Spiral
Title: Spiral
Characters: Jared Phillips
Universe(s): A Safe Harbor
Timeline: Jared is a sophomore in high school when this takes place
Rating: T+ (language; TW: self-harm)
Notes: This explains how Jared ended up getting Popo.
He had just needed to calm down.
That was why he had done it. He just needed to get back to his safe, quiet place and fucking breathe and be okay before he jumped out of his fucking skin because this place and these people and everything was suffocating him and he was going to die if he didn't do it. He would just stop breathing or his heart would just fucking explode inside his chest and he had to do it to save himself because clearly no one else was going to.
It was easy to skip class. He did it all the time. It had been easy to sneak the compass into his pocket from the bin in his geometry class, too. No one ever paid him any mind unless they were looking to toss him into a trash can or shove him into his locker. Today, he probably would have welcomed it.
He needed the quiet.
He had a routine down. He was good at it now. Efficient. If he got the urge to cut at school, he didn't fight it anymore. Not since that afternoon in his bedroom with Paul. Not since what tiny salvageable portion of his grades had tanked because he had just stopped caring. Not since he didn't have anything left to lose.
He hung around the classroom he was supposed to be in next and waited for the crowd of students from the previous class to pour out from the doorway. Seamlessly, silently, he blended into the crowd and let himself get lost in the jungle of sneakers and textbooks and backpacks. From there it was easy to break away from the crowd and sneak off to the boy's locker room just down the hallway. It was always empty in the middle of the day and he wouldn't be disturbed. There were sinks and soap and paper towels so he could clean himself up afterwards if he felt like it.
Now he was huddled in a shower stall, sitting in the furthest corner with his knees drawn up to his chest. He waited for the world to get quiet around him again. Shoes stopped squeaking on the linoleum floors, that stupid fucking bell stopped ringing, and doors to classrooms closed and stayed closed. Everyone was back in class again. He was alone. Finally. Finally, it was quiet again.
He reached into the pocket of his hoodie and removed the metal compass. He tapped his fingertip against the sharp point to test it. Satisfied, he glanced around one more time, knowing he was alone, but needing the reassurance to calm the storm going on inside his head. Then he carefully tugged the sleeve of his sweatshirt up over his left arm, stopping when it was pulled up to his elbow.
His eyes scanned up and down his arm, observing the cuts there. Some had scabbed over and had nearly healed, while some were still pink and fresh. He ran his fingertips over them, feeling the scarred skin that went all the way up to his elbow. Here, under the awful fluorescent lights of the school, the cuts looked much, much worse than they did under the dim lights of his bedroom. He liked this better. It better reflected the way he felt on the inside. At home, in the dark, it was like they weren't even there, and only served as a reminder of how insignificant he was to everyone around him.
The metal tip of the compass needle was cool against his pale white skin. Already, he felt as if his endorphins were primed and ready to be released. His heart was already beating faster. It'd make the blood pump out faster. He briefly wondered what would happen if he cut deeper this time and didn't try and stop it. He was making it easy for them. He was in a shower stall with a drain, after all.
Slowly he dragged the needle across his skin, letting out a deep hiss of air between his closed lips. The cut was small and straight and looked at home between an old cut and a fresh one from just this morning when he was in the bathroom puking up the breakfast he had tried to make himself eat. He made another one just next to it, vertically this time, and he stopped, watching the two cuts bleed until they bled into each other and he couldn't tell where the first one ended and the other one began.
He sighed and closed his eyes, feeling his heart rate begin to return to normal. Sometimes, all it took was one or two. Just a brief moment of stinging pain and he could live through the rest of the day.
The shower stall's walls kept him from seeing the clock on the wall, but he guessed he sat there for about twenty minutes before the bleeding had essentially stopped and he got to his feet to wash his arm off. He walked over to the row of sinks and turned the faucet on, letting the water warm up a bit. He dispensed some soap into his hand and rubbed it up and down his arm and he ignored the burning sensation he felt as the soap seeped into the new cuts on his arm. He was used to it and it felt good.
When the water was hot enough to be steaming, he stuck his arm under the faucet and this time, he did wince and hiss in pain. It washed the soap off and nearly scalded his skin but he left his arm under the stream and found himself smiling as the pain intensified.
"Fuck," he looked at his reflection in the mirror, and he grinned back at himself, a laugh slipping out, "it fucking hurts!"
He didn't hear them come in. There was no reason to suspect someone else would be coming in to use the locker room. It was always empty and he had never been caught before. But today was different.
"The fuck are you doing!"
His head shot up and he turned around to see the entire football team standing behind him, towels and bars of soap in their hands. They had just finished practice and were heading for the showers and they saw him. They saw him.
He freaked and turned the water faucet off as fast as he could. He hastily shoved his hoodie sleeve down to cover his arm, and he wanted to run, he tried to run, but they were on him before he could disappear and the quarterback shoved him backwards toward the sink. He stumbled on his feet, turned and caught himself on the lip of the sink before he fell face-first against the porcelain fixture. The movement jostled him and the compass fell off the corner of the sink it had been resting on and it all seemed to happen in slow-motion as he watched it fall and clatter onto the floor at his feet.
"What the fuck is this?" Another member of the football team leaned down and grabbed the compass and examined it. "Holy fucking shit, it's got blood on it!"
As their faces turned from disgust to fear and more disgust, he just watched it happen through the mirrors. If he had his back turned to them, maybe it wasn't happening? The room and the people and the air were suffocating him again and fuck, if they would just let him have the compass he could make the world stop trying to fucking kill him again.
"What the fuck?" the quarterback stepped back a little, his face twisting in disgust. But then he seemed to put two and two together, and he gave Jared another shove against the sink. "You fucking freak. Did we fucking interrupt something? Were you having a little party with yourself in here? Were you fucking jerking off while you chopped yourself up? That's probably the only way a fucking freak like you can get off, isn't it? You like pain, you freaky motherfucker? We can give you some fucking pain."
Again, it seemed to happen in slow motion. He wasn't even listening to what the asshole was saying. He was physically trying to make himself disappear, appealing to any and all mystical forces and gods out there that could just make him fucking disappear or maybe just strike him down with a fucking bolt of lightning or something.
He didn't come back to reality until he looked up in the mirror and saw the quarterback standing directly behind him, and suddenly, it wasn't the quarterback lumbering behind him, but it was Paul, and the smirk on his face wasn't his smirk but it was Paul's, and his blue eyes were actually brown and before he knew what he was doing he had flipped himself around and swung a punch.
It connected, right along the side of the quarterback's face, and for a moment everyone was stunned. Reality shifted back to him again and he saw that it wasn't Paul but the football player, and he didn't have time to apologize or say anything before he felt a fist connect with his stomach and he was on the floor curled up into a tight little ball trying to protect his stomach and his ribs and his head as four or five big football players tried to kick him.
A dirty sports shoe connected with his chin and it caused him to bite down hard on his tongue, drawing blood. He heard a loud whistle echo through the room and as he finally uncurled himself, he glanced up to see the football coach shoving the players back and heard him demanding to know what the fuck was going on.
When his path was cleared, he pushed himself up and bolted from the room as fast as he could. He almost tripped as he ran full-speed down the hallway between the rows of lockers but never stopped once, even when he heard the football coach screaming his name loud enough to cause classroom doors to crack open in curiosity.
He wasn't sure how far or how long he ran. He didn't stop until he knew he was far, far away from that place and he couldn't see it in the distance anymore. He wasn't even sure where he was. His feet had been on auto-pilot and he didn't even remember the trip that got him to where he was now but he found a bench and sat down heavily as he fought to catch his breath. It felt like he had been running for at least a couple of miles.
He sat still for several minutes, letting his breathing return to normal, and as the adrenaline wore off, he winced when he finally started to feel the pain from his latest beating. He ran a hand over his gut and it ached. He had been kicked at least a few times there. He also ran his fingertips over his chin and he hissed as he felt the bruise forming there.
"Fuck." Rubbing it hurt but he rubbed it anyway. He let his hands fall into his lap and he glanced down at his right hand and noticed his red knuckles for the first time. He clenched his fingers into a tight fist and winced when it hurt and watched his knuckles turn white and then he unclenched and relaxed them.
The tears came before he even knew what was happening and they quickly turned into sobs. He slid off the bench, sat on the ground and lowered his head between his knees and tightly tugged at the hair on his head. He pulled hard and it hurt and it made him angrier because it hurt but he didn't stop and why were things so fucked up and why did he have to be this fucking freak and where were his fucking parents and why didn't anyone give a shit about what happened to him and why did he have to spend his entire fucking life as someone's punching bag?
If he walked off an overpass and fell into traffic, or let himself sink deep into the harbor, would anyone even fucking notice?
More importantly, would that finally give him the quiet he needed?
---
It had taken a while but once he finally figured out where exactly he was, he walked from there to one of the parks in the city. There were a few and he had been to all of them but this one was his favorite. It was the furthest out of the way and the furthest from his house. It was also nearly always empty around this time of day.
When he got there the only other people there was some old man walking his dog along the trail that bordered the park and a woman with her kids. The old man and the dog were moving on and the woman and her kids were getting in the car to leave. He would be alone.
He waited for everyone else to leave before he walked toward the playground area. He walked toward the swings, feeling the wood chips crunch under his feet, and he sat down in a swing facing away from the street toward the horizon. It was starting to get dark and the sun was beginning to set. He didn't have a watch but knew it had to be getting past five o'clock and knew he had been gone for a while now. He didn't care. His mom wouldn't be off work until later and his dad was probably home and didn't even know he wasn't there. Probably assumed he was locked in his room and just being quiet.
Because that's what he did. He sat in his room with his monster movies and his grandpa's guitar and he quietly fucked up everything in his life.
Slowly, he pushed himself on the swing by the heels of his feet, gripping one of the chains so he could lean his head against his arm as he watched the sun go down. Watching the sun set was calming to him. He liked to sneak away to come here and watch it whenever he could because the soft purples and pinks and calm reds helped something in him set, too. As the world around him and the sky above him grew darker, his own darkness lightened a bit.
Tonight he sat and watched the sun go down and he remained there for a long time, well after the overhead safety lights came on and it was starting to get colder. He briefly wondered what time it was now. Maybe around seven but it looked like it may as well have been midnight because that was just how things looked this time of year.
He wondered if his mom was home from her shift at work yet. He wondered if they had finally realized he wasn't in his room. Maybe they went to look for him in his room after getting a phone call from the school about the whole fucking thing in the locker room earlier and they had been planning to rip his shit apart only to find he wasn't home. He wondered if they were worried. He wondered if his mother was crying. He wondered if his dad was furious.
That was okay. He was mad at himself, too.
Finally, he got to his feet, shoved his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie, and he walked off toward the sidewalk to head home. He didn't care what happened now. The events of the day had left him completely numb, and all he wanted to do now was go upstairs to his room and curl up under the blanket and watch his movies and never, ever get up again.
As he walked home, he walked past several businesses along the sidewalk that were closing up shop for the night. He stared into all of the dark empty buildings, locked up tight with metal bars on the windows or metal gating behind the glass doors, and he stopped when he spotted a shop just up ahead that still had the lights on.
Ferdy's. Of course. It was always open. It had started out as a little mom-and-pop shop that carried a little of everything, but now it was more like a 24-hour convenience store than a charming little corner grocer. He felt his stomach growl and realized for the first time that he hadn't eaten anything that day, aside from his failed attempt at breakfast earlier that morning. He reached into his pocket and took out his wallet. He had a few dollars. Maybe he could grab a soda and a burrito or something before he got home. Maybe he could at least have one fucking meal in peace.
He walked into the store and a little electronic "ding-dong!" announced his entrance. The store was empty except for an old man tending the counter. He briefly glanced up at him and then returned to reading the newspaper.
The store was old and in serious need of renovations. It was musty and smelled a little like mold, and he knew that a family of mice probably made a nice home here, but he didn't fucking care. He walked toward the back where the coolers were and grabbed a can of Coke. Then he walked toward the counter where the warm food was and grabbed a lukewarm burrito without bothering to look at what kind it was. It had probably been there since yesterday, anyway.
He couldn't afford it, and he knew that, but he decided to walk toward the magazine rack and check out the comic books anyway. He spotted a new issue of Swamp Thing and he grabbed it to flip through.
"Hey, kid. This ain't a library. You either buy the comic book or you put it back and leave."
That had gotten the old man's attention, and he rolled his eyes as he placed the comic book back on the shelf. He briefly glanced at the shelf beside it containing the cheap, poorly-made toys one would expect to find in a place like this, and something caught his eye.
Sitting there on a shelf, glancing back at him, was a stuffed sock monkey with black button eyes and green stripes and a big red mouth. It was just a toy. It was nothing. It was insignificant. It was poorly made and the button eyes were sewn on crooked and the mouth was stitched sideways and the stripes didn't quite run straight across.
It looked like a mess and he wondered if that was why he felt so drawn to it. They were one and the same.
The monkey sat there staring at him, its long arms and legs draped over the edge of the shelf, and he couldn't have described what he felt in that moment if he had tried. He was connecting with a fucking mini-mart stuffed animal and he had to be going fucking crazy but he didn't care.
He suddenly knew he had to have this thing and it became an urgent and pressing need. He wasn't sure how much it was but he'd put back his burrito and soda if he had to. He grabbed it and glanced down at the price tag and his heart sank. Even putting the food and drink back, he still didn't have enough.
He couldn't put it back on the shelf. Some stupid little kid would come in with their mom and demand it and he'd never find it again. He glanced toward the cashier counter and saw the old man was reading his newspaper again and hadn't seemed to notice what he was doing.
It wouldn't... it wouldn't hurt anyone, right? He had never stolen anything and he didn't want to fucking start now but he needed this stupid fucking thing and no one would understand why and he didn't even understand why and he couldn't afford it. His parents would never give him money and if he left it someone else would grab it and he couldn't let that happen.
As quietly and as nonchalantly as possible, he stuffed the monkey under his sweatshirt, trying to shift its lanky arms and legs around so the bulkiness of his sweatshirt hid the lump. He threw a glance back at the old man and he was still reading his newspaper. His heart was pounding hard and he felt sweaty and flushed. Part of him had to admit this was thrilling. He had been in a fog for so fucking long and this was the first time he had felt anything other than depression for a long time but he knew he would never fucking do anything like this again as long as he could bring this thing home with him because somehow he knew it would make everything alright.
Careful to make sure the monkey wouldn't fall out, he walked toward the cashier counter and set the burrito and soda down. The old man folded his newspaper and stared at him as he scanned both items. "That's it? It sure took you long enough, kid."
"Yeah," he nodded carefully, "I couldn't decide what burrito I wanted."
It sounded like bullshit even to him, and the old man clearly wasn't buying it. "There's one type of burrito we carry and they ain't no good anyway. $3.27."
He swallowed hard and tried to moisten his suddenly dry throat. He reached into his pocket and removed his wallet, pulling out four crumpled dollar bills. The old man looked irritated that he hadn't just given him the exact amount, but he grabbed the money and popped open the cash register, coins jangling as he tried to fish out his change.
He hadn't noticed. He was going to leave with it and get home and everything past that would be fucking okay.
The old man reached over the counter and gave him his change, fishing out a bag for his soda and burrito.
"I don't need a bag." He just wanted to fucking leave as fast as possible.
The old man didn't act like he listened and bagged everything painfully slow. "Your face looks familiar... you're Phillips' boy, aren't you? I knew his daddy. Say, what the hell happened to you, kid? Looks like you got in a fight and lost, for sure." He was examining the bruise on his chin and leaning over the counter toward him and suddenly the old man's face morphed into Paul's and he jumped back away from the cashier counter in alarm and the monkey dislodged and fell out of his sweatshirt.
"What's--" the old man looked stunned for a brief second, and his face reddened in anger. "You thieving little bastard!"
The soda and burrito forgotten, he grabbed the monkey and bolted for the exit as fast as he could. Only when he heard the sound of a shotgun cocking did he stop, and even then, he hesitated.
"Turn around, you little shitstain."
Slowly, he forced his body to turn around. When he saw the barrel of the shotgun pointed back at him, he raised his hands up over his head, still tightly clutching the monkey in one of his hands.
The old man came out from behind the counter, slowly approaching him with the shotgun barrel still pointed in his direction. "Put it down."
He hesitated again. He didn't want to let go of it.
"I said put it the fuck down!" the old man barked. He did this time, letting it drop to the floor at his feet.
"I wasn't... I mean... I'm sorry," he tried to explain, knowing there was no explanation and he was just making things worse. "You don't understand. I need it."
"Are you fucking dumb? What little shits like you need is to be taught a goddamn lesson!"
The gun stock swung upwards and connected with his face, causing blood to start pouring from his nose instantly. He momentarily saw stars, stumbled backwards out of the store onto the sidewalk clutching his nose, and caught himself on a parking meter before he fell over onto the street.
"Get the fuck out of here, you piece of shit!" the old man pointed the barrel of the gun at him again, and this time, he didn't hesitate when he turned and bolted down the street.
---
The lights were all on in his house. He could see it as he walked down the sidewalk and got closer now. That wasn't a good sign. At this time of night, the only lights coming from his house was an outside porch light and the dim glow of the TV from the living room where his dad was sitting and watching something before bed. The fact that all the lights were on meant something was wrong, and he knew that tonight that something's name was "Jared".
Wasn't it always, though?
He had stalled long enough. It had been at least an hour since he had gotten his ass handed to him by the old man at Ferdy's. He had spent that time trying to figure out what the fuck he was going to say to his mom and dad and he had also tried to wipe away all the blood from his nose, knowing he had missed some and it had to be dried all over his face.
When it was clear he knew he had no idea what the hell he was going to say and he had reminded himself that at this point it didn't fucking matter anyway because his parents weren't going to listen to anything he said, he started back home. Now, as he got closer with every step, he felt a wave of nausea hit him accompanied by an underlying feeling of dread.
This was going to be bad.
He stopped just outside the fence surrounding his house and took a deep breath before he started up the walkway. He slowly ascended the rickety wooden stairs to the porch and moved the screen door out of the way before he turned the brass doorknob to the front door and pushed it open.
The TV was on and his dad was sitting on the couch. He looked up when the front door open and jumped to his feet, his face contorting in anger and something else Jared wasn't really sure of. Relief, maybe? Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. His mother had been sitting at the kitchen table sipping coffee and she also jumped to her feet when he walked into the house and when she moved he saw another smaller woman sitting at the kitchen table and recognzed her as his grandmother and he suddenly felt like such an asshole for everything he had put everyone through and he just wanted to die.
"Where the hell have you been? Do you have any idea what time it is? What were we supposed to think? We came this close to calling the cops. Do you have any idea how many phone calls we've gotten tonight? First the football coach of all people calls us to say you got into some fight at school earlier and then old man Ferdy calls us that you're a goddamn shoplifter?"
Good old Dad. Always getting to the heart of things. At least there wouldn't be any beating around the fucking bush.
"Jared, oh my God!" His mother ran up to him and squeezed him so tight it hurt, and when she pulled away she was staring at him with that look he hated more than anything in the world, that look of worry like they even fucking cared, and she cradled his face between her hands. "What happened to you!? Are you hurt?"
"No," his voice sounded mechanic and void of emotion. He was so tired and just wanted to go upstairs and go to bed. He just needed to be alone. "No, Mom, I'm fine."
"But you've got blood on you--"
"I said I'm fucking fine, Mom, alright?"
"You watch your goddamn tongue when you talk to your mom," his dad was now walking up to him and he felt his back hit the wall by the front door and fuck, he just wanted to go to his room. "You have put us through hell tonight Jared, and you're going to stand there and explain what's going on."
He glanced over his mom's shoulder and saw his grandmother standing there in the doorway to the kitchen. Her wrinkled hands were gripping a cup of coffee and her face was crinkled in worry and she was trying to ask him with just a look if he was alright and before he knew it tears were forming in his eyes and he was sorry, he was so sorry, and he wanted to tell her that but he couldn't.
"Hey!" His father's sharp tone made him turn back in his direction. "What the hell is wrong with you? Fighting in the locker room? You gave that quarterback a black eye, that Lawton kid? And the football coach said he found you with a weapon. And you're stealing things now? Didn't we raise you better than this? What, are you becoming a no-good street thug? Why do we even bother? You better start giving me some answers, boy, because--"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
The scream was primal and so loud and guttural that it hurt his vocal chords when it came out and made everyone in the room flinch.
For a moment, everyone stood silent, too stunned to say anything. Then his father reassumed his look of complete rage. "What did you just say to me?"
"I said," it came out as a growl, and he ground his teeth together as he spit the words out, "shut the fuck up. Yeah, I gave that motherfucker a black eye because he was going to pound me into the fucking ground, just like him and everyone else at that school has for every day for the past two fucking years. But you wouldn't know about that, would you, Dad? Or Mom? Because you're both never home and don't fucking care what happens to me or what I do anyway, so long as it doesn't disturb your little fucking routine. For the record, they kicked the shit out of me anyway. And I didn't have a fucking weapon. It was a compass from my fucking geometry class. As for old man Ferdy, yeah, I tried to fucking steal something and he probably broke my fucking nose with the butt of a shotgun." Tears were streaming down his cheeks and he was shouting every word that came out and he was just making things worse and nothing mattered because they didn't understand anyway. Even now, they never understood.
"Both of you never act like you give a shit about me, so why should you fucking start now? You want to be mad at me, dad? I don't fucking care, because I've been mad at you for a long fucking time and fuck you both!"
The slap was much harder than he could have ever imagined and it caused more tears to instantly spring to his eyes. It made his already pounding head start to throb, and when he looked up at his father's face he saw nothing but pure rage and disgust and he threw his arms over his face to protect himself when he saw his father's hand drawing back to hit him again.
Suddenly his mother was screaming at his father to stop hitting him and she was shoving him away from Jared and when the staircase was clear he ran for the steps and took them three at a time. He tripped and landed hard on his knee but pushed himself back up and ran for his bedroom like he was on fire. He didn't stop until he had slammed his bedroom door and locked it behind himself and he leaned against the door and sunk to the floor and covered his mouth and screamed into his hand as he heard the screaming and crying and fighting downstairs.
His sobs came out as breathless gasps as he crawled toward his bed on all-fours. He pulled himself up onto the mattress, pulled the blankets around himself and up over his head, and he cried until his throat was raw and his head felt like it was splitting in half and he couldn't stay awake anymore. His last thought before he fell asleep was that he wished he wouldn't wake up.
It was still dark out when he bolted awake gasping, his skin hot and flushed. He felt a cool hand on his forehead gently push his head back down against the pillows, and even though he couldn't see her, he knew it was his grandmother. As he slowly regained consciousness and realized what was going on, he felt the bed dipping slightly with her weight. She was sitting on the edge of the bed beside him and whispering things he couldn't make out as she smoothed down his sweaty hair.
"Na-Nan? How did you get in? I locked the door..."
"Your grandma has her ways." As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he could see that she was smiling down at him, that soft, gentle smile she always gave him. Somehow, that smile always assured him that everything would be okay. But tonight, it simply made more tears spring to his eyes.
"Nan," his voice cracked, "I'm sorry. Fuck, I am so... so sorry. I didn't mean to make anyone mad. Dad is so mad and Mom is so upset, and--"
"Shhh. I know you are. And your mom and dad do, too."
"But Dad," Jared choked out, "he hit me, and the awful shit I said to him--"
"Don't worry about that right now," his grandmother replied, still gently rubbing his forehead in a soothing, calming motion. "You let your grandma worry about that."
"No. No, that's not fair--"
"Jared. My sweet little Jared. Listen to your grandma. She's old and wise and knows better about these sorts of things. You leave this to me and don't you worry yourself about it. Your mother and father are just worried about you, in their own way. And that's how it should be. But they also don't see things the way you do. Now, that doesn't make it right, but I beg you, please try and be patient with them. And remember that you always have your grandma."
He was crying and he didn't care because his nana was here and he knew beyond a doubt that she loved him regardless of what ever bad things he might have done and that was all he really wanted.
She wiped at his eyes and held up a wet cloth she had brought with her. She gently ran it along his face to wipe away the rest of the tears and she got rid of the dried blood around his nose. Then she reached behind herself on the bed and held up an ice pack she had wrapped around a kitchen towel, and she gently pressed it against the bruised skin around his chin. "Hold this here, honey, and then hold it against your nose."
Jared took the ice pack from her and winced a little as he held it against the swollen skin. "I love you, Nan. You... you know that, don't you?"
She smiled and those soft lines around her cheeks and her eyes stood out. She reached for his free hand and held it between hers. "Of course I do. But not as much as I love you, my little monkey."
He smiled at the use of that nickname. He hadn't heard it in a long time. It suddenly made him think of earlier at the convenience store, and he felt an overwhelming desire to explain himself to the only person who had ever bothered to try and understand him. He suddenly knew that he could live with disappointing his parents, but he couldn't live knowing he had disappointed her.
"About what happened earlier..." he started, "with old man Ferdy. I... I wasn't trying to hurt anyone. You know that, right? I wasn't trying to hurt anything. I just knew Mom and Dad would never give me the money, and it had been such a horrible fucking day, and it made me feel better, and... I'm so fucking sorry. I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt anyone. I never wanted to hurt you--"
"Oh, my sweet Jared." She gently rubbed his cheek. "I know you didn't mean to hurt anyone. You've never meant to hurt anyone and that didn't hurt me." She glanced down at his left arm, still covered by his sweatshirt, and he knew, looking in her eyes, that she knew what he had been doing to himself and the guilt he suddenly felt was overwhelming. But she didn't say anything. She knew that her look was enough. She could see it on his face.
"Now, I'm supposed to give you some sort of lecture about how stealing is bad. But you're not stupid, and I know you know that, and I also don't like the pot calling the kettle black."
He stared at her, confused, before he bit back a smile. "You stole something?"
"I did," she admitted, and her smirk made him laugh. "I was younger than you and my mother-- your great grandmother, God rest her soul-- wouldn't buy me a pack of gum. I only wanted it because it came with a Roy Rogers trading card inside, and I was wild for him. So one day I walked into the store and grabbed it and stuffed it in my pocket and took it home with me. That Roy Rogers trading card was one of my most prized possessions."
"You never got caught?"
"Of course not," she shot him a wink, and they both laughed. "Now, I know what I did was wrong, and I know you know what you did was wrong, too. But the way I see it... there are worse things." She reached behind herself for something else on the bed, and this time when she turned back to him, his eyes went wide and he couldn't believe what he was seeing. There, in her hands, was the green sock monkey from Ferdy's that he had wanted-- no, needed-- so desperately. And he knew it was the same one. It had the same crooked button eyes, the same off stitching, and it was beautiful.
"I don't--" He tore his eyes away from it to look up at his grandmother. "How--"
"Old Ferdy owed me a favor. I went down and asked him what it was you had tried to take, and he showed it to me." She placed the sock monkey against his side, and wrapped his arm around it.
He felt more tears spring to his eyes and they were spilling over his cheeks before he thought to try and stop them. "You don't... you don't think I'm too old?"
"You're never too old," she replied, and she leaned over him and lightly kissed his forehead. "I brought you some supper if you're hungry. I left it on your nightstand. Now try and get some rest, my little monkey."
Before she could get up from the bed, Jared shot upwards and lunged toward her, wrapping his arms around her waist. He pressed his head against her chest and between his tears, he told her he loved her, and she told him she loved him... and he knew that somehow things would be okay.
Characters: Jared Phillips
Universe(s): A Safe Harbor
Timeline: Jared is a sophomore in high school when this takes place
Rating: T+ (language; TW: self-harm)
Notes: This explains how Jared ended up getting Popo.
He had just needed to calm down.
That was why he had done it. He just needed to get back to his safe, quiet place and fucking breathe and be okay before he jumped out of his fucking skin because this place and these people and everything was suffocating him and he was going to die if he didn't do it. He would just stop breathing or his heart would just fucking explode inside his chest and he had to do it to save himself because clearly no one else was going to.
It was easy to skip class. He did it all the time. It had been easy to sneak the compass into his pocket from the bin in his geometry class, too. No one ever paid him any mind unless they were looking to toss him into a trash can or shove him into his locker. Today, he probably would have welcomed it.
He needed the quiet.
He had a routine down. He was good at it now. Efficient. If he got the urge to cut at school, he didn't fight it anymore. Not since that afternoon in his bedroom with Paul. Not since what tiny salvageable portion of his grades had tanked because he had just stopped caring. Not since he didn't have anything left to lose.
He hung around the classroom he was supposed to be in next and waited for the crowd of students from the previous class to pour out from the doorway. Seamlessly, silently, he blended into the crowd and let himself get lost in the jungle of sneakers and textbooks and backpacks. From there it was easy to break away from the crowd and sneak off to the boy's locker room just down the hallway. It was always empty in the middle of the day and he wouldn't be disturbed. There were sinks and soap and paper towels so he could clean himself up afterwards if he felt like it.
Now he was huddled in a shower stall, sitting in the furthest corner with his knees drawn up to his chest. He waited for the world to get quiet around him again. Shoes stopped squeaking on the linoleum floors, that stupid fucking bell stopped ringing, and doors to classrooms closed and stayed closed. Everyone was back in class again. He was alone. Finally. Finally, it was quiet again.
He reached into the pocket of his hoodie and removed the metal compass. He tapped his fingertip against the sharp point to test it. Satisfied, he glanced around one more time, knowing he was alone, but needing the reassurance to calm the storm going on inside his head. Then he carefully tugged the sleeve of his sweatshirt up over his left arm, stopping when it was pulled up to his elbow.
His eyes scanned up and down his arm, observing the cuts there. Some had scabbed over and had nearly healed, while some were still pink and fresh. He ran his fingertips over them, feeling the scarred skin that went all the way up to his elbow. Here, under the awful fluorescent lights of the school, the cuts looked much, much worse than they did under the dim lights of his bedroom. He liked this better. It better reflected the way he felt on the inside. At home, in the dark, it was like they weren't even there, and only served as a reminder of how insignificant he was to everyone around him.
The metal tip of the compass needle was cool against his pale white skin. Already, he felt as if his endorphins were primed and ready to be released. His heart was already beating faster. It'd make the blood pump out faster. He briefly wondered what would happen if he cut deeper this time and didn't try and stop it. He was making it easy for them. He was in a shower stall with a drain, after all.
Slowly he dragged the needle across his skin, letting out a deep hiss of air between his closed lips. The cut was small and straight and looked at home between an old cut and a fresh one from just this morning when he was in the bathroom puking up the breakfast he had tried to make himself eat. He made another one just next to it, vertically this time, and he stopped, watching the two cuts bleed until they bled into each other and he couldn't tell where the first one ended and the other one began.
He sighed and closed his eyes, feeling his heart rate begin to return to normal. Sometimes, all it took was one or two. Just a brief moment of stinging pain and he could live through the rest of the day.
The shower stall's walls kept him from seeing the clock on the wall, but he guessed he sat there for about twenty minutes before the bleeding had essentially stopped and he got to his feet to wash his arm off. He walked over to the row of sinks and turned the faucet on, letting the water warm up a bit. He dispensed some soap into his hand and rubbed it up and down his arm and he ignored the burning sensation he felt as the soap seeped into the new cuts on his arm. He was used to it and it felt good.
When the water was hot enough to be steaming, he stuck his arm under the faucet and this time, he did wince and hiss in pain. It washed the soap off and nearly scalded his skin but he left his arm under the stream and found himself smiling as the pain intensified.
"Fuck," he looked at his reflection in the mirror, and he grinned back at himself, a laugh slipping out, "it fucking hurts!"
He didn't hear them come in. There was no reason to suspect someone else would be coming in to use the locker room. It was always empty and he had never been caught before. But today was different.
"The fuck are you doing!"
His head shot up and he turned around to see the entire football team standing behind him, towels and bars of soap in their hands. They had just finished practice and were heading for the showers and they saw him. They saw him.
He freaked and turned the water faucet off as fast as he could. He hastily shoved his hoodie sleeve down to cover his arm, and he wanted to run, he tried to run, but they were on him before he could disappear and the quarterback shoved him backwards toward the sink. He stumbled on his feet, turned and caught himself on the lip of the sink before he fell face-first against the porcelain fixture. The movement jostled him and the compass fell off the corner of the sink it had been resting on and it all seemed to happen in slow-motion as he watched it fall and clatter onto the floor at his feet.
"What the fuck is this?" Another member of the football team leaned down and grabbed the compass and examined it. "Holy fucking shit, it's got blood on it!"
As their faces turned from disgust to fear and more disgust, he just watched it happen through the mirrors. If he had his back turned to them, maybe it wasn't happening? The room and the people and the air were suffocating him again and fuck, if they would just let him have the compass he could make the world stop trying to fucking kill him again.
"What the fuck?" the quarterback stepped back a little, his face twisting in disgust. But then he seemed to put two and two together, and he gave Jared another shove against the sink. "You fucking freak. Did we fucking interrupt something? Were you having a little party with yourself in here? Were you fucking jerking off while you chopped yourself up? That's probably the only way a fucking freak like you can get off, isn't it? You like pain, you freaky motherfucker? We can give you some fucking pain."
Again, it seemed to happen in slow motion. He wasn't even listening to what the asshole was saying. He was physically trying to make himself disappear, appealing to any and all mystical forces and gods out there that could just make him fucking disappear or maybe just strike him down with a fucking bolt of lightning or something.
He didn't come back to reality until he looked up in the mirror and saw the quarterback standing directly behind him, and suddenly, it wasn't the quarterback lumbering behind him, but it was Paul, and the smirk on his face wasn't his smirk but it was Paul's, and his blue eyes were actually brown and before he knew what he was doing he had flipped himself around and swung a punch.
It connected, right along the side of the quarterback's face, and for a moment everyone was stunned. Reality shifted back to him again and he saw that it wasn't Paul but the football player, and he didn't have time to apologize or say anything before he felt a fist connect with his stomach and he was on the floor curled up into a tight little ball trying to protect his stomach and his ribs and his head as four or five big football players tried to kick him.
A dirty sports shoe connected with his chin and it caused him to bite down hard on his tongue, drawing blood. He heard a loud whistle echo through the room and as he finally uncurled himself, he glanced up to see the football coach shoving the players back and heard him demanding to know what the fuck was going on.
When his path was cleared, he pushed himself up and bolted from the room as fast as he could. He almost tripped as he ran full-speed down the hallway between the rows of lockers but never stopped once, even when he heard the football coach screaming his name loud enough to cause classroom doors to crack open in curiosity.
He wasn't sure how far or how long he ran. He didn't stop until he knew he was far, far away from that place and he couldn't see it in the distance anymore. He wasn't even sure where he was. His feet had been on auto-pilot and he didn't even remember the trip that got him to where he was now but he found a bench and sat down heavily as he fought to catch his breath. It felt like he had been running for at least a couple of miles.
He sat still for several minutes, letting his breathing return to normal, and as the adrenaline wore off, he winced when he finally started to feel the pain from his latest beating. He ran a hand over his gut and it ached. He had been kicked at least a few times there. He also ran his fingertips over his chin and he hissed as he felt the bruise forming there.
"Fuck." Rubbing it hurt but he rubbed it anyway. He let his hands fall into his lap and he glanced down at his right hand and noticed his red knuckles for the first time. He clenched his fingers into a tight fist and winced when it hurt and watched his knuckles turn white and then he unclenched and relaxed them.
The tears came before he even knew what was happening and they quickly turned into sobs. He slid off the bench, sat on the ground and lowered his head between his knees and tightly tugged at the hair on his head. He pulled hard and it hurt and it made him angrier because it hurt but he didn't stop and why were things so fucked up and why did he have to be this fucking freak and where were his fucking parents and why didn't anyone give a shit about what happened to him and why did he have to spend his entire fucking life as someone's punching bag?
If he walked off an overpass and fell into traffic, or let himself sink deep into the harbor, would anyone even fucking notice?
More importantly, would that finally give him the quiet he needed?
---
It had taken a while but once he finally figured out where exactly he was, he walked from there to one of the parks in the city. There were a few and he had been to all of them but this one was his favorite. It was the furthest out of the way and the furthest from his house. It was also nearly always empty around this time of day.
When he got there the only other people there was some old man walking his dog along the trail that bordered the park and a woman with her kids. The old man and the dog were moving on and the woman and her kids were getting in the car to leave. He would be alone.
He waited for everyone else to leave before he walked toward the playground area. He walked toward the swings, feeling the wood chips crunch under his feet, and he sat down in a swing facing away from the street toward the horizon. It was starting to get dark and the sun was beginning to set. He didn't have a watch but knew it had to be getting past five o'clock and knew he had been gone for a while now. He didn't care. His mom wouldn't be off work until later and his dad was probably home and didn't even know he wasn't there. Probably assumed he was locked in his room and just being quiet.
Because that's what he did. He sat in his room with his monster movies and his grandpa's guitar and he quietly fucked up everything in his life.
Slowly, he pushed himself on the swing by the heels of his feet, gripping one of the chains so he could lean his head against his arm as he watched the sun go down. Watching the sun set was calming to him. He liked to sneak away to come here and watch it whenever he could because the soft purples and pinks and calm reds helped something in him set, too. As the world around him and the sky above him grew darker, his own darkness lightened a bit.
Tonight he sat and watched the sun go down and he remained there for a long time, well after the overhead safety lights came on and it was starting to get colder. He briefly wondered what time it was now. Maybe around seven but it looked like it may as well have been midnight because that was just how things looked this time of year.
He wondered if his mom was home from her shift at work yet. He wondered if they had finally realized he wasn't in his room. Maybe they went to look for him in his room after getting a phone call from the school about the whole fucking thing in the locker room earlier and they had been planning to rip his shit apart only to find he wasn't home. He wondered if they were worried. He wondered if his mother was crying. He wondered if his dad was furious.
That was okay. He was mad at himself, too.
Finally, he got to his feet, shoved his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie, and he walked off toward the sidewalk to head home. He didn't care what happened now. The events of the day had left him completely numb, and all he wanted to do now was go upstairs to his room and curl up under the blanket and watch his movies and never, ever get up again.
As he walked home, he walked past several businesses along the sidewalk that were closing up shop for the night. He stared into all of the dark empty buildings, locked up tight with metal bars on the windows or metal gating behind the glass doors, and he stopped when he spotted a shop just up ahead that still had the lights on.
Ferdy's. Of course. It was always open. It had started out as a little mom-and-pop shop that carried a little of everything, but now it was more like a 24-hour convenience store than a charming little corner grocer. He felt his stomach growl and realized for the first time that he hadn't eaten anything that day, aside from his failed attempt at breakfast earlier that morning. He reached into his pocket and took out his wallet. He had a few dollars. Maybe he could grab a soda and a burrito or something before he got home. Maybe he could at least have one fucking meal in peace.
He walked into the store and a little electronic "ding-dong!" announced his entrance. The store was empty except for an old man tending the counter. He briefly glanced up at him and then returned to reading the newspaper.
The store was old and in serious need of renovations. It was musty and smelled a little like mold, and he knew that a family of mice probably made a nice home here, but he didn't fucking care. He walked toward the back where the coolers were and grabbed a can of Coke. Then he walked toward the counter where the warm food was and grabbed a lukewarm burrito without bothering to look at what kind it was. It had probably been there since yesterday, anyway.
He couldn't afford it, and he knew that, but he decided to walk toward the magazine rack and check out the comic books anyway. He spotted a new issue of Swamp Thing and he grabbed it to flip through.
"Hey, kid. This ain't a library. You either buy the comic book or you put it back and leave."
That had gotten the old man's attention, and he rolled his eyes as he placed the comic book back on the shelf. He briefly glanced at the shelf beside it containing the cheap, poorly-made toys one would expect to find in a place like this, and something caught his eye.
Sitting there on a shelf, glancing back at him, was a stuffed sock monkey with black button eyes and green stripes and a big red mouth. It was just a toy. It was nothing. It was insignificant. It was poorly made and the button eyes were sewn on crooked and the mouth was stitched sideways and the stripes didn't quite run straight across.
It looked like a mess and he wondered if that was why he felt so drawn to it. They were one and the same.
The monkey sat there staring at him, its long arms and legs draped over the edge of the shelf, and he couldn't have described what he felt in that moment if he had tried. He was connecting with a fucking mini-mart stuffed animal and he had to be going fucking crazy but he didn't care.
He suddenly knew he had to have this thing and it became an urgent and pressing need. He wasn't sure how much it was but he'd put back his burrito and soda if he had to. He grabbed it and glanced down at the price tag and his heart sank. Even putting the food and drink back, he still didn't have enough.
He couldn't put it back on the shelf. Some stupid little kid would come in with their mom and demand it and he'd never find it again. He glanced toward the cashier counter and saw the old man was reading his newspaper again and hadn't seemed to notice what he was doing.
It wouldn't... it wouldn't hurt anyone, right? He had never stolen anything and he didn't want to fucking start now but he needed this stupid fucking thing and no one would understand why and he didn't even understand why and he couldn't afford it. His parents would never give him money and if he left it someone else would grab it and he couldn't let that happen.
As quietly and as nonchalantly as possible, he stuffed the monkey under his sweatshirt, trying to shift its lanky arms and legs around so the bulkiness of his sweatshirt hid the lump. He threw a glance back at the old man and he was still reading his newspaper. His heart was pounding hard and he felt sweaty and flushed. Part of him had to admit this was thrilling. He had been in a fog for so fucking long and this was the first time he had felt anything other than depression for a long time but he knew he would never fucking do anything like this again as long as he could bring this thing home with him because somehow he knew it would make everything alright.
Careful to make sure the monkey wouldn't fall out, he walked toward the cashier counter and set the burrito and soda down. The old man folded his newspaper and stared at him as he scanned both items. "That's it? It sure took you long enough, kid."
"Yeah," he nodded carefully, "I couldn't decide what burrito I wanted."
It sounded like bullshit even to him, and the old man clearly wasn't buying it. "There's one type of burrito we carry and they ain't no good anyway. $3.27."
He swallowed hard and tried to moisten his suddenly dry throat. He reached into his pocket and removed his wallet, pulling out four crumpled dollar bills. The old man looked irritated that he hadn't just given him the exact amount, but he grabbed the money and popped open the cash register, coins jangling as he tried to fish out his change.
He hadn't noticed. He was going to leave with it and get home and everything past that would be fucking okay.
The old man reached over the counter and gave him his change, fishing out a bag for his soda and burrito.
"I don't need a bag." He just wanted to fucking leave as fast as possible.
The old man didn't act like he listened and bagged everything painfully slow. "Your face looks familiar... you're Phillips' boy, aren't you? I knew his daddy. Say, what the hell happened to you, kid? Looks like you got in a fight and lost, for sure." He was examining the bruise on his chin and leaning over the counter toward him and suddenly the old man's face morphed into Paul's and he jumped back away from the cashier counter in alarm and the monkey dislodged and fell out of his sweatshirt.
"What's--" the old man looked stunned for a brief second, and his face reddened in anger. "You thieving little bastard!"
The soda and burrito forgotten, he grabbed the monkey and bolted for the exit as fast as he could. Only when he heard the sound of a shotgun cocking did he stop, and even then, he hesitated.
"Turn around, you little shitstain."
Slowly, he forced his body to turn around. When he saw the barrel of the shotgun pointed back at him, he raised his hands up over his head, still tightly clutching the monkey in one of his hands.
The old man came out from behind the counter, slowly approaching him with the shotgun barrel still pointed in his direction. "Put it down."
He hesitated again. He didn't want to let go of it.
"I said put it the fuck down!" the old man barked. He did this time, letting it drop to the floor at his feet.
"I wasn't... I mean... I'm sorry," he tried to explain, knowing there was no explanation and he was just making things worse. "You don't understand. I need it."
"Are you fucking dumb? What little shits like you need is to be taught a goddamn lesson!"
The gun stock swung upwards and connected with his face, causing blood to start pouring from his nose instantly. He momentarily saw stars, stumbled backwards out of the store onto the sidewalk clutching his nose, and caught himself on a parking meter before he fell over onto the street.
"Get the fuck out of here, you piece of shit!" the old man pointed the barrel of the gun at him again, and this time, he didn't hesitate when he turned and bolted down the street.
---
The lights were all on in his house. He could see it as he walked down the sidewalk and got closer now. That wasn't a good sign. At this time of night, the only lights coming from his house was an outside porch light and the dim glow of the TV from the living room where his dad was sitting and watching something before bed. The fact that all the lights were on meant something was wrong, and he knew that tonight that something's name was "Jared".
Wasn't it always, though?
He had stalled long enough. It had been at least an hour since he had gotten his ass handed to him by the old man at Ferdy's. He had spent that time trying to figure out what the fuck he was going to say to his mom and dad and he had also tried to wipe away all the blood from his nose, knowing he had missed some and it had to be dried all over his face.
When it was clear he knew he had no idea what the hell he was going to say and he had reminded himself that at this point it didn't fucking matter anyway because his parents weren't going to listen to anything he said, he started back home. Now, as he got closer with every step, he felt a wave of nausea hit him accompanied by an underlying feeling of dread.
This was going to be bad.
He stopped just outside the fence surrounding his house and took a deep breath before he started up the walkway. He slowly ascended the rickety wooden stairs to the porch and moved the screen door out of the way before he turned the brass doorknob to the front door and pushed it open.
The TV was on and his dad was sitting on the couch. He looked up when the front door open and jumped to his feet, his face contorting in anger and something else Jared wasn't really sure of. Relief, maybe? Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. His mother had been sitting at the kitchen table sipping coffee and she also jumped to her feet when he walked into the house and when she moved he saw another smaller woman sitting at the kitchen table and recognzed her as his grandmother and he suddenly felt like such an asshole for everything he had put everyone through and he just wanted to die.
"Where the hell have you been? Do you have any idea what time it is? What were we supposed to think? We came this close to calling the cops. Do you have any idea how many phone calls we've gotten tonight? First the football coach of all people calls us to say you got into some fight at school earlier and then old man Ferdy calls us that you're a goddamn shoplifter?"
Good old Dad. Always getting to the heart of things. At least there wouldn't be any beating around the fucking bush.
"Jared, oh my God!" His mother ran up to him and squeezed him so tight it hurt, and when she pulled away she was staring at him with that look he hated more than anything in the world, that look of worry like they even fucking cared, and she cradled his face between her hands. "What happened to you!? Are you hurt?"
"No," his voice sounded mechanic and void of emotion. He was so tired and just wanted to go upstairs and go to bed. He just needed to be alone. "No, Mom, I'm fine."
"But you've got blood on you--"
"I said I'm fucking fine, Mom, alright?"
"You watch your goddamn tongue when you talk to your mom," his dad was now walking up to him and he felt his back hit the wall by the front door and fuck, he just wanted to go to his room. "You have put us through hell tonight Jared, and you're going to stand there and explain what's going on."
He glanced over his mom's shoulder and saw his grandmother standing there in the doorway to the kitchen. Her wrinkled hands were gripping a cup of coffee and her face was crinkled in worry and she was trying to ask him with just a look if he was alright and before he knew it tears were forming in his eyes and he was sorry, he was so sorry, and he wanted to tell her that but he couldn't.
"Hey!" His father's sharp tone made him turn back in his direction. "What the hell is wrong with you? Fighting in the locker room? You gave that quarterback a black eye, that Lawton kid? And the football coach said he found you with a weapon. And you're stealing things now? Didn't we raise you better than this? What, are you becoming a no-good street thug? Why do we even bother? You better start giving me some answers, boy, because--"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
The scream was primal and so loud and guttural that it hurt his vocal chords when it came out and made everyone in the room flinch.
For a moment, everyone stood silent, too stunned to say anything. Then his father reassumed his look of complete rage. "What did you just say to me?"
"I said," it came out as a growl, and he ground his teeth together as he spit the words out, "shut the fuck up. Yeah, I gave that motherfucker a black eye because he was going to pound me into the fucking ground, just like him and everyone else at that school has for every day for the past two fucking years. But you wouldn't know about that, would you, Dad? Or Mom? Because you're both never home and don't fucking care what happens to me or what I do anyway, so long as it doesn't disturb your little fucking routine. For the record, they kicked the shit out of me anyway. And I didn't have a fucking weapon. It was a compass from my fucking geometry class. As for old man Ferdy, yeah, I tried to fucking steal something and he probably broke my fucking nose with the butt of a shotgun." Tears were streaming down his cheeks and he was shouting every word that came out and he was just making things worse and nothing mattered because they didn't understand anyway. Even now, they never understood.
"Both of you never act like you give a shit about me, so why should you fucking start now? You want to be mad at me, dad? I don't fucking care, because I've been mad at you for a long fucking time and fuck you both!"
The slap was much harder than he could have ever imagined and it caused more tears to instantly spring to his eyes. It made his already pounding head start to throb, and when he looked up at his father's face he saw nothing but pure rage and disgust and he threw his arms over his face to protect himself when he saw his father's hand drawing back to hit him again.
Suddenly his mother was screaming at his father to stop hitting him and she was shoving him away from Jared and when the staircase was clear he ran for the steps and took them three at a time. He tripped and landed hard on his knee but pushed himself back up and ran for his bedroom like he was on fire. He didn't stop until he had slammed his bedroom door and locked it behind himself and he leaned against the door and sunk to the floor and covered his mouth and screamed into his hand as he heard the screaming and crying and fighting downstairs.
His sobs came out as breathless gasps as he crawled toward his bed on all-fours. He pulled himself up onto the mattress, pulled the blankets around himself and up over his head, and he cried until his throat was raw and his head felt like it was splitting in half and he couldn't stay awake anymore. His last thought before he fell asleep was that he wished he wouldn't wake up.
It was still dark out when he bolted awake gasping, his skin hot and flushed. He felt a cool hand on his forehead gently push his head back down against the pillows, and even though he couldn't see her, he knew it was his grandmother. As he slowly regained consciousness and realized what was going on, he felt the bed dipping slightly with her weight. She was sitting on the edge of the bed beside him and whispering things he couldn't make out as she smoothed down his sweaty hair.
"Na-Nan? How did you get in? I locked the door..."
"Your grandma has her ways." As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he could see that she was smiling down at him, that soft, gentle smile she always gave him. Somehow, that smile always assured him that everything would be okay. But tonight, it simply made more tears spring to his eyes.
"Nan," his voice cracked, "I'm sorry. Fuck, I am so... so sorry. I didn't mean to make anyone mad. Dad is so mad and Mom is so upset, and--"
"Shhh. I know you are. And your mom and dad do, too."
"But Dad," Jared choked out, "he hit me, and the awful shit I said to him--"
"Don't worry about that right now," his grandmother replied, still gently rubbing his forehead in a soothing, calming motion. "You let your grandma worry about that."
"No. No, that's not fair--"
"Jared. My sweet little Jared. Listen to your grandma. She's old and wise and knows better about these sorts of things. You leave this to me and don't you worry yourself about it. Your mother and father are just worried about you, in their own way. And that's how it should be. But they also don't see things the way you do. Now, that doesn't make it right, but I beg you, please try and be patient with them. And remember that you always have your grandma."
He was crying and he didn't care because his nana was here and he knew beyond a doubt that she loved him regardless of what ever bad things he might have done and that was all he really wanted.
She wiped at his eyes and held up a wet cloth she had brought with her. She gently ran it along his face to wipe away the rest of the tears and she got rid of the dried blood around his nose. Then she reached behind herself on the bed and held up an ice pack she had wrapped around a kitchen towel, and she gently pressed it against the bruised skin around his chin. "Hold this here, honey, and then hold it against your nose."
Jared took the ice pack from her and winced a little as he held it against the swollen skin. "I love you, Nan. You... you know that, don't you?"
She smiled and those soft lines around her cheeks and her eyes stood out. She reached for his free hand and held it between hers. "Of course I do. But not as much as I love you, my little monkey."
He smiled at the use of that nickname. He hadn't heard it in a long time. It suddenly made him think of earlier at the convenience store, and he felt an overwhelming desire to explain himself to the only person who had ever bothered to try and understand him. He suddenly knew that he could live with disappointing his parents, but he couldn't live knowing he had disappointed her.
"About what happened earlier..." he started, "with old man Ferdy. I... I wasn't trying to hurt anyone. You know that, right? I wasn't trying to hurt anything. I just knew Mom and Dad would never give me the money, and it had been such a horrible fucking day, and it made me feel better, and... I'm so fucking sorry. I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt anyone. I never wanted to hurt you--"
"Oh, my sweet Jared." She gently rubbed his cheek. "I know you didn't mean to hurt anyone. You've never meant to hurt anyone and that didn't hurt me." She glanced down at his left arm, still covered by his sweatshirt, and he knew, looking in her eyes, that she knew what he had been doing to himself and the guilt he suddenly felt was overwhelming. But she didn't say anything. She knew that her look was enough. She could see it on his face.
"Now, I'm supposed to give you some sort of lecture about how stealing is bad. But you're not stupid, and I know you know that, and I also don't like the pot calling the kettle black."
He stared at her, confused, before he bit back a smile. "You stole something?"
"I did," she admitted, and her smirk made him laugh. "I was younger than you and my mother-- your great grandmother, God rest her soul-- wouldn't buy me a pack of gum. I only wanted it because it came with a Roy Rogers trading card inside, and I was wild for him. So one day I walked into the store and grabbed it and stuffed it in my pocket and took it home with me. That Roy Rogers trading card was one of my most prized possessions."
"You never got caught?"
"Of course not," she shot him a wink, and they both laughed. "Now, I know what I did was wrong, and I know you know what you did was wrong, too. But the way I see it... there are worse things." She reached behind herself for something else on the bed, and this time when she turned back to him, his eyes went wide and he couldn't believe what he was seeing. There, in her hands, was the green sock monkey from Ferdy's that he had wanted-- no, needed-- so desperately. And he knew it was the same one. It had the same crooked button eyes, the same off stitching, and it was beautiful.
"I don't--" He tore his eyes away from it to look up at his grandmother. "How--"
"Old Ferdy owed me a favor. I went down and asked him what it was you had tried to take, and he showed it to me." She placed the sock monkey against his side, and wrapped his arm around it.
He felt more tears spring to his eyes and they were spilling over his cheeks before he thought to try and stop them. "You don't... you don't think I'm too old?"
"You're never too old," she replied, and she leaned over him and lightly kissed his forehead. "I brought you some supper if you're hungry. I left it on your nightstand. Now try and get some rest, my little monkey."
Before she could get up from the bed, Jared shot upwards and lunged toward her, wrapping his arms around her waist. He pressed his head against her chest and between his tears, he told her he loved her, and she told him she loved him... and he knew that somehow things would be okay.