It's Worse Than You Think

It was dark as I made my way down the hallway, and I searched the walls blindly for a light switch. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness, and I was forced to squint before bringing my hand up to shield my vision. For a moment all I could see were small black orbs, but slowly, I could focus on what was in front of me.

I was finding it hard to even remember how I had awoken, and why I was now traveling towards the living room. My teeth were gnawing nervously on my bottom lip, until I was sure that I had drawn blood on accident. The atmosphere around me was strange, like I was trapped in a memory, but everything seemed unfamiliar.

I jumped in shock and slowly took steps towards the couch, too scared to go any further past the coffee table. Right, like the coffee table is going to act like this huge barrier between them and myself.

“Mom? Dad?”

Why were they here? I wasn’t expecting this, and I wanted more time to think. I had so much to say to them in what I’m sure won’t be enough time. Then again, I don’t think there would ever be enough time to get out what I wanted.

“Hello, Ezekiel,” they said back as one, and I was far too bewildered to notice their strange tone. I winced slightly at the name that I hadn’t heard leave their lips in years, and swallowed hard.

“What are you doing here?” I eventually got out. Their faces hardened, and I felt my eyes start to water. I wasn’t stupid: I knew why they were here. Why else? I took a deep breath, and took their silence as my chance to blurt everything that I’d wanted to say for years. “I am so sorry, Mom. D-Dad. If I could take it all back, I would. Everything would have gone differently, I promise you.”

My dad responded, “Why did you make us go out?”

A sob built in my chest, not wanting that to be their response, and my bottom lip started quivering. “I'm s-sorry!” I tried again.

“We loved you.”

I inhaled sharply at the past tense, and lowered my head. This had to be the worst feeling, knowing how they really felt about me. Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder, and looked up slowly to see my father. I opened my mouth to whisper yet another useless apology, but ended up letting out a loud yelp from pain. I hissed, and brought my hand to my upper arm, surprised when I saw blood dripping from my fingers. “Dad?” I whimpered.

“You did it to yourself. This should be so familiar to you, shouldn’t it?”

I was confused, until I realized he was staring intently at my forearms and the marks that covered them. I cradled them to my chest self consciously, not wanting him to see them any longer.

He pulled out the silver razor once more, and slashed my chest. I cried out, but couldn’t move. Whether from fear, or from literally being immobile, I wasn’t sure. “D-Dad! I’m sorry. I miss yo-”

The razor met my arm. And then my thigh. And then a cut to my cheek. “Mom?” I wondered if it was pointless to try to get help from her, but the pain was becoming unbearable and I was at a loss of what to do.

She glanced at me like she had just noticed that I was there, and I watched as her eyes flashed in amusement. She stood up, and looked at me strangely. “How is this so different then what happened to us? How is this so different then what you did to yourself, Ezekiel? What has changed over the years? Nothing. We need ways to let out our anger, too.”

My dad continued to cut up and down my back, and I wasn’t even sure where my shirt had gone. “Don’t you forgive me?” I whispered, my body racking with loud sobs, and it was difficult to see my parents through my tears.

“Oh Ezekiel,” she cooed, “Of course not.”

I woke up with arms shaking me roughly and I sat straight up, looking around with wild eyes in an attempt to try and gather my surroundings. I stared at Finn, not at all concerned about the fact that he was in my bedroom, and he stared back with soothing, sympathetic eyes.

I desperately looked up and down my arms and thighs, trying to find any evidence that the dream had been more then just a dream, but I found nothing that proved otherwise. I bit my lip, and slowly lost my resolve, crying once more. I shut my eyes, and Finn pulled me into his chest, rubbing up and down my back.

Several minutes passed, and no words were said, the only sound in the room being my quiet sobs. I buried my head in his shirt, struggling to regain my composure. I’m no longer fifteen, and I need to stop acting like I am. The nightmare was nothing, nothing at all. It never really happened, and I’m perfectly fine.

I took a deep breath, and Finn let go of me. “What are you doing here?” I asked softly while running a hand through my hair, finding it difficult to make eye contact with him for a few reasons. One being that I hate crying like that, and two being the way Finn was eying me so hesitantly was making me feel uneasy.

“Well, I was knocking on your door for a while, but you didn’t answer. I knew you were home, so I got worried and used the spare key,” he explained.

I thought back, trying to remember how I ended up in bed. “Oh, I must have fallen asleep right after my shift at Quimby’s. I didn’t even get any paintings done,” I murmured, mostly to myself. “So, what did you want to come over for? Just to talk and stuff, or . . ?”

He smiled sheepishly, “Well, it might be a bad time now, but Marshall got a place and I figured that we’d go over for a little ‘Welcome Home’ party thing. Lame, I know, but we both like the kid and I want to do something nice for him.”

I nodded wearily, still drained. Both physically, and emotionally. “No, let’s do it. I’m fine,” I stated softly, not sure who I was trying to convince, him or me. “That’s a good idea,” I added, smirking a bit. Finn laughed and stood up, inching his way towards the door. “What, right now?”

I watched him purse his lips, adjusting his glasses with an amused look in his eye. “Yeah, I told him around eight, so . . .”

“Finn, you ass! I’m no where near looking decent!”

“You two,” he mused, grinning.

“What?”

“I think you’re developing a crush on him.”

I scoffed, “I’m twenty one. I don’t have ‘crushes’ anymore.”

“Then how would you care to classify your feelings towards Marshall?”

“Nonexistent,” I responded, and he rolled his eyes. “Finn, I’m serious! I hardly know him.”

“Whatever, Zeke. You just keep on staying in denial, and I’ll be here whenever you’re up to admitting anything to me.”

I ignored him, and stood up, stretching a bit. “Give me ten minutes and I’ll be ready, okay?”

He nodded, and left the room. I wasn’t really in a partying mood, but Finn was right. We should do something for him. As I got dressed, I thought a little about Marshall. I virtually know nothing about him, and I probably talk to him almost every day. I mean, has he lived in Chicago his whole life? It seems to me that he just popped out of nowhere, and we’re suddenly friends with him.

It’s weird, because things like that never happen to me. And by ‘things like that’ I mean making friends. I know I probably sound like a six year old, but it’s true. I’m too shy for my own good. I’m never the first to start a conversation unless for some reason Finn is there to act as a buffer.

I quickly brushed my teeth, and once I was finished, I headed out to the kitchen where Finn was. “I’m ready.”

“Alright,” he smiled, “Then let’s go.”

I hesitated, “F-Finn?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

He tilted his head, “For what?”

I looked down, suddenly embarrassed. “For before. For . . . always being there for me when I need you.”

“Oh,” he said, his lips curving up into a shy smile, “No problem, Zeke. Can I ask you a question?”

“Go ahead.”

He paused for a moment, as if unsure how to word what he was about to say. “What . . . were you dreaming about?”

“Oh. I, it was about my parents. They were here, and I was telling them . . . well I was telling them sorry. But my dad was cutting me up with a razor, saying that I should be used to it because I’ve done it to myself before. They didn’t forgive me,” I mumbled, closing my eyes tightly for a few seconds.

Finn stared at me, merely gripping my shoulder in a friendly, comforting gesture. “It wasn’t real.”

“I know.”

“If they were here right now, you know that they would forgive you in an instant. They wouldn’t want you beating yourself up over something that you had no control over.”

I sighed, shrugging. “Let’s go.”

His eyes lingered on my face for a moment, obviously my response not being one that he wanted or was hoping for. But he headed out into the hallway anyways, and I locked the door behind me. “Where does he live, anyways?”

Finn furrowed his eyebrows, turning back to look at me. “We’ll find it.”

I laughed softly, tossing him the car keys while rolling my eyes. “You’re driving.”