Chapter 10 | Aaron
Aaron's definition of home was his mom. The first time he changed homes was when she left, and the second was when David decided to move over to another small town. The literal sense.
It'd happened a few days after Joe left, though Aaron doubted he was aware of it. Aaron didn't like change. Not even the slightest bit. Because change so far for him meant to be left alone, to be stuck in a car with luggage he'd unwillingly packed until he'd reach a new place he'd unwillingly call home. Change meant going to a new school with new teachers and new kids. Socializing wasn't his strong point. He'd rather sleep.
And he would sleep right now, if he could, if it weren't for the fact that it was early morning and he was in the school's playground sitting on a bench with a frown on his face like the entire world had done him injustice. Maybe that was true, only he learnt to devalue his own issues.
"Hey!"
Aaron looked aside at the hyper eight-year-old who'd just talked and already annoyed him. Her brown hair, interwoven into messy pigtails, plunged down her shoulders. She sat beside him. Aaron just stared back.
"Do you wanna play with us?"
"No."
"We just need one more kid to join—"
"Still no."
She huffed at Aaron. But then she laughed again. "Why do you sound sad?"
"I'm not," Aaron said. "I just don't wanna play."
"Oh... What's your name? I'm Erika."
"Aaron." He looked at her again. She had brown eyes, the honey shade that glistened against the sunlight. When she opened her mouth to speak, possibly to insist on playing, Aaron smiled tightly. She talked a little too much for his liking. For a moment, they just stared at each other. Then Aaron suddenly said, "You know what? Let's play a game."
His attitude changed far too fast to seem convincing but Erika nodded anyway. "Okay, tell me."
"You have to sit back, like me." Aaron straightened his spine against the wall behind him, glancing through the corner of his eye at her. She did the same. Their shoulders aligned. "Don't look at me. Face forward."
Now she was frowning. "Doesn't sound like fun."
"The fun part didn't come yet. Close your eyes." He made sure she closed hers then did so himself. Silence. He'd sigh in relief but that would be too obvious. The polite part of him cared, the insolent childish part didn't. One side outweighed.
"Now what?"
"Now don't talk. That's the game. The one who stays silent longer, wins."
"It's like we're meditating." She giggled, soft and hearty. This sound wasn't annoying. Not as much as her voice midst his need for rest. "Like my mom does-"
Mom. Aaron felt a hollow ache in his chest. He sighed, barely conspicuous, then focused again and frowned. "Too much information. You're losing the game. Your IQ isn't-"
Someone swatted him on the back of the head. He made a small startled noise through his lips before looking up, where he assumed the attack came from, only to fall eye-to-eye with his English teacher towering above him.
"The way you talk.." the teacher mused. "You sound a little mature for your age. She just wants to play with you, be polite to her, Aaron."
Aaron, be this and that. Don't say this. Be what we want. You'll never be you unless you're not you. He just wanted once in his life someone telling him that it was cool to be as he was. When did he ever disrespect Erika anyway? He played a game just to tell her off in a good way. If that wasn't a way to be polite, Aaron didn't know what was.
The teacher left, though she kept an eye on them as she moved. The bell rang just in time. Erika hopped off the bench and stood before him, facing him square. The hint of a smile on her lips relieved him a bit.
"Gotta go to class now, we'll play later."
"Wait, sorry," Aaron said. She tilted her head. "That I don't like to play like everyone else and-"
"No, it's cool. I don't mind."
Aaron watched her leave and disappear into the hallway. Her backpack was floral-patterned and rosy, just like the color of the rubber bands at the ends of her bouncing pigtails. He stood with a sigh like a hopeless grown up then trudged to the hallway as well. The walk to his class was as mundane as the gloom in his heart had become. Something he'd had to confront everyday until it became a part of him he'd unwillingly but inevitably accepted.
He sat close to the window because he liked to watch the sky. The sun appealed to him in a way he couldn't describe. So close yet so far. He could cover it with the tip of his finger yet it could kill him faster than he could blink. What made far things seem so tiny? Nature and its laws were contradictory. When he'd asked about it, he'd been told that he'd learn about them when he'd grow and things would finally make sense.
And of course they would, wouldn't they? The sun never dropped down like his pen right now as it rolled off the edge of the desk. A paradox that Newton explained. Uranus seemed to defy the gravity radiating off the planets around. Turned out scientists'd missed Neptune, the cause of Uranus's out-of-order orbit.
Aaron wondered what kind of scientist would ever manage to explain to him the paradoxes in his head. The love and hate, the life and death, the passion and hopelessness. How could these all be in simultaneous presence? Was it normal for an eight-year-old to be torn between wanting either or wanting none? Wanting everything or wanting nothing?
The blinds suddenly collapsed, obscuring the sky and breaking Aaron's musings. He made a noise and snapped his head towards Miss Tiffany with a frown that said: why did you do that?
"Aaron, focus here. Stop looking outside the window," she chided, cocking a brow at him.
He nodded and sighed then faced the chalkboard. His elbow dug into the cool surface of the desk, spine slowly slouching forwards. Miss Tiffany faced the board. Aaron fiddled with the edge of the copybook before him. Then he opened it on a blank page and pulled out a pencil. He dragged the tip in overlapping circles. One, then two, then three, then he had all the planets drawn down. Each in order: he could name them all one by one.
Long fingers suddenly slid in, grasped the paper hard then snatched it off the desk. Aaron's jaw slackened but the shocked gasp never slipped. He just tipped his chin up at Miss Tiffany and watched her observe his drawing then hold it down by her jean-clad hip. The grip was too tight. Be gentle, he thought. You're gonna ruin it.
"Aaron." Her voice was sharp. "I closed the blinds so you'd stop staring out and focus, and now I find you drawing. Is it that hard to pay attention to what I'm explaining?" She shook her head, sighing. Then she looked at the paper in her hand and shook it. "What even is this? Just random circles?"
Aaron'd been planning to remain quiet but this was a big offense. He frowned and corrected, "No, not just circles. It's the solar system. These are the planets." The edge to his voice and narrow to his eyes were a bit too conspicuous to be respectful.
"Planets?" She laughed even though she didn't mean to. Not in front of the class at least. "Doesn't seem like you focus in art class either, huh? You need to learn how to focus."
Aaron blinked fast a few times. The frown on his brows was offended. "And you need to learn how to keep your nose out of my business."
He'd purposely said it a bit too low. She didn't quite catch it. "What did you say?"
"Nothing." Aaron looked away. He'd repeat what he said, maybe even add to it and make it worse, but his manners told him otherwise.
She sighed. Again. Aaron found it annoying. He would grumble but he froze instead when he noticed her crumpling the paper like it was worthless and throwing it in the trash can. Something stung his heart. Why! he wanted to scream at her. When she looked back at him to catch the reaction, he felt like she'd meant to hurt him. So he sucked it up as much as he could and maintained a straight expression just to spite her.
The rest of the period slipped by like that: Aaron frowning subtly at Miss Tiffany and occasionally glimpsing at the trashcan. The sliver of sunlight that slipped through the blinds splashed in one slit along part of his face, singling out his slanted dark brow and glowing eyes. She caught the expression but ignored it.
He could be just a tad too sensitive but he wanted his drawing back. His solar system, his planets. Now submerged in trash. What an atrocity. When the bell finally rang and Miss Tiffany finally left the room—of course only after reaching over to pinch his pale cheek and say, I just wanted you to focus, sweetie—he remained resolute in his seat and waited for everyone to filter out.
And when he was left alone, he finally pulled himself off the desk and headed towards the door. At the threshold, he hesitated. He could see the crumpled paper peeking at him in the trash. He blinked a few times. It only took a second of silence and a cautious look down either sides of the corridor for him to finally decide and pick his paper out.
He grimaced at it then pressed it flat against his thigh and ironed it down with the heel of his palm. Some of the wrinkles smoothened, some persisted and kept the paper creviced awkwardly at the corners. Good enough, though. He pocketed it (in way more respectful way, of course) and moved along to his next class.
His next class was History so he spent it thinking, thinking, thinking. That was how he spent most classes anyway. And that was how he spent all day long, through History to lunch and back to countless torturous classes (including mathematics, which gave him migraine) until the final bell rang with repercussions that screamed: freedom!
Aaron could've dropped on his knees with relief when he heard it. He shoved his books into his bag and scampered to the school's front yard where his father should be waiting. The little bit of happiness melted then. He hated school but hated home too. Relief was always fleeting.
When he spotted the car parked in the lot, Aaron walked up to it and climbed into the passenger seat. There was no exchange of greetings or questions like: how was your day? and a childish did you miss me, dad? Of course not. Because Aaron never really had good days and he knew no one missed him. The answers were obvious.
So the ride home remained awkwardly silent. For now. Awkward wouldn't always be present. At some point, it'd become the norm just like the pain of abandonment. Forever present, forever aching, woven in his skin and scrawled on his bones. It was a blessing for Aaron, truthfully. He wanted this awkward silence to become comforting.
Aaron sighed when his new house came into view by the horizon. Closer, then closer, then closer. The car swerved into the compound and parked. Aaron stepped out, swinging his bag lazily over his shoulder. He followed his father inside.
As he took his shoes off, a part of him begged for acknowledgment. He tried to act like he didn't care but he wanted his father's attention. Anyone's attention. Notice me, dad, he thought. It didn't happen though, so he moved through the corridor to his room with another sad sigh. He got changed then went over to the kitchen for lunch.
Lunch was worse than the car ride, if you'd even call those frozen food lunch at all. Aaron sat slouched forwards, elbow into the table and fist against his cheek. With his other hand, he fiddled with the fork and slid the food around the plate aimlessly. No talking. Like always.
Aaron glanced at his father twice through his lashes, fast and subtle. He wasn't even eating, just sitting there and tapping his phone. Aaron bit his bottom lip, mused a little more, then finally said, "I drew the solar system, dad. But I couldn't make the planets as beautiful as they actually are." This time he kept his eyes fixed to David. React, Aaron thought. Please. "Miss Tiffany didn't like it." His expression twisted at the recollection.
David just nodded absently. "That's good."
Aaron almost had hope. "Can I show you it?"
"Whatever."
Aaron was used to direct dismissal so he smiled then hopped off the chair. When he washed his hands, he ran to his room and snatched the drawing as fast as he could. He came back to the kitchen. David was still holding his phone in one hand, only now with a newly lit cigarette dangling off his lips. Aaron approached and stood by his side.
"Miss Tiffany wrinkled it with her big ugly hands," Aaron mumbled as he ironed it down one last time. He tapped David's shoulder. No response. Eyes that were rooted to a flashing screen could never bother pick up the child's voice. Aaron's shoulders slumped. "You don't wanna see it?"
Aaron blinked. His brows slipped down, slanting into a frown. "Dad." He flapped the paper a few times before David's face, a desperate attempt for acknowledgment, only to be pushed back with a dismissive groan and a few angry mutters. "You said you wanna see it."
"I said whatever, not I wanna see it."
"Then tell me that you don't wanna see it in the first place! I don't even wanna show you anymore—"
"Aaron!" David snapped, rubbing his jawline. "No one cares about the solar system. Don't I look busy?" He snared the paper from Aaron's hand, tore it in half and threw it aside. The pieces fluttered midair. Aaron stared at them until they settled on the floor with his mouth half agape. "Get out. I'm trying to focus."
At first, Aaron just kept gazing. He let out a shaky breath. Right now, nothing was going right and he wanted to curl in a corner and disappear. Jannette had been the only one to ever share his enthusiasm about astronomy. His bottom lip quivered. Come back, mom. Then, like a switch accidentally flicked on, his insides ripped and the dams failed and he started crying.
The soft cries quickly grasped David's attention. He looked at Aaron through the corner of his eyes, saw a teardrop trickle along the slope of his cheek. Saw glazed grey eyes. He laughed like it was nothing, leaning back against the chair. "Are you seriously crying because of a stupid paper? Man up."
Aaron wasn't crying because of the paper. At least not just because of it. It'd been a trigger for all the pain to slam into him. He was crying because he missed his mom, crying because she didn't want him but he wanted her. Crying because everyone wanted him to do something he didn't approve of and be someone he wasn't.
"I said stop crying, it's making my head hurt."
Make my heart stop hurting and I'll make your head stop, Aaron thought. He didn't stop. He just pressed the heel of his hand into his eyes and cried soundlessly, which ended up not quite as soundless as David would like. He could hear it. The quakes in his son's breath, the sniffles and stifled sobs racking his chest.
David tutted then thrust the phone onto the table and stood. He gripped a chair and pulled it out. "If you're not gonna stop, I'll teach you. Sit here."
Aaron let his hand down and looked up, pale cheeks flushed and tear-mapped. He glanced at the chair but didn't move.
"I said sit here. And take your socks off."
Aaron knew the moment David fiddled with the lit cigarette in his mouth. He knew. His skin stung even though nothing touched it yet. "No," he said, voice small and helpless. He swallowed but the lump in his throat didn't budge. "I don't want to."
"You have to." David bent forwards and gripped Aaron's underarms then forcefully placed him on the chair. And as soon as Aaron was on it, he thrashed, kicking his legs around and trying to slip off. He managed to stand but a hand on the shoulder along with a bit of warning pressure easily pinned him down again. If there was one thing Aaron knew better than his name and that Miss Tiffany needed to stop existing, it was that this gesture meant: I'm serious. Aaron finally settled.
David left his shoulder when he was sure he wouldn't move. He knelt down in front of him, gripped his ankle and yanked off his sock. Aaron kept crying. He feared pain but what he feared more was having to live with it forever.
"You ever gonna cry again?"
"I can't control it, dad! I won't—"
"Shh. Of course you can control it. A real man can. And you're gonna learn how to be one." With a grip on the heel of Aaron's foot, he forced it up and pressed the tip of the cigarette into the skin. The second the mini-fire collided with Aaron's foot, he cried out louder, shed tears faster. His toes curled. He subconsciously reached his hand out and gripped his dad's arm. Squeezed. Hard then harder.
"Dad! Stop! Please, please."
David tutted. "Stop crying and I'll stop." When he saw the tears still trickling, he pressed it harder. Heard a sharp cry again. Aaron forced his face into the backrest of the chair, one hand clasping the support like his life depended on it. And it did, somehow, someway. Because it helped lessen the pain. He cried against wood but fought to stop and failed.
David threw the cigarette and watched his son. A part of him felt the sting of guilt, another knew this had to be done. That was how men were prepped to be men. Cigarette burns meant discipline and control. He wanted his son to be resilient like he was taught himself.
He caught Aaron's chin and forced his face away from the backrest. Drowning grey eyes stared at him. "Get up to your room, Aaron," he said as he patted his cheek a bit too hard and cocked his head towards the door. "But remember that every time you cry, I'll have to do this. Men don't cry."
"I- I won't cry again, I promise." Aaron wiped the tears off his cheeks with his sleeve and stood. He winced the moment his foot touched the floor. Stings and slicing pain. He choked on the remnants of his tears. The first few steps held limps but then he sucked it up and trudged to his room.
He plopped on his bed, facing the window. The sun began to set. Closer to the horizon, closer to abandoning him. Just like his mom. Did everyone and everything fancy leaving him?
Aaron had lied though when he said he wouldn't cry again. Because he would, of course he would. And he did, the next day, not even twenty-four hours past his promise. He cried because his stomach hurt late at night and it wouldn't stop. Ended up with a cigarette against his foot for the second time. And for the second time, he cried like it was his first, begged for mercy even though he knew it didn't exist.
The third time it happened, one thing changed. He stopped crying harder at the pain and started forcing himself to stop so David would pull the cigarette off his foot. That wasn't good enough though, nothing he ever did was and maybe that made him feel worthless. Trying to stop wasn't enough. David wanted absolute silence because his son was a stone to chisel, clay to mold. Who cared about a child's mental health?
Fourth time. Aaron knew how it went now. He took it without protest. Succeeded a bit more in shutting out his tears and cries and convincing himself that men didn't cry. He didn't even press his face into the chair anymore—now he watched it, watched the tip dig into his skin and trigger his nerves until he bit his lip without even knowing it. At least when he bit his lip, he cried less. Maybe that could impress his father?
By the sixth time, David didn't even need to bother that much. One little burn did the trick, reminded Aaron that he shouldn't cry even when he wasn't. Aaron learnt it. He cried less frequently, started timing his tears to shed in the bathroom or at midnight, anytime and anywhere he wouldn't be caught. Because crying was an atrocity for a boy, wasn't it? Maybe that was true, maybe that was right.
Maybe, Aaron started believing his father.
*_*_*_*_*_*
hey everyone! hope you enjoyed this chap <3 Erika was introduced today! But don't worry, I promise the prequel won't suddenly turn into cheesy romance or anything. Erika and Aaron are just friends here
Also,, watcha think about the ending? How I moved from the first time, second and third... did it work to show the evolution of how Aaron reacted to the cigarette thing? Lemme know if it sucked like the new transitions i tried in the last chap (still need to edit that crap) or if it worked!
Thank you so much for reading/commenting/voting, your support means the world to me <33