All Rubber Duckies Go To Heaven

Chapter Twenty-Nine

“He was very sick,” the counselor told me a she offered me a hard candy. My eyes wouldn’t meet hers as I declined. With a sigh she returned the candy bag to the top drawer of her dark cedar desk. Lacing her fingers together and putting her elbows on the desk, she continued to explain the situation to me.

“Jayden’s home life isn’t exactly ideal hon. His mother is absent most of the time. His dad has been in jail since Jayden was seven, leaving him to deal with many of the aggressive partners his mother has taken on over the years.”

I hadn’t even known that Jayden’s dad was in jail. Jayden told me that he was dead. He told me that his mom didn’t date since he died.

“Why are you telling me this? Aren’t you violating confidentiality or something?” I pulled my legs up into my chest and set my heels on the chair, wrapping my arms around my knees.

Mrs. Faye leaned back in her overstuffed desk chair. “Jayden had requested we inform you. He thought it might help you in your current state.”

Really? They were taking psychiatric help from a kid who had just stabbed someone? I called BS. He was trying to make excuses, AGAIN. This was just another way to squeeze sympathy from my bruised skin. I didn’t buy it.

“So can I ask why his dad was sent to jail?” My voice was muffled since my chin rested on my knees.

“Murder,” she answered lowly. “It was Jayden’s baby sister. His dad said she wouldn’t stop crying one night, so he drowned her. She was only a few months old.”

The first word was enough to put anyone’s veins on ice. I could feel my emotion sneak past my stiff barrier before I snapped back into a fake composure. “Oh.”

There was another familiar silence before Mrs. Faye cleared her throat and began to organize the papers on her desk into pile. I knew the words before they came out.

“Well, we’re done today sweetheart. Do you need a ride home?”

I let my legs slide back onto the floor and I smoothed the creases on my jeans. “No m’am. I’ll be fine.” Before she could say more I was out of her office.

Trotting down the staircase was painful. My thighs were screaming, resurfacing the torture of yesterday evening.

It had only been two days since “the incident”. I was still slightly in shock so I was at home. As soon as the clock hit five there was a knock on the apartment door. By the time I’d managed to roll out of bed and shuffle to the door they were pounding their fist in relentless succession.

“Hold your horses!” I hollered, slipping the chain from its holster. I twisted the knob uneasily, barely getting the door open before the person pushed his way through. This, in turn, had pushed me into an entryway table.

That’s what left the bruise the size of my hand on the middle of my left thigh.

I shut the door and turned to face my dad, opening my mouth to apologize but only leaving it vulnerable as he struck out and numbed my jaw.

I was so stunned I didn’t readjust myself, allowing my eyes to weakly focus on the dingy white wall. He grabbed my chin and jerked my head to face him. His eyes were cold and gray, intoxicated but undeterred.

“What did I tell you about the door?” His words were hot on my face and he had moved his fingers from my chin to my shirt, gathering the material in his fist. He pushed me backward into the wall. “Hm?”

“You said to m-make s-sure it w-was locked,” I stuttered and tried to forget about the tears waiting to fall.

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d be as stupid to lock me out of my own home. Stupid bitch,” he spat the last word in my face and pushed his fist deeper into my chest. It’s like he was making up for last night, when he yelled at me for not being home. Then it had only been a few shoves then he got bored with me.

“I’m sorry.” The words came out weak and limp, like a drenched sheet of paper.

“What was that?” His face came closer to mine, sultry breath latching onto my skin.

“I said I’m sorry,” I repeated, noticing my voice was no louder than before.

“Come again?” he growled lowly, smirking at how uncomfortable I was getting.

What kind of a dad found pleasure in the discomfort of his only flesh and blood?

I bit my lip uneasily before fury set in and I pushed back. “I said I’m sorry!”

My dad was taken off guard, stumbling back and clearing the path from me to the door. As my left shoulder hit the wall I winced but opened the door and stumbled out anyway. I fell into the wall in front of me but pushed off with my forearm and took off down the hall. I could hear my dad running after me clumsily.

I felt about ready collapse as I ran down the stairs. I heard my dad come to a stop at the beginning of the staircase.

“You know what? Fine, run away! And don’t you dare come back. You can send someone to get your stuff but if I see you again I’ll give you a mark that will make all the boys you chase send you the other way. Ugly bitch.”

I had my back to him the entire time, crumpling into sobs at the end of my journey downstairs. This involved hitting my back against the wall before sliding down and pulling my knees into my chest. I wrapped my arms around my thighs and rested my forehead on my knees.

The tears that fell were released from a reservoir created by years of abuse. I had given up on crying years ago.

I cried now because I realized just how alone I was. When I was little it didn’t really matter. When I was little I had a happy family. And a cute little brownstone. And a mom. I had preschool and Sunday school and ice cream and park visits. I had dinner on the table, play dates, and strong hands tucking me in at night, a strong voice telling me “I love you. Goodnight.”

Then my days turned to nights. Dad lost his job just as mom was diagnosed with Breast Cancer. Money dwindled and tempers flared. I was nine. The extent of my worries should have been over whether I was getting a new bike for Christmas. Instead I wondered whether I was going to wake up to yelling the next morning. Dad gave up on trying to find a job. He gave up on mom and me.

The last three months of Mom’s life she spent in the hospital. I was bussed over there after school every day and every night one of the nurses drove me home. My weekends were filled with curling up in a bedside chair watching T.V. or having my mom read to me.

Every Sunday I wheeled her to service. She wouldn’t always be able to stay awake or sit comfortably throughout the entire thing but she refused to leave.

Then they stopped letting her leave her bed. We started Sundays by watching service on television. The last few weeks of mom’s life she spent a lot of time with the pastor. They talked about death, about living after death, God’s promises. I was left out of these conversations, usually sitting alone in the hall for hours on end. He was the last one to see her alive.

When mom died the last ounce of Dad’s sanity went with her.

[A/N]

The song on the side is amazing and my friend found it for me. It's such a great voice for Aerin. Definitely check it out.

The next chapter is going to be part one of the last chapter... It's ending so quickly! I didn't change a lot, but I probably will in the epilouge. This story ends really fast... I didn't really see it going anywhere. Honestly I set it down for a year and I couldn't write anything at all... I figured I had to finish this one so it wouldn't be eating at me. I have other stories in mind and hopefully y'all will stick with me through them. I would love feedback from anyone reading this! Really, I've only had a few people comment or message me about All Rubber Duckies and it's kind of depressing. So, if you have anything to say I really would love to hear it. Anything, really honestly truly ANYTHING. Or, if you just want to message me I'm up for that too. Love y'all bunches.