Sorrow Swallows My Screams

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen:

Zacky’s POV:


The past week has been weird. Brian freaked out when I passed out. I can very vaguely remember the happenings just before I passed out and I remember that Brian was freaking out then too.

To be honest, I don’t really know what happened. Neither does Brian. Neither does Brian’s dad, who, by the way, I have finally found out the name of. His name is Brian too. That’s why he calls his son ‘Junior’. It all makes sense to me now.

Anyway, back to me passing out. We don’t know what happened, but we figured it wasn’t serious because I woke up about thirty seconds later with nothing more than a throbbing lump on my head where I’d whacked it on the bed head. It hadn’t happened since, so I hadn’t gone to see a doctor, despite Brian’s attempts to make me change my mind. He wanted to make sure it had nothing to do with my little… ‘accident’… that landed me in the hospital last time.

Yes, the ‘accident’.

I’d been living off the kindness of Brian for the past week. Taking up space, eating their food. You know, the basic stuff, when you’re crashing at someone’s house for too long. I couldn’t help the feeling that I was wearing out my welcome from creeping up. I didn’t seem to be, by the actions of those around me, but still, the feeling lingered like the unwanted breath that fills your mouth after you’ve eaten too much garlic. Ick.

Also, after the night of my passing out, I’d changed my sleeping arrangements from Brian’s bed to a mattress on the floor. I didn’t want things to get weird, you know? So I thought, Brian agreeing, that it would be best this way.

Besides, I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. I wasn’t ready for another relationship. Not yet. It was too soon.

It was dark when I heard a knocking on the front door. I was sitting in the living room, curled up on the couch with a blanket spread over me, watching TV. Brian was upstairs, showering, and I thought I’d be a polite guest for Brian Senior and get the door but before I could move he was up and at the door.

“Can I help you?” I heard Mr Haner ask. I couldn’t see him and the door from my position on the couch, but I could hear him clear enough.

“’Sss maahhh sonnnnn herrre?” came the drunken slur from the doorway. I knew exactly who it was. All the muscles in my body froze. I stopped breathing.

“I don’t know who your son is, sir.” Mr Haner was so well-mannered and polite, yet he is still so cool. Honestly, how often does that happen? He’s passed it on to his son though. That I’d noticed.

“Thaat ssstupid son o’ aaaar bitchhhh Zacccky, thatttt whoooo.”

“No one by that name here,” Mr Haner replied. I let myself inhale a deep breath.

“Sttupid fuuckingg bitchhhhhh!” I heard my father yell as the door to the house shut and he began to walk away.

“How did he know to look here?” I asked as Mr Haner re-entered the room and took a seat on one of the one-seater recliners.

“I don’t think he did. To be honest with you… I just think he was drunk and pissed off and was going door to door.”

“He wanted to kick my ass that bad?”

Mr Haner shrugged and focussed on the TV. I figured the discussion was over and also focussed on the TV. Brian came down about three minutes later, a towel wrapped around his waist. And nothing else.

Interesting, but I looked away. I still felt guilty.

I had no idea what was on the TV by now. It looked to me like some 90’s sitcom that was cut after one season because it was so bad. After about five minutes, though, I started to pay attention to it. And I realised it wasn’t so bad after all.