[ORIGINAL, UNCHANGED VERSION; COMPLETED]
DISCLAIMER: This story was written years ago and is not at its best.
Beau Jensen, a grievous mess that has only ever fallen in love once with the wild and absolutely charming Kendra Moore. Facing problems of...
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• CHAPTER SIX • »—————«
BY THE TIME Iwake up, there's already shouting downstairs. My alarm clock shows the time: 6:00 AM. The sun has barely peaked.
Everything feels like a haze and for a moment, I think I might just be imagining the thumps and vicious voices behind my bedroom door. Until there's a knock. Sluggishly untangling the sheets from around my body, I stumble toward the source of the repeated knocking and pull the door open.
My tired eyes fall on an equally exhausted Marc. He shifts from foot to foot, tugging on the collar of his white t-shirt as he peers up at me. "I can't sleep," he says.
I blink slowly, then step aside for him as an invitation for him to enter. The look of affliction on his face drives a knife straight into my heart. He resembles me when I was his age; conflicted and confused about the world and our family, why it isn't like everyone else's family, and why we're so different. We run away from things like it'll make them better. The only difference is Marc has someone to run to. I never did.
That's not to say any of this is unusual but for Marc. I've watched men come and go through our house over the years and I've watched Ethan bully Mom into submission. Nothing changed when Marc was born as she hoped. Each day, I can still see the fear in his blue eyes beneath the love he has for his mother and father--that is, fear is the reason he loves.
As I stand in the doorway and listen to mom and Ethan's voices, cutting through the sombre morning silence, my brother scurries inside and jumps on my bed. "I think Mom's crying again." His words are brittle. "I just wish she would stop. It's so hard to sleep with all that stupid noise."
He throws the blanket over his legs and pulls it to his chin. "Stupid, stupid. I hate it. I hate listening to it."
"Hey, it'll get better soon. They have their own way of working things out." I join him on my bed and lie down. We both stare up at the ceiling now like its bland colour might solve all our problems. "Just ignore them. Close your eyes and pretend you can't hear them."
I used to tell myself to close my eyes and drown out their voices whenever they fought. I remember being seven years old and on one particular afternoon, Mom and Ethan had gotten into an argument about Marc, who had been only one-year-old. I had been sitting in the living room with him as the walls rumbled because of their shouting. I had to watch TV and act like I couldn't hear Mom scream or Ethan pummel his hands into her skin. My brother was just a baby at the time, so he fed on their negative energy and sobbed, terrified of all the sounds he was hearing. Everyone was sobbing. Everyone except me. It had been so noisy. So unbearable. I couldn't hear anything on the TV. All I could hear was Mom, Ethan, and Marc. Until I couldn't hear them anymore and all my ears registered was the sound of my racing heart when Ethan walked in the room and hit me next. Again and again, but I just couldn't scream. He hadn't liked the way I held his son, enraged that I was shielding him from his fists.
