MILES
As Monday night unfolded, I found myself lying on my bed, my body consumed with a mix of exhaustion and residual pain. My gaze was fixated on the faint bruise that adorned my arm, a painful reminder of the events that had transpired the day before.
It had been a typical Monday, with its blend of monotony and mundane routines. I had spent the day at school, navigating the hallways with a sense of anticipation looming in the back of my mind. I was always cautious about the unpredictable moods that awaited me in this house, especially with my father's erratic behavior growing more frequent.
"Another sleepless night," I murmured to myself as my heart was heavy with the sounds of yells and thuds echoing from downstairs. This had become a nightly ritual - my father stumbling home late, drunk and filled with rage, ready to unleash his fury upon my Mom and me. I could feel the anxiety building within me, knowing that at any moment, the violence would erupt.
"Where's that son of a bitch!?" Dad yelled as the clash of glass breaking downstairs tore through the solemn night air, jolting me from my thoughts. Panic ignited within me as I imagined the chaos unfolding downstairs.
I heard my Dad's loud footsteps thundering down every staircase towards my room. Panic engulfed me like a swarm of angry bees as I scrambled to my feet. My heart pounded in my chest, the sound reverberating in my ears, as I realized I had little time to react.
Without hesitation, I sprinted towards the door of my room, adrenaline surging through my veins. My trembling hand reached for the doorknob, my fingers fumbling in their haste. Time seemed to stretch as I fought against the impending danger, hoping to lock myself in for safety.
But just as my fingertips grazed the cold metal, the door burst open with an unstoppable force. I was forcefully pushed backward, stumbling a few steps away from where I had stood, my movements hindered by both surprise and fear. My eyes widened in disbelief as my Dad's towering figure materialized before me, his face a mask of fury.
"What do you think you're doing?" he growled, his voice laced with anger. His eyes bore into mine, demanding an explanation for my desperate attempt to lock him out.
Stuttering, I struggled to find words to justify my actions. Panic gnawed at my throat, making it difficult to speak. Suddenly, unease settled in the pit of my stomach, a familiar tingling of fear that had become all too common. The darkness inside the house was indicative of my father's return.
Without uttering a single word, he pounced upon me, his fists like thunderbolts raining down upon my fragile frame. Each blow was a cruel reminder of the volatile existence I could hardly escape. I curled into myself, trying to shield my body from the relentless assault, my mind seeking refuge in a place far away.
And then, just as abruptly as it had started, it ended. My father retreated into the shadows of the house, leaving me battered and bruised, physically and emotionally. Lying on my bed, I cradled the bruise on my arm, tracing my fingers over the tender flesh. It served as a constant reminder of the lingering pain and the brokenness that had become an integral part of my life.
Yet, as I lie here in the stillness of the night, a seed of defiance begins to sprout within me. With each passing moment, my resolve grows stronger, refusing to succumb to the darkness that threatens to engulf me. I realize that this cycle of abuse cannot define me and that I deserve more than the torment I endure.
As the moonlight streams through my window, casting a gentle glow in my room, I vow to myself that one day, I will break free from the chains that bind me. I will find the strength to escape this suffocating existence, leaving behind the shadows that have plagued my soul.
...
As consciousness seeped back into my being, I couldn't shake off the remnants of that ethereal voice calling out my name. The echo lingered, a haunting melody that danced within the depths of my memory. For a fleeting moment, I questioned my existence. Am I dead?
And yet, a strange sense of relief washed over me, knowing that if indeed I departed from this world, I could finally find solace. The turmoil and chaos that had plagued my life would no longer sway over me.
With cautious anticipation, I opened my eyes, the room still shrouded in a haze. Shapes began to emerge, slowly forming into recognizable objects and faces. And there, standing before me, was my mother. But she was different. Her face was adorned with bruises and cuts, a physical testament to the violence that had consumed my father.
Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, mingling with her strained smile. She reached out, her hand trembling, and tenderly caressed my face. The touch was arm, and comforting, but laced with a profound sorrow that transcended words.
"Oh sweetie," she murmured, her voice trembling with emotions too vast to contain. "You're awake. Thank goodness."
Confusion knitted my brow as I tried to fathom the events that had unfolded, but the pieces of memory were jumbled and fractured.
"What happened?" I managed to whisper, my voice frail and fragile like a whisper carried on the wind. "Why are you hurt?"
A shudder rippled through her body, a tremor that mirrored the pain etching her face. She took a deep breath, steadying herself as she struggled to find words.
"Last night," she began, her voice quivering with the weight of her scars, "your father... he... he lost his mind again. The darkness within him consumed everything. I couldn't protect you, no matter how hard I tried."
"I'm sorry," I said to her as tears started to run down my cheeks.
"I'm so sorry, Mom, this is all my fault," I added as I finally burst out into tears, sobbing like a child.
"Shhh, enough, sweetie; don't ever be sorry. What happened is not your fault; perhaps I should be the one to apologize for not being able to protect you." Mom said this before giving me a tight embrace filled with love.
TYLER
It was a typical Tuesday afternoon. The sun shone brightly, casting its warm golden rays on the field where my teammates and I were gathered for our daily soccer practice. The air was filled with the familiar sounds of laughter, shouts of encouragement, and the rhythmic thud of soccer balls being kicked.
I was perfecting my favorite trick, a powerful bicycle kick when I heard my name being called from a distance.
"Ty!" a voice echoed through the field. Startled, I halted my movements and looked around, trying to locate the source of the voice, and spotted Clark, waving his hand and running towards me with a smile on his face.
"How did it go with the coach?" I asked, a mischievous grin playing on my lips.
Clark rolled his eyes at me, but his grin gave away his amusement. Catching his breath, he replied, "Oh, you know, Coach just loves putting us through our paces. It's always a blast."
I chuckled, knowing that Clark's statement had more than a hint of sarcasm. Our coach, Coach Ramirez, was known for being exceptionally demanding, and homophobic. He had a relentless passion for pushing us beyond our limits, always striving for perfection.
We had been training under Coach Ramirez for over a year now, and even though his methods were tough, they had undoubtedly sharpened our skills and honed our discipline. His relentless dedication to our improvement has turned our team into a formidable force in our league.
Thinking back to our first encounter with Coach Ramirez, I remembered how intense and intimidating he seemed. With his grizzled beard, piercing eyes, and a commanding presence that demanded respect, he immediately struck fear into us. But as time went on, we came to see that beneath his tough exterior, he genuinely cared about our growth as athletes but not as individuals, not for people like me.
Taking a deep breath, Clark continued, "But seriously, Coach pushed me to my limits today. I have run countless sprints and done intense drills for two hours now, Ty!"
"That's what you get for ditching practice for Three consecutive days; did you forget? The finals will be held two weeks from now," I told him, but he just let out a smirk as if he didn't care.
"Anyway, I have a favor to ask," he said.
"If this is about hooking up with one of Jessica's friends again, I'm out of it," I jokingly told him, and he laughed.
"No, of course not! I've changed, Ty."
"That's what they all say," I chuckled sarcastically. My best friend, Clark, had a reputation for being a playboy, always getting involved with girls and never taking anything seriously. But if he truly had changed, I was curious to see what he had in store.
"What kind of favor are we talking about then?" I asked, crossing my arms and giving him a skeptical look.
"So I was thinking of hosting a party after the finals, but since my parents have guests over for two weeks during the finals and no one else can do it but you, maybe you could?" He asked, his eyes pleading.
"But I live in my Dad's penthouse," I replied, my brow furrowing in confusion.
"And we can't have a party over his penthouse," I added and I saw disappointment drawn on his face.
"Ugh, Ty, I'm running out of options," he sighed, frustrated. Just as Clark was about to give up, a glimmer of hope sparked in my mind.
"Wait!" I exclaimed, excitement filling my voice. "I think there is another way. Do you remember my café? My dad owns that establishment; it has four floors, and the third and fourth floors just above my café haven't been occupied yet. Maybe I can host the party there if that's okay with you?"
Clark was silent for a moment, looking at me with a concerned look. I might have caught him off guard. "Don't worry, Clark, I'll be fine, so are you still in?"
Clark's eyes lit up with anticipation. "Oh my gosh, Ty! That's an incredible idea! Your café is already amazing, and having the whole building to ourselves would be perfect. Let's do it! I'll take care of the drinks and invitations, but can you invite Miles and his friends by yourself too?"
I was surprised by what he said, leaving me speechless for a while, then suddenly my lips curled into a smile. It made me feel happy knowing that Clark was eager to meet Miles' group of friends and get to know them. It would make it easier for me to tell him that I like Miles and that I am bisexual as well, but part of me still worries about what he might say about me. I mean, we're good friends, though, and I can't bear to destroy what we have.
I nodded in response, and then Clark left and went back to running around the field.
"He sure has his ways to get to her, right?" I almost jumped from where I was standing, startled, when someone suddenly spoke behind me. My heart raced as a surge of adrenaline shot through my veins. Slowly, I turned around, my gaze fixated on the intruder who had dared to startle me.
Standing before me was no other than Klaus, with his dark hair, piercing eyes, and a mischievous smile playing on his lips. It was clear he reveled in catching me off guard. Irritation welled up inside me as I glared at him.
"Why do you keep doing that? I think I'm going to die young because of you."
"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," Klaus said, laughing, so I just shook my head, irritated.
"C'mon, let's get back to practice," I said to him while tapping his shoulder, and we walked together in the middle of the field. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, golden glow across the grass. As we made our way back to the group, the sound of laughter and the clatter of equipment filled the air.
"Anyway, Klaus, about what you said earlier about Clark-what do you mean by that?" I asked him, and he looked at me with a puzzled look.
"Are you kidding, Ty?" he asked sarcastically as if he couldn't believe it. I just shrugged my shoulders and kicked the soccer ball softly in his direction. He stepped on the ball to stop it from rolling and said, "After how many times I kept on bragging about that, you don't know a single thing? Seriously, Ty?" He said, rolling his eyes.
"You know what? Never mind, let's just talk about it next time; for now, let's go back to practice if we don't like to end up like Clark." We both laughed as he kicked the ball.
"He deserves it anyway," Klaus said as we both ran towards the ball.
ERIN
"Charles, any updates from Miles?" I asked Charles as soon as I sat down at our usual table on the common ground. Charles just shook his head as he turned his phone screen to me, just to witness that there was no reply or text from Miles.
Disappointed, I sighed and leaned back in my chair, scanning the busy common ground in front of me. It's late in the afternoon already, and the sun is about to set on the horizon. Some students were scattered all around, enjoying the warmth and the lively atmosphere, while others started to make their way home. But my mind was preoccupied with thoughts of my friend, Miles.
"I'm just wondering why he's absent today, and I'm worried too," Charles said in a way that made him sound so worried about our friend, Miles.
"I don't want to do this, but I'll call Dad to stop by Miles' house and check if everything is alright," I said, and Charles glanced at me with a smile on his face.
As I made the call, my mind was filled with concern for our friend Miles. He was usually the first to arrive at school, never skipping a day unless he was genuinely sick. Today, however, he was inexplicably absent, and it left us feeling uneasy.
After a brief conversation with my dad and providing him with the address, I hung up and turned to Charles. His smile had faded, replaced by the same uneasiness reflected in my expression. We both knew there was something wrong.
"I hope Scott didn't do anything stupid this time," I murmured to myself.