Chapter 8- May 12

Chapter 8- May 12

A Chapter by Esther Night

May 12 is the day I wish to forget, but always will remember.

May 12 was the day my trust started to break.

It started as a normal morning, well normal to me. I rolled out of bed, put on some oversized clothes, and thought about how much I hated going to school.

Dad wasn’t home, he was “out of town”, which meant he was doing who knows what. That wasn’t new.

“Mom” I called walking into the living room.

My mom was sitting on the couch smoking. She looked awful. Her skin had no color in it. Her hair looked like one big black rats nest. Her eyes were so pale that they looked almost dead.


She turned to me and put on a tiny smile, “Hey baby, good morning.”

I took a seat on the leg of the couch “You okay?”

She just stared at me without saying a word then said “I’ll be fine.”

I laughed a little “Well I have to go to the pit of death called school.” I gave her a kiss on the cheek and joked, “Go put on some lipstick.” 

She laughed so I thought it was okay to leave.


Matt and I were sitting at lurch. Matt was venting to me about how a bunch kids saw his dad shocking the sleeves. Matt respected his father for working to provide for him and his family, but he didn’t see why his dad would settle for a job managing a grocery store.     

“My dad was so embarrassing.”  Matt complained.

“Your dad isn’t that bad.” I tried to reassure him.

“Your dad is at least exciting, his stories are great.” He smiled.

“Yea his stories that’s just what they are! He just has stories", I began to go off when dad (thankfully sober) walked in with the principal chasing behind him.      

 “Dad!” I almost shouted while getting up from my seat.

Principal Adams shifted his eyes between the two of us, “Oh…”

I turned to my dad, “Dad can’t you just go home?”

He looked at me with his deep blue eyes. I had seen his eyes millions of time, but it was the first time I’ve seen them like this. They were sad, even weak.  He took a breath, “Did you kiss you mom this morning?”

I nodded.

“Well that’s gotta have to hold you for a while.” He quietly spoke.

I shook my head “What do mean?”

“Your mama ran away”

I was speechless.

Matt tried to reach out to me.

“So…”I caught my breath, “What are you going to do?”

“We go after her”

I didn’t know rather to feel flattered or insulted. Since when did my father and I become a “we”? I wanted to scream at him that he should clean up his own mess for once. I found myself being able to holding back my anger. “No. Dad can’t just ditch school.”

Dad shook his head and walked out the lunchroom.

“Jamie, are you okay?” Matt looked at me with the “I want to help you” look.

I put on a fake smile, “Yea why wouldn’t I be?” I faked laughed as I ran out. I caught up with my dad in the hall.

“Hunter” I heard calling me. I turned around to see Donovan.

Dad and I stopped. “Hey there teach” dad waved.

“Where are you going Hunter?” Donovan asked motioning us into empty classroom.

I felt like the last thing I needed was to talk to my teacher, “Listen Tony, we are a bit a busy.” I rudely smirked.

Donovan looked at me noticing my disrespect “Hunter if something is wrong you can tell me.”

“Um teach” dad spoke up “Jimmy might be a bit upset.”

I hated him calling me Jimmy.

“See here my wife has…run out us and so we need to go find her.”

“Dad” I murmured, “It’s none of his businesses. It’s not like he cares.”

“Of course I care, Hunter. I do care about your life.”  Donovan tried to

look into my eyes as if he were trying to look into my soul. I refused to let him so I lower my head. Donovan got out a piece of notebook paper and wrote something on it. “Listen, this is my phone number and my address. If you… or the two of you need a bed, I got an extra.” He handed the paper to me.

I smirked and ran out.


We spent the whole day asking around. Nobody knew where she was and with every "no" dad drank another slip of alcohol. You would think that having his wife leave him would make a man stop drinking, but it just made him drink more.

After a while I was tried and he was so drunk that we got a room at a cheap motel. Honestly I was still in shock, I just fell into one of the full size beds trying to process my day. As soon the door shut his screaming started “Why would that s**t do this to me?” He looked over at me with those drunken blue eyes. He ran over and grabbed my arm. “Why you being all quiet boy?” he angrily slurred. He grabbed me tighter “You know what, maybe she left be…because she was sick of you getting in trouble.”

My heart was screaming. I wanted to yell “You beat her, you broke her, and you made her leave.” But I was so scared of him. I was too scared to ever raise my voice up to his, too scared to protest, and even too scared to move. Then he threw the first punch of the day. That’s when I realized that my mom was gone. I realized that I couldn’t hear her crying, yelling for him to stop, and…most of all I realized that she wouldn’t holding the make-up kit. That was the most painful beating I had ever gotten. Because not only could I feel my father hitting me, but I also felt my mother stabbing me in the back.

Dad fell on to the other bed. I could hear him crying. I saw that his heart was breaking. Dad managed to get up and stumble out the motel room.

As I laid there alone I was analyzing my relationship with my mother.  I never questioned why she left my dad; the real question was why she didn’t take me with her. I would have agreed to it in a heartbeat. Nobody really knew this but I always had thought my mom and I had created a bond over our scars and secrets. After every beating, she would come in with that make-up kit.  On the surface of the skin it may have just looked like make-up, but our little talks felt so deep. I thought of her as the only another person who could understand me. But now all that was a lie.

I just wondered if this was planned or a part of a sudden breakdown.

Either way it proved to me she didn’t love me enough. 

I started to take deep breathes, “…My mother doesn’t love me…my father doesn’t love me…” I whispered to myself.

“S**t I don’t even love me.”

I didn’t want to say it aloud, but my mind was wondering into a dark place. My mind was wondering why there was so much bad around me. 

My mind was wondering why I supposed to be alive.  My mind was wondering who would care if I died.

These thoughts scared me. I suddenly didn’t trust myself being alone in the quiet.

I turned on the television, hoping maybe to find a comedy. I flipped though the channels, passing up a bunch of soap operas, crime dramas, and talk shows. Then I saw something…two naked women were kissing. I realized I have gotten into the “special channels”. I had heard of porn, dad, Bobby, and all the guys talked about…you know jerking off to it. But as I watched these women I felt disgusted. They looked so cheap and fake.

I turned the channel and what I saw made me drop the remote.

Two hot guys, I mean they were smoking hot, on a bed shirtless. As they took off each other’s pants I felt a tugging feeling in mine. My eyes glued.

My brain told me to turn it off, but my body couldn’t stop.

“Hey Rex let’s do it doggie style.” One of them spoke in between two kisses.

I gasped and dug my nails into the bed. As I watched them the tingling feeling grew more intense. It was as if my dick was calling “touch me, touch me” It was this frustration and inner battle. I tried to my hands on the bed, but I found I was moving one down my waist, in my jeans.

The door swung open, it was the guy worked at the front desk. He looked at me with his mouth open.  I realized my hand was still my pants; I immediately took it out and stood up. 

“Um…I was just…bringing you some clean sheets.” He whispered carefully putting the pile of sheets on the bed.

I started to cried “I’m sorry”

“It’s none of my businesses.” He said walking out. 

I sat back down wiping away the tears.

“What the hell is wrong with me?”

I didn’t want to be alone. I couldn’t be alone. 

Then I realized had Donovan’s address in still in my pocket.

© 2014 Esther Night

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Added on October 30, 2013
Last Updated on June 17, 2014

It wasn't me