A Twist in my Story

I lay, unconscious beneath the cool sheets as the bright flow of the sun began to shine into the guest bedroom of Rose’s house. A small smile sat on my lips as I continued to dream a dream I knew I wouldn’t remember when I awoke. So instead, I just enjoyed it while I could. I had no clue when Rose would wake me up, some days she would let me sleep in, while the others she would bounce into the guest bedroom with a spray bottle. She would coo my name until I opened my eyes or grunted at her, and when I did either, she would spray me in the face with the ice-cold water before bolting out of the room with a giggle.
Once I had refused to open my eyes or make a sound, but she grew quickly impatient and just ended up throwing the whole bottle over my head with an evil laugh as she once again, bolted out of the room.
This morning moved swiftly with me falling in and out of consciousness, it wasn’t long until I felt someone lightly shaking me awake, murmuring my name softly as the person did so. I groggily mumbled something under my breath before I turned to face the other direction, forgetting that I had stripped my shirt off last night from the heat. So the gasp of horror from behind me instantly woke me up.
I bolted upright and glanced over at Xander’s horror filled expression as he looked over my scarred torso. I swallowed nervously before I bolted out of the bed and tugged the shirt over my pale body, my eyes watering as I looked away from Xander, looking out the window at the backyard. I was horrified that Xander had seen the scars that covered my body, the scars that reminded me of my father, the scars that wouldn’t let me let go of the horrific past.
Even though minutes had passed, I knew Xander was still in the room, staring at my back, still having the image of my scarred body running through his mind. He was probably disgusted, horrified and just wanted to get away from me, but the state of shock wouldn’t let him. That was probably it.
“What happened to you?” Xander asked quietly after a few more minutes had passed.
“Nothing you need to worry about,” I muttered before staring down at my bare feet.
“Nothing I need to worry about, are you fucking serious? Of course it is something to worry about! You are a close friend of mine and you are most likely scarred from head to toe without a reason why. I don’t know your past, but from what I’ve seen it doesn’t look like a good one,” Xander yelled from behind me, frustration and worry running clearly throughout his voice.
I let out a humourless laugh as I turned to face him staring him straight in the eyes with a blank expression.
“You want to know why I have scars on my body, father made them. It’s as simple as that,” I replied with a shrug of my shoulders as my face remained blank, I refused to show any emotion at all.
Inside I was crushed, my heart felt as if it was restricted, I was holding back the tears that were begging to flow and I refused to show devastation on my face in front of him. I was weak, but I needed to become stronger, and I knew that that would take time. I knew that Xander could get this out of me if he wanted to, and I knew that he most definitely wanted to get this out of my system.
“As simple as that? How don’t you care? Please Caleb, tell me, please, just tell me your story,” Xander begged.
“Fine.”
“Fine?” Xander asked, confused.
Even I was confused, I wasn’t meant to give in so easily but I guess now that I had, I really couldn’t do much. Changing my mind would make me look weak. It would make me look as if I was scared of the man that helped give birth to me. I knew I was scared of him but I didn’t want it to seem like it.
“Yes fine,” I said, taking a deep breath before I moved passed Xander to sit down onto the bed. “It happened when I was seven years of age. I was sitting on the ground, on one of those town mats. I had a red Ferrari in my hand as I drove it roughly around the carpet town, around the buildings, sometimes accidentally through them. I had a grin on my face as I looked up at my father; he was sitting on the white couch, peering over his newspaper to look down at me with a smile, well that was until he got a call from the police. They told him to rush to the hospital, that his wife was there, and that she was severely injured.
“I stood up when he raced out of the house, only moments later he raced back in to grab me. He had forgotten to grab me, that was when I first knew something was wrong. The second time I noticed something was wrong was halfway through driving he kept wiping he eyes furiously, that was when I realised he was crying, something I had never seen him do. I stared at him shocked and sadly, he spotted me. He yelled at me, called me rude for staring but that only made me stare at him more, but this time out of fear. He had grumbled something under his breath as he pulled into the hospital car park, pulling me out with him when he rushed out of the car and into the hospital, quickly muttering Ma’s name. The nurse informed him on the room and floor and it wasn’t long until he was bolting around, tugging me after him as he threw insults my way.
“That was when I saw Ma in the hospital gown under the white sheets. I tried to rush forwards, into the room but my father held me back as a doctor walked around the bed with a saddened expression as he pulled the sheet over my Ma’s battered face before leaving the room, closing the door softly behind him before he noticed us staring. The doctor made his way over and explained everything to my father, but I didn’t understand. All I knew it was upsetting, no, devastating. He broke into tears and fell to the floor, not ashamed at all. I don’t know how long we were there before he suddenly had a mood change. He was suddenly pissed off, and he rose from the floor before stomping away leaving me to chase after his angry figure. I didn’t catch up to him until he reached the car, and thankfully he waited for me to climb in before he drove off, but I wish he didn’t.
“The whole ride home he wouldn’t stop cursing at me, swearing that it was my fault, and when we did get home he ordered me to go to bed, but I complained. That was another mistake,” I muttered, with a dry laugh before shaking my head and continuing. “He grabbed me by the front of my shirt and lifted me to his height before staring me in the eyes and asking ‘You’re not tired?’ making me nod. ‘How about now?’ he had asked before chucking me at a wall. I ended up in tears before I bolted up to my room, rocking back and forth on my bed.
“I waited every day for Mum to return from the hospital, but she never did, and when I finally got the courage to ask my father—there was another mistake, I should’ve left it. I should’ve kept waiting—” I mumbled, shaking my head once again before I continued on with the story. “He slapped me across the face when I asked, but because of my age and because of the power he added into his slap I ended up on the floor clutching my cheek. He kicked me as he explained that my mother had died in a car crash by crashing into a tree, when he had finished explaining he picked me up by the front of my shirt once again before chucking me away and returning to his new found friend, alcohol.
“The rest of the years went pretty similar as those days. Getting beaten up once in every two weeks but that grew to once a week, then it was every five days, after that was every three days, then every two and then it was every day. After that he made me his slave. He made me clean up for him, made me fetch his beer, made me hold the TV cable when the TV wouldn’t work properly and if one thing went wrong, whether I was in the room of not, it was my fault. It was always my fault, no matter the situation, but I grew use to it. I grew use to being in the guest room, my hands bound together as the rope was the only thing that kept me from crashing to the ground,” I said, rubbing my deeply scared wrists as I glanced over at Xander, his face was blank and I was sure, so was mine. “One night I had wandered down for a glass of water, not expecting him to be up. I had thought that maybe, for once, he had forgotten to tie me up, but that was a stupid thought, of course he was up. I was shocked to see him, so I stood in one place for a while, staring at him, but he spotted me. He yelled at me for doing so and told me to retrieve him a beer, but unfortunately for me, he had none left.
“He yelled at me from the lounge room what was taking me so long, so when I returned to the lounge room I informed him that there was no alcohol left. He was angry. He blamed me for drinking it all, but I didn’t do such a thing. I would never want to live the way he did, that would be a waste. I told him that I didn’t, but he didn’t believe me. We ended up fighting, and I knew he was more intoxicated than usual, so I fought back. He had kicked me in the crotch with as much force as he could muster before he lifted me off of the ground by my hair, my hands automatically flying to grope onto his wrists to prevent me from flying to the floor, but he didn’t like that. He insulted me before throwing me towards the wall without releasing my hair, tugging out a big chunk,” I growled, my voice hard as I stared angrily at the ground as I ran a hand through my now three-inch, almost four-inch length hair. I was glad my hair grew fast.
“It was then when he punched me hard on the cheek, the punch sent me to the ground before he grabbed my ankle and squeezed tightly. He insulted me again but I couldn’t handle it that time, I insulted him back, he wasn’t too pleased about that. After several back and forths between him and I, the pain in my ankle became unbearable as a loud crack thundered throughout the room. He then told me to stay where I was before disappearing to the kitchen, it was then I realised I had a chance. I bolted towards the phone as fast as my broken ankle would let me and I called them cops, but unfortunately my father arrived back in the room, he wasn’t stupid, he knew exactly what I was up to, he told me to tell them it was a prank call but I refused to tell them that and hung up telling him that they had hung up on me, but he didn’t believe me and threw the knife he had retrieved from the kitchen straight at my head, but thankfully I ducked.
“I knew I had no hope after that, so I tried to run, but that was a bad move. He pulled the knife out of the wall and cornered me and was about to kill me until the police showed up. They caught him, threw him into jail and sent me over to my closest living relatives, which just happened to be the Smiths,” I murmured, finished my story as a loud sob was heard from behind us, looking back I noticed Rose standing at the door with her hand over her mouth as she cried.
“Rosie,” I murmured, ignoring the teary-eyed Xander as I jumped over the bed to hug Rose.
Rose latched her small hands onto the front of my shirt as she buried her face into my chest, sobs wracking her body as she continued to cry. Tears welled up into my eyes as well but I pushed them back once again. I had to stay strong for Rosie.
“Caleb,” I heard Xander speak from behind me, making me turn my head uncomfortably towards him. “You didn’t deserve that, hell no one deserves that, not even the Smiths. Fuck. I’m sorry for making you tell me the story, you could’ve stopped, and you didn’t have to tell me. Shit, I feel so bad, I’m so, so sorry,” Xander muttered over and over again.
“Xander, shut the hell up, I’m glad I told you and I’m glad that Rose overheard. But I am not glad that you two are so upset and that you haven’t made me breakfast yet,” I joked, trying to lift the atmosphere and thankfully, it worked.
“Sorry, but we’re eating out,” Xander said, trying to sound cheerful as Rose continued to hug my thin waist.