Blighted Soul

My chest ached terribly. My eyes burned with unshed tears. I was filled with so much anger and sadness and confusion. Evan loved me, didn’t he? So why, how, could he do this? But most of all, I was angry with myself. I knew better than to give my heart to someone, especially after Andrew. And why on earth would I give it to someone more emotionally damaged than me?

My hands tugged at my hair. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to…

I brought my fist back before throwing it forward into the nearest wall. I watched as the drywall crumbled away, leaving behind a fist-sized hole. Due to the adrenaline, I didn’t feel the pain until I looked down and saw the blood dripping from my hand, staining the carpet. I raised my hand closer to my face, taking in the busted open knuckles. That was definitely muscle that I was looking at. And why wouldn’t my pinky go straight?

I growled in annoyance more than anger, before grabbing my keys off my bedside table. I was more than surprised when my parents showed up at the hospital, frantic and frazzled beyond belief. The doctor was putting the finishing touches on my stitches. My pinky was already in a small, metal cast. I rolled my eyes and let out a groan.

“You called them?” I asked the doctor accusingly.

He refused to meet my eyes. Shrugging, he said, “You’re underage, Caleb. I legally have to.”

The moment he set my hand aside, my mother descended on me. My father hung back, hands in the pockets of his work suit. He must have left early to come and see me. “Baby, are you okay?” She cooed in a way that she hadn’t since I was ten. She gripped my face in her hands, checking for any damage. “What on earth are you doing here?”

I held my wounded hand up, giving her a ‘duh’ look.

“Well, what did you do? You didn’t get into a car accident, did you? It’s okay if you did. We’ll have you a new car by the end of the week—”

As usual, she was talking too much. Just to shut her up, I said “I punched a wall, Mom.”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “What did you say?”

“I said I punched a wall.”

“Why did you do that?” She cooed yet again, giving me one of those “poor baby” looks. I was becoming annoyed. Why was she treating me like a baby, when she barely acknowledged my existence two weeks ago?

“Maybe because I was fucking angry,” I said in a tone that implied the answer should be obvious; which it was. People didn’t punch walls for fun, did they?

She placed a hand over her heart as if in surprise. “It’s because of the cancer, isn’t it?”

“Believe it or not, no,” I said, my voice beginning to rise in volume. “Jesus Christ! When are you going to learn that not everything is about you?!”

She looked hurt, but she kept talking. “Then it’s that boy. I knew he was bad from the start. He’s
changing you. Caleb, I want you to stop seeing him immediately.”

“You’re too late for that, Mom. We broke up. And since we’re on the subject of people changing, why don’t we talk about you and the way you’re trying to make up for how bad of a mother you’ve been by pretending to love me, oh, so dearly?”

It was harsh, I know. But I selfishly wanted someone to hurt as much as I was hurting. I was just so tired of everything. Her eyes welled up with tears, but I ignored it. I looked to my dad, who had remained utterly silent the whole time. He was staring at me intently. I stood up,
looking him dead in the eye.

“Do you have something you want to say, big man?” I asked snidely. The look he gave me was mournful. He slowly shook his head. For some reason, his calmness angered me.

I roughly grabbed my keys and made my exit, sidling past the both of them. Before I was completely out of earshot, I said, “I’ll see you guys at home, where we can continue to pretend that we’re some perfect fucking family.”

I heard her rush over to my father, where she began to cry in his arms. Good. Let him handle her. I was no longer of any use to anyone.