Jack Be Nimble
by Allison
An alarm rings, shrill and loud, at exactly
The air is cold on the pale, bare skin that is delicately draped over a tiny rack of bones. Spine fully visible, skinny is an understatement. Walking quickly and lightly down the hall so no one knows he is awake, Jack ducks into the bathroom to begin the dreaded morning routine. Glancing into the mirror he sighs, not wanting to apply the girly foundation that would slyly cover the black, blue, and green shape across his eye.
Flipping back that black, shaggy mane with several blonde chunks highlighted in, he grabs the almost empty bottle and begins the slow, but necessary procedure. About five minutes later he stops, looking deeply into the mahogany brown pools that shine and sparkle behind the discoloration. No one knew what secrets were hidden behind those beautiful eyes, no one but himself. He picks the bottle back up again and continues the process, trying to forget the pain that came with every brush of his fingers against the delicate sore.
Some twenty minutes later, the bottle is empty and Jack’s bruises are – for the most part – covered. Knowing that he would inevitably be late for school, he hurries back into the large, barren bedroom. Groaning quietly to no one but himself, he sits at the cluttered computer desk, opening his shiny black laptop and creating a new word document. Drumming subconsciously on the table he thinks, and thinks, and thinks some more of something, anything to write to his parents. After cycling through thought after thought he gives up, and types the answers to the questions he knows will be asked.
“Jack? Jack, honey, are you awake? You’re not going to skip another day of school,” his mom, Greta, calls in that sing-song sort of voice, “and, young man, I’m serious.”
He, unfortunately, doesn’t have a program on his computer that says what he types aloud, so he has no choice but to shuffle down the stairs and show himself. He finally reaches the kitchen, that huge, stainless steel kitchen that makes him feel slightly uncomfortable, and displays the computer screen, dotted with black typing.
I know. I’ll go. Can I have a ride?
The first line reads, simple and straight-forward, just how he likes it.
“Of course you can, don’t even worry about that. We just need to step on the gas a little bit. You’re running a bit behind,” the short, petite woman states, whispering the last bit, as if he didn’t already know.
Aren’t I always running a little bit behind? You should know this by now.
Jack is impatient and bored by now, hating that his mom actually has to read everything when she’s already seen it hundreds of times before.
“Oh, well, aren’t you just a little joker this morning! By the way, Ky – Dr. Martin called, and he said that he’s rescheduled your appointment for today after school instead of tomorrow. Will you need a ride to that, too?”
His face goes still, serious. His appointment was supposed to be tomorrow, that’s how it always is. Every Thursday after school, no questions asked. His fingers fumble over the familiar keys as he furiously types out a response, not having this one planned.
No, I’ll take the bus… Is that all? Can we go now?
His face is red and his mouth a straight line, visibly upset and distraught. This was not normal, this is breaking routine; Jack never breaks routine. He shuts the laptop, not waiting for a response from his mother, and climbs the stairs once again. Slamming the door behind him, he creates a tornado of clothes, finally pulling on some tight black jeans and a faded tee-shirt of some sort. Grabbing his bag from the not-so-spotless floor, he rushes out of the room, down the stairs, past the shocked parent, and through the front door.
The ride to school is uneventful. Greta stays quiet and Jack falls asleep, head banging against the cold glass every once in a while. Within 20 minutes they reach that large, unwelcoming building:
“Honey, we’re here,” Greta gently shakes Jack, urging him to wake up.
He jumps out of the car, grabbing his bag from the floor; he weakly waves and starts walking towards the main entrance. Once inside, Jack heads for his locker. There aren’t many people around, as it’s still early. He always gets there early because it’s an easy way to avoid a lot of the people who make him feel miserable. He grabs what he needs from his locker; a folder, notebook, planner, and, because his first period is Modern Literature, the novel they are currently reading. Slamming the locker shut, Jack looks around for any potential threat, and, seeing none, he heads off down the hall.
He’s almost to class when he sees her. She’s breathtaking, picture perfect, everything he is not. Her body is slim, not as lanky as Jack’s, but thin enough to see a bone or two peaking out. Her hair is down, barely brushing those freckle spotted shoulders. It’s blonde. So blonde it probably shouldn’t even be called that, it’s more of a white, and the way the light hits it just so makes every little strand glisten uncontrollably. Jack’s eyes travel upward to her face, pale and well defined under the bright fluorescent bulbs. Those freckles make a repeat appearance here, dancing across her nose and high cheekbones. His favorite part is the eyes, these two magnificent blue diamonds, round and wide. These are the kind of eyes that can stare into your soul and have a conversation with no words.
Jack’s never seen this girl before, which leads him to think she is new. His guess is supported by the crisp white paper clasped tightly in her hand that she keeps glancing down at – her schedule. Without approval, his body starts walking, heading directly for the girl. He stops, a little over a foot away, and stares, creating snapshots of her in his mind. The camera in his head keeps shooting away until those vibrant blue saucers lock with his comparably worse brown ones.
“Hi,” she starts, voice quiet and high, “I’m new here.”
He was right, a new student. Maybe he could actually try to be nice, try to make a friend. He doesn’t know what to do, so he sticks with the safest gesture he could think of, a smile. It’s weak and small, but a smile nonetheless, and he’s proud. Proud of the fact that he could still prove he has retained a little bit of emotion for all these years. She smiles back, a warm, gigantic smile. It’s one of those smiles certain people would call a thousand watts. Her teeth are white and perfect, like the ivories of a piano.
“My name’s Lucy Burns. I just transferred in from a school in
She smiles again, a little smaller, but all the brilliance of the first still clearly evident. Jack, of course, doesn’t speak, but merely shrugs. It’s not like he doesn’t want to talk to the girl, that’s not the case at all, it’s just that he doesn’t know if he can trust her, doesn’t know if she would actually care.
Lucy is looking at him, a slight grin still left on her face, those eyes urging him to speak. Not knowing exactly what to do, he points at the clock, trying to get it across that they only have a few minutes until the tardy bell rings. She looks in the direction of his finger and sighs.
“Okay, Mr. Mysterious,” she says, with a hint of laughter, “if you won’t tell me your name, can you at least tell me how to get to room 415, Mrs. White’s Modern Lit?”
Jack points again, this time at an opened door across the hall from where they were standing. He smiles again, this time bigger, more daring, and waves his hand, hoping she gets the message. She does, and together they walk into the room, just barely slipping in before the bell sings its song.
He’s excited that they have this class together, excited to get an opportunity to learn more about this girl who has so quickly sparked his interest. They go their separate ways, Jack to his normal desk in the far right corner, and Lucy to the teacher’s desk, to do the normal new student types of things. The class is silent, waiting for Mrs. White to start today’s lecture. Jack glances around, noticing that the only empty desk is, oddly enough, right next to his. He doesn’t stop to wonder why that is (none of the other kids like sitting next to a ‘freak’), he just knows that it has no owner.
“Class, class, settle down,” the old, frail teacher begins, not even noticing that everyone is already quite settled, “we have a new student with us today, her name is Lucy Burns. Please make her welcome. Take a seat, dear, we need to start.”
Jack notices the tinge of pink on Lucy’s perfect white cheeks, making it known to him that she doesn’t like being the center of attention. He thinks it’s damn near the cutest thing he ever has seen, and can’t stop himself from breaking into a slight smirk, the third today. The small girl makes her way to the desk by Jack’s and sits, looking at him and rolling her eyes.
“I hate when teachers do that,” she whispers, just barely audible, “this is my third new school in the last two years, and I’m still not used to it.”
He wants to reply, he really does, so he tears a piece of fresh notebook paper out and writes a short little message on it, folding it carefully a few times, and lightly placing it on Lucy’s desk.
My name’s Jack, I’m shy too, so don’t worry about it.
She reads it quickly, and then looks up, tapping her freshly sharpened pencil against her lip. After a few seconds of careful contemplation, the light bulb turns on and she scribbles out a reply.
That’s a cute name. I already kinda figured you were shy. Remember… out in the hall?
Of course he remembered, he wouldn’t be forgetting that encounter any time soon. That’s not what he’s most concerned about though, no, it’s the fact that she finds his name cute. Since when is his drab, overused name cute? It’s his time to blush now, and he keeps his head low as his face turns a bright, cherry red. After the blush had gone, he picks up his blue pen and writes again, flicking the letter to Lucy in a playful way.
No, that wasn’t because I’m shy.
She’s intrigued now. She wants to know more about this boy, this boy who is, unknowingly, capturing her heart. She turns to look at him, only to find that his head has fallen once again. She lets her eyes rest on him for a few seconds, taking in the beautiful boy that holds quite a few secrets inside of him.
Why don’t you talk? C’mon, you can tell me, promise.
Jack’s startled. He shouldn’t be, no, of course she would ask that question. He’s not going to tell her the truth, not all of it anyways, not right now. His eyes fill with tears for no reason at all, and he watches as one elegantly drips onto the paper, creating a unique shape that warps the writing on the page. He has to write something back, has to give her some reason, so he thinks for a few more moments and finally settles on something.
No one ever thinks I’m worthy of talking to.
Lucy is startled, shocked at the response. What was once intrigue is now a concrete interest in this boy. She wants to help him, she knows that there is more to his story, and she wants him to be able to trust her and tell her what’s going on in that pretty little head of his.
I don’t think we have any other classes together, but find me after school. We can go somewhere together, hang out?
Jack’s tears are gone now. He wants to hang out with her, knows that she could be someone fun and exciting. His parents probably wouldn’t allow him to go out, at least his dad wouldn’t, but he would ask anyways. Maybe it’s a particularly good day in his household. He decides not to risk it though, whenever he risks things, the consequences are never good.
My parents wouldn’t let me. We can walk home together?
Lucy found this odd. What kind of life is this boy living in? He doesn’t talk and his parents don’t let him go out, something must be off. Instead of letting these thoughts translate onto her face, she puts on a happy look and nods, not feeling the need to write her answer down on paper.
The rest of the day drags on in a blur. Jack’s bored, as always, and can’t wait to get out of this place. Finally, after what seems like years, the final bell rings. He gathers his belongings and hastily walks to his locker, shoving everything into that old, tattered messenger bag. His eyes wander, searching every little nook and cranny for Lucy. He eventually spots her, walking through the crowded hallways with her books and coat clenched closely, protectively, to her chest, and, luckily for Jack, she spots him as well.
“Jack! Jack, thank God. These halls are freakin’ chaos!”
He nods his head in agreement and takes the heavy books from her arms, smiling a sheepish grin.
“Thanks. Ready to go?”
Another nod, another smile, it seems to be a routine now. They head out together, bracing themselves against the hordes of hyper teens rushing out of the building. Once they are in the courtyard they stop, turning to face each other, trying to speak with those glossy orbs of color. It doesn’t quite work like they had planned, so Lucy speaks up, asking the question on both their minds.
“Where to?”
Jack whips a little pad of paper magically out of his back pocket, followed by a pen coming from his bag. He writes fast, not wanting to waste any moment he has alone with this girl.
Follow me.
“Alright, let’s go.”
They walk closely together down the quiet suburb streets, pausing once in a while for a random car or fellow pedestrian. It’s quiet, and it’s nice, and Jack likes the way things are going.
“This is a really pretty area. I’ve only been her for a couple of days and haven’t had any chance to explore.”
He looks at her with a content look on his face and shrugs, trying to say that it’s alright, but nothing special.
“Maybe sometime we could explore together? You could show me all your favorite spots, favorite hangouts.”
That list of favorites is short. There are only a few places he ever goes and he dislikes most all of them. The school is going to be a lot more inviting with Lucy there and all, and the house is going to be the same dreadful cage. The library and grocery store will still be familiar and Kyle’s office will still be unwelcoming.
The second the thought of Kyle’s office hits Jack’s mind, he knows that he’s late. In the five years of his therapy, he has never once been late to an appointment, and he wanted to keep that record going. He practically rips off his pocket to get to the pad and pen and hastily scribbles a message.
I’m late for an appointment. I have to go. See you tomorrow?
He shoves the pad into Lucy’s hands and waves, heading off quickly in the direction of his destination.
“Alright, tomorrow. Good meeting you!”
Jack runs to the office, mentally cursing himself for leaving her so rudely. It had to be done though; there was no other way. He pushes through the revolving door and takes the steps two at a time. In no time at all, he reaches Kyle’s door and sees him sitting, tapping his pen against his desk to some kind of imaginary beat. Jack works up some amount of courage and opens the door, staring straight at the man who looks somewhat angry.
"You're late," Kyle states, barely looking up from the massive desk that surrounds him.
Jack sends a glare his way, mentally telling him that he knows, he can read a clock. It's rare for Jack to be late to anything. Today's different though; today's special.
"Well, let's start. How'd your day go, man?"
Jack decides that today, being the good day that it is, he will cooperate. He signals to Kyle that he wants a paper and pen, which he receives quickly, with a smile.
I met a girl.
"Good goin'! Is she cute?" Kyle inquires, leaning slightly forward as if he actually takes interest in the matter.
Jack nods his head vigorously, gaining a thumbs-up and boisterous laugh from the young man across from him. He hasn't gotten this type of reaction in a long time, a little too long, and it feels good to have someone acknowledge him for once. Jack picks up the pen and scribbles fast, wondering if he should slow down so that Kyle would actually be able to read his writing.
Her name is Lucy. We walked home together, that's why I was late.
"Lucy, eh? Pretty name."
Not as pretty as her.
"I bet not, kid."
Jack smiles and, upon realizing he did so, covers his mouth quickly with a pale hand. He’s been doing that a lot lately, smiling, and honestly, it’s not as bad as he thinks it is.
“How’s your family? ‘Rents still giving you a hard time?”
Don’t they always?
“That’s their job, bro.”
Jack rolls his eyes, since when is abuse and neglect and abandonment part of the job description of a parent? He doesn’t like it when these sessions always have to be about his family, his home life. He caps the pen and rolls it across the desk to Kyle, sending the message that he was done; there would be no more writing for today. Kyle gets the message and sighs, standing up slowly and smoothing down his shirt.
“Alright, that’s enough. You can go, see you next week.”
The older man extends a hand and Jack doesn’t take it. He grabs his jacket, slings it over his shoulder, and walks quietly out of the room. Kyle is used to this by now so he takes no offence. He simply sits down again and pulls out the file marked with Jack’s name. Under the heading of ‘
After a short walk through town, Jack arrives home. It’s nearing
“Get yo’ no good self down here.”
As Jack makes that long trip to the room he hates, he knows something is wrong, he can sense it, feel it inside of him. He wouldn’t be called into that dark, dusty basement for just no reason at all. Throughout all of the years of his life, he has learned this, learned to come when asked, learned that there is always a cause for these “meetings”. He never stopped them, sure, he thought about it, but he lacked the courage necessary to put an end to what he has, in a sense, grown accustomed to.
There’s a single light turned on, one of those bare bulbs that hang from the ceiling and always threaten to hit you square in the face. The light casts an eerie glow over the room, over all of the boxes and bags that hold childhood memories once treasured. A shadow looms in the background, a big, bulky figure, slightly swaying as a result of the drunken stupor he’s launched himself into. To a stranger, this would be cause for alarm, but to Jack, it’s routine.
“What took you so long, boy?” The speech was slightly slurred, as was expected, but despite this, Todd still knew how to get his point across.
He wouldn’t get an answer, he never does. Him of all people should know that Jack doesn’t speak, doesn’t laugh, or more importantly, doesn’t scream. This doesn’t stop him, doesn’t even come close to stopping him. He still slurs and screams and bitches at his son almost every night, doing nothing short of throwing up his lungs to degrade his own flesh and blood.
“Y’know, I saw you and that girl walking home together. She’s too good for you,” to Todd, everyone was always too good for Jack, “I don’t understand why anybody with half a brain around here would want to be close to you anyways.”
This doesn’t hurt Jack; he’s heard it all before. He simply stands there, looking all strong and confident, waiting for the first hit of the night, the first slap across the face or punch to the gut.
“I ain’t no fool, boy. You show up down here, looking like you could just hit right back. That ain’t never gonna happen, you damn well know that.”
Yes, of course he knows that. He’s known that since the very beginning, since the very first of these almost nightly occurrences. Still, he doesn’t back down. He still holds his head high, making it known to his father, if you could even call him that, that he will make it out alive, he always does.
“Why a girl? I know you’ll turn out a faggot, and when you do…” He trails off, not knowing what to say, or simply running out of breath, one could never really tell.
Jack knows it’s coming, it’s about that time. The sexuality talk always turns some switch in Todd’s brain on that controls his fists, and when it’s on, it doesn’t come off for a very long time. He swings and he misses, swearing under his breath and hacking that five-pack-a-day-smoker hack.
Jack isn’t fazed. He still stands in the same spot, staring off into space at some tiny crack or small paint chip. He braces himself for the brutal impact that he knows will affect him sometime in the next thirty seconds, once or maybe twice.
“Protect yourself, boy. You’ve gone and made me real angry now,” Todd sneers, when in fact, Jack has done nothing different then he ever does.
A few punches are thrown, some high, some low, all of them seemingly ignored by Jack. The previously scabbed over cut on his right temple is bashed open again, blood flowing rapidly out of the wound, discoloring the white tee-shirt that is thrown over his slim figure. Sure, it hurts. He won’t deny that, and if he would (it’s not a matter of if he could), he’d probably let a few groans and moans and cries slip out.
By now, he’s on the ground. Heavy feet clad in what seem like iron shoes are kicking his chest and groin repeatedly, not slowing down or stopping for the world. Jack’s chest has tightened and his throat is just about closed, clogged with blood from internal or external wounds, it doesn’t matter now.
Jack can smell the alcohol on his father’s breath. Strong and pungent, it fills his nostrils almost to the point of making him physically ill. He never has been one for drinking. He would like to think that the mix of whiskey, vodka, and whatever else Todd consumed that evening is the only thing propelling this rage, this need for power; however, it isn’t. Jack knows that even without the help of the empty Jack Daniel’s bottle on the floor, he still would be in the same position, choking on his blood, gasping for some air.
After a few more minutes of battering, Todd runs out of steam. That’s one reason why Jack should thank the alcohol. Eventually, it runs its course, and all can be well again. After a final blow to the abdomen, the tired old man composes himself, wiping some bright red blood off of his shoe. He starts up the stairs, not looking back to take in the sight of his bruised son.
“Kid,” he calls, when he reaches the top step, “don’t forget to clean this mess up. Your mother doesn’t appreciate her things getting dirty.”
The door slams, leaving a bleeding and broken Jack on the grungy floor. Acknowledging the fact that he was now alone, he seizes the opportunity to let out a low moan. The sound is weak and gurgled, hindered by the vast amount of thick liquid that still rests in his throat. He starts to cough it up, eventually gagging, and the rancid material expels itself all over the floor.
As he cleans, Jack does something that he hasn’t in a long time. He hums a simple tune, one that he heard on the radio, one that he doesn’t particularly like, but still remembers the melody. He has reason to hum now; he has reason to smile. Sure, he is bleeding violently all over himself and the room; sure, he is living in a battered household. That isn’t what matters, he’s used to that. What matters is that he’s finally found someone who he thinks he can trust. He’s finally found someone who could be called a friend. He’s finally found Lucy.
That day comes to a close and a few more follow suit and Jack has reached a level of happiness that not one person can deny. He and Lucy have spent almost every walk home together, her speaking the words and him playing a simple game of charades to convey whatever message he needs to get across. He can’t honestly remember another time when he felt as safe and comfortable as he does when he is with her. She lets him be himself, not pushing or shoving him to speak. He appreciates this greatly and thanks her constantly with his actions and written words.
As more days and weeks pass by, their friendship grows even closer. Lucy goes to all of Jack’s appointments with him as a support system, as that welcoming touch of comfort he needs; he has made more progress in a few simple weeks than in all his years there. Kyle has no objections to this and, although he will never admit it, enjoys having her around; she always seems to brighten up the room.
It’s a Friday, and the two find themselves in those comfortable chairs that are always warm. Jack has been having a particularly hard week at home and is especially anxious to get things off his chest. He’s been doing a lot of that lately, expressing himself, and his efforts have been praised in full. He doesn’t know exactly how much he wants to reveal to the others today, but will do as much as he can.
“So, how’s life?” Kyle asks, voice full of fun.
“School is such a drag, you have no idea. Having Jack there is making it alright though,” Lucy says, turning to lock eyes with the awkwardly quiet boy beside her.
“Jack, how about you? Anything new?”
He shakes his head, eyes never leaving the ground. Something is up, and the two others find themselves filled with a sudden intrigue.
“J, what’s up?” a concerned Lucy asks, and then, turning her attention to Kyle, “he wasn’t like this when we left his house.”
Jack hates that, hates having people talk about him when he is so obviously sitting right next to them. He sends a glare her way but she avoids it, keeping her eyes straight ahead. While Jack continues to fill with feelings of anger and betrayal, Lucy and Kyle’s conversation about him drags on, the last straw for an already distraught teen.
He stands and walks to the back of the office, his actions not even causing a glance his way. The other two are so involved in their conversation that they don’t notice when he walks away, don’t notice when he picks up that heavy decorative ashtray. They do, however, notice when he hurls the thing across the room. The object strikes the bare window, shattering it into a million little pieces that rain down onto the carpeted floor. He smiles a somewhat victorious grin and calmly returns to his previous seat. The three sit in silence for what seems like a very, very long time but in actuality is only a few seconds.
“Jack, is there something you would like to tell us? If there’s something on your mind, you can tell us,” Kyle murmurs, barely audible.
Jack starts to play his little game of charades again, requesting a pen or pencil or anything he could write with and a notebook or single sheet of computer paper or anything he could write on. He gets what he asks for (a pencil and sheet of computer paper, to be exact) and starts to write out a simple message.
I want to tell somebody. Tell them what happened to me.
His doctor and friend let out startled gasps, full of surprise and wonder. Sure, he had been making progress, but they never thought he would just want to tell them what happened to him, what made him how he is today.
“Alright, yeah, you can tell us. Just, uh, let me grab your file to, uh, document what you say,” the therapist rushes out as he fidgets nervously.
Jack sends him an awkward look, gaining a giggle from Lucy. The pale twenty-something all but runs to the filing cabinet and gets the manila folder stuffed full with papers and napkins and receipts, anything that Jack could find to write things on in the past few weeks.
“This is simply procedure. I mean, I do have to follow the doctor code or whatever sometimes. Alright, I’m set. So, whenever you’re ready, fire away.”
Now that this is actually going to happen, Jack can’t help but feel a little bit scared and nervous that maybe he is making a mistake by telling what happened to him so long ago. The pencil moves slowly across the paper, revealing letter by letter the story of his past. He isn’t sure what exactly made him want to do this, but he is, and that idea freaks him out more than any other. He looks to Lucy for comfort and she is there, flashing her white-toothed grin. That is enough for him and his pencil moves faster now, finishing what he started.
When I was younger my brother hurt me. I was 10 and he was 16. He came home from school when my parents were still at work. Then he hurt me.
“Hurt you how, Jack? Did he hit you?” Kyle asks, writing simultaneously.
Well that and other things. He would hurt me like… sexually.
This, of course, creates startled responses from Lucy and Kyle. They had never in a million years thought that this is what had been bothering him for so long. The rest of the session flies by with Kyle asking questions and Jack responding with little movements and words. Lucy’s eyes are continuously locked onto Jack, not moving for the world. It feels like an eternity before the meeting is over, an eternity before the awkward trio can part.
“Alright, that’s good. You guys are free to go. Come back next week and we can work through this. Jack, can I tell your mom? I think she needs to know.”
Jack nods, slow and apprehensive. He feels that she needs to know, needs to understand what haunts him. He grabs his bag and exits the room, Lucy following close behind.
Kyle is left in a state of shock; he, as a therapist, has never once had to deal with something of this magnitude. Sighing quietly, he picks up the phone that is situated crookedly on his desk and dials the number that is shown on Jack’s file. In a way, he is apprehensive about calling Greta, but he knows it must be done, if only for some sense of closure. He regains his composure and listens to the loud ring and eventual greeting on the other end.
“Hello?” Greta chirps cheerfully from the other end.
“Yes, Greta, hi. This is Kyle Martin, Jack’s doctor,” his voice is tiny and he is surprised Greta could even hear him.
“Oh, Dr. Martin, what a pleasant surprise. Is there a reason for this call?”
“Yeah, um, I would rather not discuss this over the phone. Do you think you could stop in? It’s rather important.”
“Sure, I’ll be there in a few minutes,” her voice no longer has that happiness, that color, “thank you, Kyle.”
The phone clicks and the dial tone sounds loud and uncomforting. Kyle feels somewhat better now knowing that one of the hard parts is over; however, the hardest is yet to come and he has no idea how to handle it with the poise he is expected to have.
The few minutes pass by all too quickly and before he is fully prepared Greta walks into the unfamiliar room. She had only been there a few times before and did not want to make visiting a habit. She could not for the life of her imagine why Dr. Martin would call, saying that it was imperative to stop by the office. The thought of Jack possibly moving forward in his so-called recovery process never even crossed her mind.
“Greta, hey,” Kyle greets, taking on a tone that is not like his normal cheery speech, “thanks for stopping by. I have to, well, there’s been an update.”
“What kind of update, Doctor? Why in the world have you called me here?”
“There’s been a breakthrough. Jack wrote something down today, something big.”
“Well, then what is it? I don’t have all day you know! It’s not polite to keep a woman waiting.”
Greta often acts like this when she is nervous about something. Nervous about what, she didn’t particularly know, but nervous nonetheless. She never had thought about what she would do if something came up in Jack’s therapy; she never thought she would have to deal with it.
“It’s… it’s about his brother,” this seems hard for Kyle to say; his voice is rough and quiet.
“Bryce? What does he have to do with all of this mess?”
“Jack said, well, wrote,” an obnoxious laugh escapes his lips, “that Bryce abused him when he was younger.”
“Abused him? That’s a bunch of lies. My Bryce would never do anything to hurt his brother.”
“I have the paper he wrote it on right here. Do you need me to read it?”
A single white page is plucked off the desk by Kyle’s hand. He holds it up as if to begin reading, but Greta, visibly distraught, snatches it out of his grasp.
“I can read it myself, thank you very much,” she glances down at the paper and gasps, startled by the words that are written there, “sexually abused, no, that’s just not possible. Bryce would not do that, I think I know my son.”
“Maybe you should take the time to know your other son as well, ma’am. If this is true, and even if it isn’t, Bryce needs to be addressed, for the good of all parties involved.”
Barely staying long enough to hear the last few words, Greta is out the door. She knows her baby better then that. She knows that little Bryce would never do anything to hurt anyone, especially his own family. She is caught up in this perfect image of her eldest son, seeing him as the perfect child, the perfect brother, the perfect everything. Soon to be exposed to her, she is caught up in a perfect lie.
As soon as she steps foot into the comfort and familiarity of her living room, Greta picks up the phone, dialing a memorized number. It rings once, twice, three times before her pride and joy answers, sounding tired and worn.
“Yeah?” comes through to her ear, scratchy and strained with sleep.
“Bryce, I need to talk to you. It’s about your brother,” Greta rushes out, all in one breath.
“Jack? What happened to him? Is he talking?”
”No, no, nothing of the sort. Honey, he’s… well, he’s accused you of hurting him.”
Bryce’s breath catches in his throat and he lets out a stressful sigh. He never would’ve imagined in a million years that Jack would reveal this anyone, let alone a therapist whom he pretty much loathes.
“Bryce? Bryce, are you there?”
“Yeah, Mom, sorry. I just didn’t expect that.”
“Well, then, is it true? What the hell is he talking about Bryce?”
Greta was angry now. She had the slightest feeling that maybe what Jack has exposed is actually true. If this was the case, she had no idea how to deal with the situation; she was never good in times of distress.
“God, I didn’t mean for it to get that far.”
“So, it’s true? What were you thinking? I can’t believe you, of all people,” she trails off, hearing Bryce break into a soft cry on the other end.
“I’m sorry, Mom. Tell Jack I’m sorry, too. I didn’t know it would get that out of hand. God, I couldn’t stop it, I swear,” Bryce is sobbing now, loud and uncontrollable, “I’m so sorry, if I could take it back I would.”
The line went dead then, and that was the last anyone had ever heard from him. No one expected him to what he would, in the near future, do. It was a Saturday when they got the call. It was a Saturday when Greta’s world got a little bit closer to crumbling down.
They found him hanging in his bedroom, swaying slightly, that creaking noise driving them mad. If only the rafters had been a few inches lower; he probably would’ve made it. One of the shocked roommates cut the rope, while another one laid him gently on the floor. They checked for a pulse, and - of course - there wasn’t one. When the paramedics got there, he was pronounced dead. It was
Jack stands at the funeral alone, wind nipping at his heels. His mother and father are sitting front and center as the Reverend speaks his solemn words. Greta is crying; a soft, almost inaudible whimper that is carried away quickly on the breeze.
Jack isn’t sad. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t make himself feel an ounce of remorse. In his mind, Bryce got what he deserved. He hopes that it hurt, hopes that it was the worst pain he had ever felt in his life. Deep down inside, Jack wishes he could’ve been there to administer the pain, to have made Bryce suffer as much as he has. Jack wishes his hands would’ve been the ones tying the rope, his hands pushing his brother off the chair, his hands getting rid of the one person who he despised more than any other.
Jack wouldn’t let Lucy come to the funeral. They were going to find each other once it was over, though. They would go to that park that they went to on the first day they knew each other. That was a nice park, full of nice memories to balance with the not-so-nice ones. He wills the service to go faster, wanting to leave the morbidity and wanting to welcome a friendly face. He glances down at the program, and upon seeing they were only half way through the elaborate list of things, he decides to head out early.
No one notices Jack as he walks out of the cemetery and down the winding road. He is glad the wind was pushing at his back, glad that it could get him to Lucy faster. It’s been only a few months since they first walked down this same road, but he feels like he could never survive without her.
It seems to be hours later when Jack finds himself in the large, green park. It seems to be an even longer amount of time before his eyes glance upon her. She’s wearing his sweater and, despite their similar body structures, has to wrap it around herself almost twice to keep from drowning. She spots him, too, and he gets that feeling in the pit of his stomach, that feeling of love.
“Finally! I know you said you wouldn’t be here until later but I came early and well, you know I get so bored when I’m left alone somewhere,” Lucy says, almost singing the words.
Jack smiles and nods, wrapping his goose-bumped arms around that slim figure, burying his head in her neck and breathing in the smell of her favorite shampoo. That’s how he always greets her; that’s how he always shows that he is there for her, no matter what. She responds in a similar fashion, returning the tight embrace and nuzzling her nose into his chest.
“Come on,” she mutters, untangling herself from the mess of limbs, “I have some snacks at home. Let’s watch some movies or something.”
She starts tugging on his arm in a gentle manner, but he doesn’t want to follow. She turns around and shoots a confused glance his way; Jack has different plans for today. He smiles and points toward the swings, starting to walk slowly towards them, begging for her to follow.
Lucy skips a little to catch up with him, and when she does, slips her small, cold hand into his slightly larger one. He’s shocked at first, but gradually gives in and intertwines their fingers, not once letting his eyes tear apart from hers. This is something new, something different, but Jack doesn’t mind. He supposes that they are somewhat of a couple, even though they have never once discussed the matter.
They reach the swings, two rusty, dusty, unused childhood favorites, and take a seat. Their hands sway between them and their eyes stay locked together, speaking of matters that would be far less comfortable to talk about with real words. Eventually, Lucy breaks the silence. Jack doesn’t care; her voice is something that he could listen to all day.
“This is nice.”
She gets a nod and a slight squeeze of the fingers as a response. The squeeze is one of those things that make her butterflies come alive, dancing and flying and reminding her that she has definite feelings for this boy.
“Jack, I just – you have – I think that I…” she cuts herself off, not allowing any other stuttering phrases to pop out of her mouth.
Jack is amused; she’s always the one with something to say, something witty and fun. He lets out a simple laugh, one with not much gusto or volume, but a laugh nonetheless.
“Oh, you think it’s funny, do ya? The only thing that gets you to make a noise is when the girl with all the answers is tongue tied, huh?”
She instantly regrets what she said. She didn’t mean it seriously; she would never want to upset him. Jack’s face has gone from bright and full of life to sad and full of darkness. His smile is now a frown, his eyes losing that rare sparkle. She notices, though, that even a frown makes him look gorgeous. His lips are thin and pencil-like, and the way they create a perfect pout arouses an excitement inside of her that she cannot explain.
Her body moves without permission (except that of her heart) and before her mind knows it, her own thin lips are on his, creating a bond that no one else could possibly understand. The movement is simple and chaste, but sends an electric shock through both of their bodies. They both enjoy it, there would be no reason not to, but suddenly, with no warning, Lucy pulls back, eyes wide and heart racing.
“Sorry, that was – “
Jack takes the initiative this time, leaning forward to close the gap between them. He hasn’t done this much before, and sure, he wouldn’t call himself a pro, but he isn’t completely oblivious to how it’s done. This time it’s a little more heated, lips moving together and working as a team as opposed to being still as statues.
Perhaps it was the electric ripple sent through his body every time he touched this girl, or perhaps it was because he finally found someone he could trust, but, either way, Jack does something that he hasn’t done in countless years. It shocks him almost as much as it shocks her; he wasn’t expecting it to happen. Jack is expressing a part of himself that hasn’t been available since he was the horrid age of ten.
“Completely perfect,” slips out of his mouth, quiet and grainy, but absolutely beautiful in Lucy’s eyes.
Before either of them knows it, tears are washing down both of their faces. This is groundbreaking for him, groundbreaking for them, and they aren’t going to do anything to hide the fact that it makes them ecstatic. Of course, this celebration calls for another kiss, just as simple as the first, but just as perfect as ever.
“You did it, baby, I knew you could,” it sounds as if Lucy is a first time mom and Jack is her infant son, but this doesn’t bother them any.
“It never would’ve happened if it weren’t for you, Luce, you know that.”
The two stay in the park for a while, as the sunny albeit chilly day was a gratifying change. They don’t say much, only a few words here and there when the breeze is a little too strong or one kicks dirt onto the other. Grins are permanently plastered onto their faces and they probably look positively ridiculous, but they could really care less.
As the evening drags on, the sun begins to slowly set and the pair decides to head home. They don’t want to separate but know they must; for them, parting is one thing they do not look forward to.
“I’ll see you later, ‘kay? We need to make plans for next week,” Lucy all but sings out.
“Yeah, how ‘bout I call you?” Jack asks, voice still quiet but gaining more strength.
“Yeah, that would be nice.”
This exchange is followed by yet another long, warm embrace. They both hold on as tightly as they can for a good thirty seconds, making it seem like this is the last time they would ever see each other. Sometime during this slightly intimate hug, the two pairs of lips gradually make their way to each other, sending unexplainable warmth through each respective body.
“Mm, bye. Call me sometime,” Lucy breaths out, voice somewhat hindered by Jack’s tee shirt.
She slowly starts to make her way to the parked car that is located only a few dozen feet away. Jack gives a simple wave and begins his short walk to his home, one that will probably be filled with casseroles and pies and all those foods that people think will bring comfort.
He gets home in a relatively small amount of time and immediately climbs the steps to his bedroom, avoiding the hugs and encouraging words from family members that he hasn’t seen in years. He throws his body onto the small dirty bed and reflects on the day that he has had, focusing mainly on the better parts. In a few hours he will pick up the phone and call his friend, girlfriend, whatever she is now and enjoy the freedom that comes with finally talking once again.
The following days imitate that routine, minus the funeral, of course. Jack and Lucy talk in the park for hours and then find themselves doing the same over the phone. School is out for summer, which is both a blessing and a curse for the pair.
Todd hasn’t been bothering Jack as much as usual, which is definitely something to smile over. Kyle sat down with both parents and explained the situation more thoroughly, including how he would be affected in the future, how he needs to be treated, etc. Despite this, Todd still drinks and smokes and gets angry, but chooses to release his anger in another way: towards his home. The floors are scratched and dirty, the curtains ripped and wrinkled, and a bunch of others things have been somehow decreased in elegance as well.
It’s mid-summer when the drinking and smoking finally catches up to him, and now he’s lying in a sterilized hospital room fighting for another breath. In a few weeks, he will be dead. In a few weeks, there will be another visit to the unwelcoming cemetery for Jack and his family. In a few weeks, all the predictions came true.
Todd passed away - it wasn’t really important how - but he did, and Jack feels no pain. Greta is torn apart. She mopes around the house and cries on the phone to relatives about how he was the perfect husband and father. Jack wants to yell and make her see that he wasn’t, he never was and, had he not died, never would be.
The funeral is just as boring and hateful for Jack as Bryce’s had been. This time, Lucy is there with him, and they spend the whole service sitting on the dirty ground in their Sunday best, spelling out messages in the dirt.
It’s been a month or more since that day in the park. Ever since then, when Jack and Lucy are together, he is a common jabber jaws. She doesn’t mind; his voice is one that could never grow old. To anyone but her; however, he is still the same old Jack, silent and strange.
After the funeral, the three head back to Jack’s house, the car quiet and full of tension. Greta has been more and more accepting of Jack and Lucy’s relationship as the days have passed and doesn’t mind when she stops by or calls at ungodly hours of the night. As a couple, they have decided that the time for Jack to start talking to his mom once again is fast approaching. As his own person, Jack has decided that that time may be sooner than Lucy thinks.
“So,” Greta clears her throat, the scratchy sound leftover from crying still apparent, “what would you guys like for dinner? There is about twenty different casseroles so I’m sure you could find anything you like.”
“We’ll find something, don’t worry,” Lucy’s sweet voice calls from the backseat.
Greta sighs and focuses all of her attention on the road again, cautiously wiping a few lingering tears from her eye. Lucy and Jack are talking with their eyes again, something they haven’t done in quite a while. Jack nods and somehow Lucy knows exactly what it means, what he’s going to do. She mouths a few words, something about waiting until they got home, the shock might cause Greta to crash, and Jack nods again.
They pull into the empty garage and sit in the car for a few more minutes, even after the engine is off. Eventually, Greta opens her door and literally drags herself into the house, visibly exhausted. Jack and Lucy follow suit, hands clasped together. The three scatter into their needed areas and do whatever it is they had to do before regrouping in the kitchen to try to choose between all the food that has collected.
After a few minutes of thumbs up or thumbs down or groans of disgust they finally settle on a simple vegetarian casserole. As they sit around the table, Jack looks at Lucy and gives that same nod, the one that says he is ready to do it. He clears his throat and opens his mouth, a little hesitant but excited to get this milestone out of the way.
“I love you, Mom.”
Her eyes quickly dart up from her plate and fall upon the only thing that matters right now: her son. Tears immediately start flowing from the light circles of color as she leaps up and rushes to the other side of the large mahogany table. By the time she is there, Jack is up as well, his arms wide and ready for a hug. Lucy sits quietly, her face full of life and happiness, with one small hand wiping a few droplets from the corners of her own gorgeous eyes. The embrace seems to last forever, and it’s one of those where you don’t even notice the world around you, one of those where everything stops and all that matters is you and whoever it is that is clutching on.
“Jack, honey, you don’t know how happy I am right now. How long have you been talking? I’m so proud of you!”
“It’s been a while, Mom, a month or a little more. It never would’ve happened if it weren’t for her,” he sends a romantic glance in Lucy’s direction, and in that moment, Greta realizes just how much they care for each other.
“He’s been doing really well, Greta. He didn’t want to hide it from you this long, but we just didn’t think it was the right time yet. We wanted it to be perfect,” Lucy intervenes, finally standing and joining the loving embrace.
They stay like that for a few minutes, enjoying the warmth and comfort of each other’s arms. When they do break apart, their clothes are wet from tears and their mouths are permanently turned upwards. The three haven’t felt the level of happiness they are feeling in this moment in the longest time, and the feeling is one they never want to lose.
They sit once again and finish their dinner, mouths constantly moving. They talk about the weather, Jack’s upcoming birthday, and, finally, the past few months. Those months have been hard on everyone, especially Jack, and the words they are sharing are just the first step on the road to being healed from the traumatic experiences that have devastated their lives. They spend the night curled up around a fire, even though it is close to 80 degrees outside, sharing stories and laughing. Lucy and Jack eventually head up to his room for the night, and Greta soon follows suit, her energy level dangerously low.
Lucy doesn’t leave their house once for the next week. Her parents have been told about the situation and they are more understanding of it than anyone could ask. In that week, Greta has learned more about her son and his girlfriend than she could ever hope to know. She’s learned about their first kiss, their first time going on a real date, and how they plan on getting an apartment together sometime soon, after Jack’s birthday. She wasn’t that happy with the announcement of him moving out at first, but eventually, she grew to the idea.
Before anyone knows it, August thirteenth has arrived, and Jack is officially eighteen years of age. The three spend the day in the park, the one where everything has happened, spread out on a blanket in the sun. They have cake and ice cream and do all the typical party things and, after a while, just lay there talking about anything they can think of. The conversation quickly turns to the move that Jack and Lucy hope to make and things don’t exactly go as planned.
“Do you guys have a location picked out? I know of some good properties downtown that wouldn’t be that hard to get,” Greta says, eyes closed to the blinding sun.
“We haven’t looked at that many places yet. We just know that we want to stay somewhere in the area,” Lucy replies, using her hand to fan away some of the heat.
“And it has to be cheap! We don’t have that much money saved up,” Jack adds in, throwing his body on top of Lucy’s.
She pushes him off with a light giggle, the blush that hasn’t occurred in so long creeping onto her cheeks. Lucy doesn’t mind public displays of their love, but when they are around Jack’s mom it is a different story. The two are so caught up in the little wrestling match that has broken out that they don’t even notice when Greta pulls some pages out of the picnic basket they brought along. She tosses them playfully onto their sweaty bodies and leans back once again.
“What are these?” Jack asks, slightly out of breath.
“Those are lease papers, sweetie,” Greta answers, excitement clearly evident in her voice, “I couldn’t decide on what to get you as a present, so I just decided on this. Everything is under my name so you won’t have to worry about rent or utilities.”
The two gasp and Lucy grabs the official documents out of Jack’s hands, wanting to get a better look at them herself.
“Wow! This is… this is fantastic. Thank you so much. This means the world, Greta. It does, honestly,” Lucy’s voice cracks at the end of her joyous thank-you.
“It’s no problem, Luce. I know how much you and Jack love each other. I can see it better than anyone around you can. I know that you want this, need this. It’s the least I could do.”
That night, Greta, Lucy, and Jack drive to what will soon be their new home. The apartment isn’t anything too fancy, just a simple one bedroom, but it’s more than they could ask for. The place is empty and the walls bare; a fresh coat of paint having been put on recently.
“So, what do you think?” Greta asks, beaming.
“It’s perfect, Mom, really. We could never thank you enough,” Jack replies, wrapping his arms around his short mother.
“Yeah, thanks a ton. We’ll be really happy here, I just know it,” Lucy adds in, joining the other two.
“Well, it’s my pleasure, guys, as long as you promise to come visit me at least once a week and call everyday!”
The younger two laugh and agree to the condition. Ever since his father’s death, Jack’s relationship with his mother has been better than it ever was and, for that, he is grateful.
The next few days are full of boxes and furniture. Except for the utility items, they have bought everything either new or slightly used and are itching for the chance to get their new place absolutely perfect. Lucy has a knack for design and has been planning out everything from wall hangings to floor rugs to the placemats. Jack doesn’t complain though, he’s too in love with her for that.
Eventually, every single item is in position and, eventually, Lucy is content with how everything looks. Jack could honestly care less if their home was pretty or not, just having it was enough for him. They’ve fallen into a type of routine fairly quickly and are enjoying the life that lies before them. They have both enrolled in college, the same one, of course, and are anxious to get started.
Jack’s therapy sessions are still happening, but way more spread out than before. He’s gone to the graves of both Bryce and his father and, per Kyle’s advice, told the tombstones what he really thought of them. It was good for him and, unknown to everyone else; he would probably be doing it often.
Fast-forward a few weeks and you’ll find Jack kneeling in front of Lucy, open ring box in hand. Fast-forward a few seconds and you’ll see her bawling uncontrollably, grabbing the ring and thrusting it onto her finger. Greta’s reaction was a typical one, but finally, she came around. Jack thinks that everything will work out, even if they are still young.
Skip to a year ahead and you’ll witness the wedding of a lifetime. Jack thinks Lucy looks gorgeous and breaks down at the sight of her walking down the aisle, hand in hand with her father. Everything goes off without a hitch and the happy couple flies off to their honeymoon in
Now, advance nine months and some odd days. Their little starter apartment is no more, and an actual house is making its way into the picture. You’ll see Jack and Lucy and their new addition: a little baby girl, barely a week old. Her name is Elena Marie and to her elated parents she is the cutest baby to ever live. No one could really blame them though; with her momma’s big eyes, she could put anyone to shame.
It’s been a year since their little bundle of joy was born and that year has been the best both Jack and Lucy have ever had. On this particular day, they are taking a trip to the pet store downtown, wanting to get something else to add to the family portrait. As soon as they walk in, Lucy’s eyes land on a baby kitten. The thing is pure white and almost as fluffy as a cotton ball. It is curled up into a tight ball and is purring ever so slightly. With no hesitation, Lucy reaches into the cage and lifts the cute thing out. She realizes that is a boy and squeals; he reminds her of a childhood cat she had all those years ago.
“Jack, we have to get him! Isn’t he just adorable? Elena will just love him, I know it,” she practically shouts out, shoving the cat closer to Jack’s face, trying to make a point.
Jack gives in and they purchase the new member, not-so-cleverly named Kitten. The jumpy animal fits in well at their house and seems to settle into their routine just fine, which pleases both parents. Elena loves the furry creature and cuddles him almost consistently, which causes Lucy to go camera crazy, trying to capture every second of her daughter’s playtime with the feline.
They’ve made the most of everything they have been given, and their efforts have been rewarded in full. Jack has fully recovered from any childhood trauma and still visits his brother and father in the cemetery almost regularly. Everyone in the house is happy and, to them, nothing could ever possibly go wrong. They thank whoever may be watching over them daily, grateful that now, when the alarm goes off at
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