Pseudology

Sixteen

EDITED 4/8/13

Her blood, dark and crimson, was gurgling from her as he returned to the house. There was a painful silence which was punctured by the odd murmur, and a low hum could be heard from upstairs, which was father on the phone. Adrian could see the tops of his socks peeking over his slippers. Red.

Red red red red red.

She was lying there, limp but breathing as she tried to raise her hand. Adrian moved. She held. Morton huffed. Marvin murmured. Father came off the phone;

“An ambulance is going to be here soon, Rebecca, just hold on.”

Adrian moved a little closer to mummy, and clung to the material of her beautiful dress. He leaned in close and whispered to her, but she said he needed to speak louder. Blushed. Hold on, did he blush?

“Mummy, what if I don’t love you enough?” Adrian whispered, but his mother just smiled.

“Of course you do, honey.” And Adrian’s thoughts were cut off by the screaming of the ambulance, the crunch of stones on the drive-

Adrian woke with a sense of dizziness cascading over his senses, his eyes blinded by the vibrant light that fell across his room from the open window. There was an urgency in the fluttering of his eyes and his stomach was grumbling angrily as he tossed over, pulling the blankets over his head, and then to his shock, his alarm went off.

He couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t been up several hours before his alarm actually went off- this was a miracle! But as he tried to remember what he had done that previous night, his mind came to a blank: a thick, grey blank.

Adrian slammed his palm onto the switch on the top of his vibrating, original 1950s alarm clock Morton had got him for his birthday the previous year. Adrian had become attached to the noisy object and loved the sound it made, even though others found it infuriating, and he actually found it quite useful, unlike many of Morton’s other presents.

He swung his legs to the side of the bed and sat for a moment, clasping his cold hands in his lap. There was a shiver that ran down his back as Adrian’s mind wandered for a moment. He could remember sitting on the edge of his bed at home when he was eleven…

Daddy had just left.

Adrian couldn’t wait until he could call Daddy ‘Father’, because in his mind, a Daddy was someone who would give loving hugs and keep their sons safe, but a Father was someone more distance and hard. Adrian knew Daddy didn’t love him; otherwise he wouldn’t have done what he’d just done, because what Daddy had come into Adrian’s room to do was something that wasn’t meant to happen.

Adrian didn’t know whether it was wrong or not. Positioned on the edge of his bed, he’d pulled up his trousers after Daddy had slammed the door shut and he still felt an uncomfortable sensation over the lower half of his body. Feeling hot and bothered, Adrian’s cheeks were flushed and he had a thin line of sweat over his face and back from where Daddy had hurt him. He’d much prefer Daddy just hitting him around the face instead: that way, he wouldn’t get angry questions from Morton and he wouldn’t have to think about how ashamed Mummy would be if she was still alive…

What if the killer had done that to mummy?

It was the first time that type of thought had ever invaded Adrian’s mind, but now, he supposed, at sixteen, that it wasn’t so shocking. Even if it was, Adrian didn’t care. What if her killer had defiled her? Hurt her before he stabbed her? How long had she been lying there? Why the hell hadn’t he caught her killer yet?!

Adrian let out a fuming growl and slammed his fist over his bedside table, catching his clock before it hit the floor. Everything else, like falling debris over a pristine landscape, came crashing to the ground with a calamitous roar. Adrian felt a dark, damp feeling build up in his chest that he wasn’t able to identify; maybe it was anger, or maybe it was sadness, but the only thing Adrian actually cared about was the sensation that was clouding his thoughts: the sensation of want.

The drug must have left his system when he’d fallen asleep that previous night, though Adrian didn’t really know what had happened or what he’d done. There had been several moments in his short fifteen years that had made him wonder why he’d done what he’d done.

The first was when he’d told Martin about ‘the walls’. He felt obliged to douse Martin’s burning urge to discover some of Adrian’s deepest secrets, and as a friend (and as one of the only times Adrian had confided in anyone), Adrian had told Martin about ‘the walls’: to begin, he spoke of his obsession with being alone and explained that it had caused a rift between the adolescent Morton and the moody-child-like-ness of Marvin; Adrian explained wanting to listen to what the walls had to say because at that point, Adrian had believed that they would help him and comfort him when he told them how sad he was. They, in return, told him about the dangers of Father drinking and had told him that Marvin was safe alone with Father, which Morton and Adrian had discovered was true. Adrian wondered truly why he told Martin- he’d never been bothered by what other people wanted, but when Martin was concerned, Adrian didn’t feel like he usually did.

The second time was when he’d wrapped his fingers around a blade and brought it to his body. He could remember the feeling of metal ripping coarsely at his thin skin and his face became hot- tears were being pulled from him- and his fingertips burned as they touched the metal. As he bled crimson, he could feel the anger and the confusion stream away; there was no more hate or stress, and there was a physical reminder of how much he’d wanted to do something that was seen as so ‘wrong’. It didn’t matter whether other people found out- no one cared for him anyway- and Adrian had decided that he’d be careful. He’d hide them, and then they’d fade like the emotions had. Sitting on the side of his bed at school, he’d entered a new world. A world of caution and watching, scanning other’s bodies to discover their secrets… he’d entered a world that he’d needed.

The third time was when he was twelve years old. However hard Adrian tried, he could not remove the feeling of disgrace as he’d sat on his bed, wanting to get rid of the pain and the memories. He was ashamed to even think about it really, but he’d realised a long time ago that he couldn’t ever stop thinking. His brain was like a machine, constantly whirling even if it wasn’t meant to; he wished it would stop, just for now. He wanted to stop thinking, he wanted it so desperately! He wanted to stop thinking about what Father had done, because it was wrong… even though Adrian didn’t like the word ‘wrong’, he knew what had just happened was definitely vile.

Wrong.

Disgusting.

Too much pushing into areas that weren’t meant to be opened yet, too many smells and feelings had washed over him at once. He’d had to suppress a Going Wrong moment because it couldn’t happen in front of Father, but he’d felt the feelings surpass briefly once Father had left the room. But it had come back with vengeance, and this time, he didn’t know what to do.

Adrian’s head snapped up and he sighed, picking up his belongings from the floor where he’d let the fall in anger. Carefully putting them in their proper, specific places, he looked down at himself and realised that he was still in his school uniform from the day before. The white shirt was crinkled and his trousers had dustings of white powder on them; Adrian hastily brushed the mess from himself and tucked his shirt in, pulling a jumper on to hide a small yellow stain that he hadn’t realised was there.

He slipped on his shoes, ran a hand through his hair and tried to smile at himself in the mirror. But this time, he felt the corners of his mouth turn up a little easier, and he felt that for the first time in too long, he might actually be happy.

Just for once.