he prayed that it was only his heart, and not footsteps. He was too exhausted to find his anxiety medication and something told him that it wasn't his heart on runaway, but a legitimate reason for fear. A creak in the hallway and a crash as someone tripped over the end table above the stairs confirmed his suspicions.

Cusses started to penetrate the air and his breathing became more shallow. Ricky put his headphones in his ears and tried to block out the panic inducing sound. The music wasn't quite loud enough and he cringed when he heard pounding on the door and the doorknob rattling. He cursed the fact that his stepfather had moved him to the third floor after he discovered that Ricky left when suspecting a violent beating. If he had still been on the first floor he could have jumped out the window and ran for it.

“I'm gonna kill you, you little brat!” Richard slurred as he intensified the forcefulness of his blows to the door. Biting his lip, Ricky increased the volume of his music to the point that all other noise was obliterated. He allowed the soothing words to wash over him and his breaths started to even out.

More than anything, he knew that he had to calm himself. Richard was unpleasant at the best of times, but the further that his sobriety declined the more dangerous he became. Having people cry seemed to bring him pleasure, and Ricky wasn't quite ready to give him that satisfaction.

“If and when I can clear myself of this clouded mind I'll watch myself settle down into a place where peace can search me out and find that I'm so ready to be found.”

His mind slowly started to transform itself into an uncluttered space. It was then that he realized that he couldn't hear the world around him due to his music's volume. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he realized just how much he was missing. He turned to see Richard hacking his way through the door with a screwdriver while wearing a delighted grin.

Memories started to infiltrate the his mind of the last beating he had taken with an object like that aiding his attacker. Seventeen stitches in each limb. He shook his head as memory lane tempted him to take a walk down to the movie theatre to see what had happened. The elaborate cover story found a way into his head and he grimaced at the unlikelihood of doctors believing it again, especially since his family was now being investigated by social services.

“I was practicing my gymnastics routine in the house... I know, stupid right? Yeah, but I fell down the stairs... ended up completely destroying the banisters and falling on top of a table with a glass vase with flowers in it. Lilies I think... ha ha ha yeah, I sure as hell won't do THAT again.”

Ricky thought about the wondrous amounts of lies a person could get away with if no one wanted to believe that the alternative was possible. He had complained and moaned to his mother about how this room would be the death of him because there was no way to escape it. Wind blew in from the open window and made his curtains flutter. A small idea flickered in his mind that made an even smaller smile flit across his face.

His mother and Richard truly believed that there was no way out of this room other than the door; well that theory was about to be proven wrong. Cautiously, he climbed onto the windowsill. He almost
lost his footing and cursed the storm that had blew in while he slumbered. Stuffy California air greeted him and the way it rushed in and out of his lungs made him unsure of whether or not it was on his side.

After a few moments the air was able to tolerate being in him for more than a millisecond and he was positive that the atmosphere was willing to be friendly with him. A quick glance at the ground below him put him under the impression that the earth wasn't quite as pleased with his decision.

The height left him just as breathless as he knew the ground would. Fear made the acid rise up from his stomach into the back of his throat; he had never been too keen on heights. Another quick glimpse at the ground had him wondering whether or not jumping was such a brilliant idea after all. As far as he could tell there were only two options available to him: Pain by brutal injury or pain by falling; neither seemed overly appealing.

“You wouldn't dare even think about it!” Richard shrieked through the ever-expanding hole in his door.
At that point Ricky decided that he had to jump. All that he had going for him was his unpredictability; when that was gone he would have nothing left.

His strength and will to live had withered and died. The only thing remaining was a small spark of vindictive defiance; he prayed that his need for malignant justice would prove to be enough to get him through the night alive.

He lowered himself carefully so that he was sitting precariously on the windowsill. Only the slightest movement would send him tumbling and most likely leave him broken. The only way he could do this and not severely injure himself would get if he landed on his knees, and even that wasn't for certain.

While breathing deeply he finally convinced himself to shove off the ledge. It came as quite a surprise that he wasn't terrified of the ground rushing up at him. His fear of heights was whipped away along with his laughter by the whirling wind. Jumping wasn't quite as hard as everyone made it out to be if you're mind was set correctly. The whole business took maybe fifteen seconds and if the building were taller the repercussions wouldn't matter.

The distance between the ground and Ricky was closing rapidly. He closed his eyes for the impact and cringed when he hit the earth with a dull thud. Shock resonated through his body before the pain started to seep into his joints. Luckily he had landed properly and nothing was broken. He stood up and winced in agony; everything hurt and their would definitely be bruises later.

Ricky started to head around the house to the backyard but froze when he heard a familiar, unmistakeable crash from the front of the house. It was the sound of the front door slamming open and leaving an indentation in the wall. He gulped and set off in a jog instead of walking calmly as he had planned to.

“Jesus Christ, Richard; you took the door off the fucking hinges!”

His mother's shrieking started to fade as he hopped the fence back to where he and Aggie had played before. He had come to accept that this place was the closest thing to a haven that he would ever know. He would never understood what tied his family together. Richard hated everyone; his mother pretended that she didn't, but she did as well. Aggie was the only unsullied link in the chain and he wasn't quite sure how much longer that was going to last. She wasn't stupid and she was figuring it out quickly.

“Shut up, woman! I'm gonna kill that little brat of yours as soon as I find out where the little shit went!”

It was a classic ending to his classic family night melodrama. Screaming, beating, and then drinking. Always the never ending drinking. Once his mother hit her third shot of whiskey she was little better than Richard. She was slurring a bit as she continued to scream at his stepfather; there wasn't any chance of safety tonight. Grief gripped his stomach fiercely and he ran for the woods; trying to shake off the feelings that cluttered his insides.

As Ricky picked up the pace the trees all started to look the same. he could no longer recognize where he was. The patch of woods was small, sparse, and dry; but the night made it look endless. Beyond the darkness of the trees there was the darkness of the everything else. Finally the view made him dizzy and he had to stop for fear of fainting.

The trees towered above him and he glowered at them. How was this fair? Every living thing besides plants had to deal with violence among their own kind. Some humans went back down to their carnal instincts and acted just as animals would. Why did he have to be among instinct's victims?

“Was this really what your plan was?” Ricky screeched at the trees, “Am I really supposed to spend my life running through the trees? Is this all some cruel joke of karma's?” The trees stood resolute and silent, revealing none of the secrets that their maker had entrusted to them. He collapsed into a heap on the ground and started to weep.

“I know I've done some pretty awful things in my life, but I don't deserve this. Do you hear me? I don't fucking deserve this!” The only replies that he received were the harsh sting of rain on his skin and the howling of the wind in his ears.

“I don't deserve this...” he sobbed. Memories swirled thickly in his mind of reasons why he could deserve a punishment such as this. He struck a match without giving much thought to the process and waited for the wind or rain to extinguish the tiny, flickering flame. It continued to burn brightly and warmed his fingers so that they tingled. Sighing, he blew out the match. Spending the night in a dry forest during a thunderstorm in peak fire season probably wasn't a good idea, but where could he go?

Neither Brad or Danny's houses were viable options; he was trying to convince them that Richard hadn't laid a hand on him in weeks. No new bruises had popped up to push them, but they were still inches from calling child services.

Hypocrisy at its finest; they were allowed to be brutalized but he wasn't. Guilt crept up his throat and left a bitter taste in his mouth. He hated not telling him things; the cutting, suicide plans, abuse. The two people he would trust with his life were being excluded from some of the biggest parts of it and he hated himself for doing that to them.

There was always his older sister; she would take him in in a heartbeat. Slowly the realization of what would happen if he did that shattered that hope. She would fight tooth and nail for custody.

And why, might I ask, does that seem like such a bad option, you fucking moron.

“Aggie... She couldn't make it on her own... She still needs me...”

Don't youdare try and guilt trip me! She'll be put in foster care too!”

Ricky struck another match as he thought back on his experiences with the foster care system. The only thing that had saved him from it was his passion for pyromania. He had been seven when it first started, and he would never forget it. The first match he had ever struck without his older sister by his side; the one that had sent him off to reform school.

The one that had saved him from foster care.

Ricky looked at the burnt out stub of a match that had been moments ago alive with a dancing flame and sighed. The crushing darkness of night wasn't all that different from the suffocating blackness of sleep. It was impossible for him to tell when he had finally dipped into slumber, but he knew for sure when he had woken up. A brutal kick to the stomach with hiking boots told him it was time to get up in the morning.

“Get up, Faggot. Your mother and I have been looking for you all night.” He looked up through the slits that were his narrowed eyes and didn't move from the ground. Richard glared right back at him and delivered another kick to the gut. “When I say get up I don't mean an hour from now I mean right now!”

As Richard continued to scream, Ricky noticed that all the words seemed to blend together. He shook his head to try and rid the sensation, but only achieved having a window of clarity before the situation got worse. A few random sentence fragments and swear words embedded themselves in his mind and he heard the term 'lazy ass mother fucker' several times. Ricky felt tired again and his sight was fading around the edges. The dull throbbing from the night before had now escalated to an insufferable torment that was leaving him breathless.

“Ricky?” He raised his eyes from the ground and found himself looking at Richard who now had concern now growing in his eyes. “Ricky, get up.” Ice swept through Ricky's gaze but was revoked quickly he started to hack and cough. Tears replaced the ice as pain swept through him. Blood sprayed in every direction and mingled with the early morning dew, turning the mud and water crimson. Richard's eyes expanded until they appeared that they would pop out of his head at any moment.

“Ricky, are you okay?” He bit his lip to contain the profanity that threatened to pour from his mouth. Grimacing and letting out a pained grunt; he managed to push himself into a sitting position. Richard gasped and Ricky rolled his eyes in frustration.

“What?” He asked coldly.

“B-bl-bl-blood!” Richard stuttered in a near whisper. His eyes had grown wider still and he was gesturing all down Ricky's front. Touching his lips briefly, he found them to be wet and sticky with a warm oozy liquid. He pulled his hand away to find that it was indeed blood.

“It's no big deal. I probably just got hit in the face with a tree branch.” He managed to pry himself off the ground and stumble to his feet. The world started to spin and he almost lost his balance on more than one occasion. “Whoa. I don't feel so good.”

With some hesitation, he glanced down to where he had been laying a few minutes earlier and a wry expression came over his face. There was no way that a wound from his lips could have created that much blood; even if he had been bleeding all night. he wasn't sure what else had been, but he was sure that it couldn't be good.

Another inquisitive look that feigned concern from Richard made Ricky shrug. He tried his best not to wince as excruciating jabs pain tore through his ribcage every time he tried to move. Slowly, he moved forward, only to stagger back when the earth started to sway.

“Do you think I broke your ribs again?”

“No, just caused some internal bleeding.” Ricky glared up at the man who was a good six inches taller than him and had to try very hard to contain his laughter when he nodded in confusion. “Stupid asshole...” he muttered.

Liquid iron pushed it's way up his throat in waves and he tried to swallow them down. They started to come faster and he wasn't able to keep them all down. Finally, he spit, and the grass glistened scarlet in the morning light. He would need painkillers again.

God those things are good.

“No,” he murmured, “We quit, remember?” He shut his eyes tightly and tried to steady the world by placing his arms out for balance. As far as he knew there weren't two Richards. His mother's voice started to echo in his ears and he sighed at the hallucination. She wasn't there, was she?

“Richard, what did you do?” she screamed, “We have to take him to the hospital now! What is wrong with you?” If she was there why couldn't he see her? Why couldn't he see anything? The last thought he had before he lost consciousness was a pure emotion: confusion.