We Watched the City Burn

Chapter 25

All I could think of when I was discharged, was ‘how did this happen’, I kept running over it again and again in my head. They say that things change so fast, that anything can happen in life, I knew that, but this never happens to people. Not anymore, anyway; strangers don’t rescue people anymore. But, my star has thrown me a lifeline. A second chance hand-delivered from God himself, one I don’t deserve.

Aurora and her Mother walk out with me, the nurse has to wheel me to the exit, rules, she says. I hate being in wheelchairs, and with two people that feel like bodyguards on both sides, I feel…I don’t know how I feel. I’m grateful, damn am I grateful. But it hasn’t registered yet, I don’t think. It hasn’t sunk in that I never have to go back to that house, to his anger, his hate and fists. That I no longer have to take his various abuses, that I’m safe for the first time in years.

I ease myself out of the chair, and Aurora’s mother grips my arm firmly, “It’s gotta be hard for you to move, I’ll help you into the car, then we’ll go to your place and pack up your things. Don’t worry; your father is far away, where he should me.”

Her voice is firm, confident, she sounds like a mother, ready to defend her babies. I haven’t heard that protective edge since my own mother walked out on me. It makes my throat close up, and my eyes start to mist. What would she think of me now? Going to live with strangers, with a woman that was protecting me in a way she didn’t, maybe couldn’t.  I remember that if she tried to stop Him from coming at me, he’d beat her senseless, then come after me twice as hard. Once or twice he even made her watch…

I shake my head, erasing the toxic memories, I can’t think of the past anymore, I’ll go mad.

Aurora watches as her mom helps me slide into the front seat of an old, but comfy navy blue minivan. When her mom tries to buckle my belt for me, I shoo her hands away and click the belt in myself.  Rather than get offended, she chuckles, throaty, like she used to smoke.

“This boy’s a stubborn one, Aurora. A fighter, we got a fighter here.” She slides into the driver’s seat and smirks at me. I flush and drop my eyes to my lap, and knot my fingers together tightly.

“Matthew’s a lot of things, Ma. A fighter, and a singer, but he doesn’t want anyone to know that,” I can see her smiling at me, beaming. Just picturing her smile makes my stomach flip and twist. I don’t mind that she told her Mom I sing, either. It’s true, anyway and I think it’s good that she knows that I can speak.

“A singer? Well, you may have to sing for us one of these days, Matthew. When you’re up to it of course, now, where’s your place at?”

Aurora gives her the directions, and I watch the houses and trees pass; I’m trying to decide if I want to peel off some of the stars, maybe just a few. There’s not a lot of things I want to take from my past with me into my New Beginning, I can think of some things, the rest can rot in that empty house for all I care.

When we pull up in front of my house, Aurora’s mother makes some comment about the size of the place, yammering about how much money my father must make. I don’t answer, I just want to get in, get my things and get the hell away from this house. There are too many ghosts lurking in the corners, too many bad memories waiting to drag me down and choke all of the hope out of me.

I hear Aurora whispering heatedly to her mother, something about ‘keeping her nosy mouth shut’, and I hear the words ‘tired’ and ‘too much right now’. At that moment, I feel a wave of something crash over me. Something good, a feeling of…trust, it must be trust. I trust Aurora to speak up for me when I can’t, to say and do the things I’m far too skittish to do. She’ll take care of me, protect me from anyone, or anything and I know that for a fact.

I fetch the spare key from under the welcome mat, and let myself in.

You can tell when a house hasn’t been lived in; it feels empty, sad. Haunted, almost. The air is a little stale and grey, I feel bad for this huge, lonely house, but I can’t stay here anymore. Like my mother before me, I was fleeing to safety, fleeing from the nightmare that has become my father. 

I beeline to my room, only looking at my feet as I shuffle down the empty hall; I can feel the ghosts starting to come out of the corners, teeth shinning with hunger, they can smell human flesh. I throw the door to my room open, and freeze.

My entire room, my bed, the floor, everything, is spotless, like a cleaning tornado ran through. When I left the house days before, it was a complete warzone. Even my bed was made; the pillows fluffed and perched on my duvet. He did this. He cleaned my room.

He touched everything, got his anger and self-loathing all over everything. It was like everything I owned was covered in leaches, or a thick film of black goo. I couldn’t take any of this with me. It would spread to my new home, infect Aurora and her mother. I wasn’t going to let him ruin this new hope.

I opened my closet, relieved to see my clothes still piled and thrown all about, untainted by his twisted display of faux affection. . I grab all of my favorite clothes, the ones that kept me covered, warm and safe and shove them into the duffel that I had packed earlier, days before.

When I have my clothes packed, I pile my school textbooks into a pile, and then turn my eyes to my ceiling. The stars are stuck fast, but there are a few that have sagging points, loose from fighting gravity’s pull for so long. I grad my desk chair, and plant it firmly in the middle of the floor, I step, shaking, on to the chair, just as Aurora and her mother come in.

“Matthew what are you doing, you’re going to fall and hurt yourself again!” Her mother sounds genuinely worried about me toppling over, which seems possible. This chair is not as steady as I once remembered.

“Aurora, hold on to my waist, I have to get some of these down. I just have to. I packed clothes; my textbooks are by the bag. I don’t need anything else.” My voice was rough, but strong, for the first time in years. 

Aurora doesn’t question me, and she grabs me firmly in around the waist, and, I feel something inside my pants twitch. Not now, now is not the time for a boner, focus. I claw three stars loose and let them fall to the floor before I nearly fall, and Aurora nags at me until I get down.

“Why are these so important, Matt” Aurora asks, picking up the stars and handing them to me; she’s not criticizing, she’s just curious.

I slip the stairs into the front pocket of my bag, and whisper, “My mother, before she left, she helped me put these up.”