~ A sketch of Skip, my favorite problem child :) ~
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From the moment he was brought into this world, Zeke Jacobs was controlled.
Baptized at such an early age he wasn't able to remember a thing, his parents forced him to church every week, including the daily catholic lessons that took place after his usual school hours. He grew up in a household filled to the brim in crosses and biblical quotes, to the point that strangers felt the need to comment when entering such a suffocating house.
Zeke didn't know that any opinion apart from his parents existed. All he knew was the environment surrounding him, the fellow church goers and their families, the friends from lessons that were only allowed to play for an hour at a time. Zeke's parents weren't parents at all; rather, they were a duo who didn't believe in allowing their only son to form beliefs of his own without looking down upon him.
The first time Zeke asked for a phone, his parents sent him to his room to be grounded for a week. He learned shortly afterwards that to ask for something out of turn was as bad as sinning in that house, and he didn't do it again. Not until years later, when he attended public school for the first time, and learned just how accessible the real world's opportunities spread out for him. There were people his age that didn't believe in the same God as his family, and that fact alone blew his mind out of the water. The idea of living for yourself, away from parents that forced you to attend confession every Thursday and grounded you for asking for a break every now and then, was unheard of to Zeke.
And then Zeke found out something incredible; he didn't have to listen to the rules outside of his own house. Sure, he would be punished with detention or a slap on the wrist, but it would be nothing compared to the hours of lecture from his parents, and Zeke craved all the defiance he could perform.
It wasn't long before his personality changed from a sheltered, timid child to someone that carried frequent sarcasm and a bitter attitude on a daily basis. Sure, he would still go to church every Sunday and wear his best button down shirt, but the moment he left to go to a school away from his parents, Zeke broke out a stick of eyeliner and took off the jacket covering his ripped black tank top. He brought as many accessories as he could with him to school, wearing everything he could to defile the very persona he was forced back into at home.
After a while, Zeke started to feel a strong sense of hatred towards his own family. The controlling, overwhelming parents that broke him down from the minute he was born. The over abundance of crosses in his room that blocked any sense of identity outside of his church. Most of all, the belief that if he didn't adhere to what they wanted from him, he wouldn't be loved in the household that sheltered him for the past 17 years previous. Zeke was determined to strip himself from the people that made his life a living Hell, and the only way to do that without cutting them off entirely was to change his name.
Nothing legal, of course, because to do so would mean his parents finding out and wreaking even more havoc on his life, but a nickname that allowed Zeke a chance to escape between his two personas. A God-loving catholic boy at home, and the hardass delinquent at school.
Rumors eventually got around that Zeke was the school skipper; if anyone knew how to get out of class without the teacher finding out, it was him. People would come to him the period before a test and ask for advice from around the institution, and a reputation tends to precede those who live up to it. Strangers who didn't know his name, but the face of the person who knew every corner of the school, referred to him as the "Skipper," a common joke amongst students that carried on into something more the longer Zeke heard it. It was his name, not legally, but officially from the moment it first flooded his ears.
Zeke Jacobs was no more: Instead, the name "Skip" took over. And to say he loved it was an understatement.
From the moment he was born, Skip was controlled, and then he adopted a new image and name to prove to himself that he was not the self righteous son of two overbearing parents. The two people that controlled him most were not his parents, no matter how blood controlled the relationship, and Skip held it true to his heart that he never had a mother and father in the first place. He wouldn't know a parent's love if it looked him dead in the eyes and screamed.
Maybe that's why he felt compelled to help Sam in the first place.
Seeing his friend reduced to tears at the story of his parents and how he was stripped from the same love Skip was, caused a twig to snap in his mind. He wouldn't let Sam suffer for even a second longer if he could help it, and the fiery passion that allowed him to change his name was the same passion forcing him to look up the name of Jamie Foster on his phone for the entirety of the stupid horror movie playing out in front of him.
As it turns out, it's not so hard to find the address of a stranger with a few clicks of a button.
It also just so happened that said address was only fourty five minutes away from Leo's house, and with a little determination, Skip could make it there in thirty.
He planned on consulting with Sam first, of course, because it wouldn't be revenge without the victim present. But the night that everyone arrived back home, tired from a long movie (that apparently didn't go so well, but Skip wouldn't know), had everyone ready to turn in for the night. A slim pile of snow began stocking up outside the warm house, forcing Leo to turn on a fire inside the brick-layered chimney. Soon a crackle filled the air, and with Sam now pried away from Elijah's scarf and sitting up in Leo's palms, everyone was content to relax for the rest of the night. Together. There was no time to pull Sam aside without looking suspicious or cause a stir in the atmosphere, and Skip decided it best to wake him later while everyone else had fallen asleep.
His leg shook with anxiety every passing minute at the thought of getting to visit Jamie and let him suffer the consequences in person, but Skip was forced to wait in silence as he watched the fire pop around such an enclosed space. He just needed to get on with the task at hand and ensure Sam's approval along the way. Maybe he would want to come with him, sitting on his shoulder or something while they faced Jamie together. That would be the preferred option...
Skip jolted awake, mind running and he thrashed around in the blanket covering his lap. He took a second to remember where he was, still in the same spot of the living room, the fire dulled down to a simple hiss every now and then. He had fallen asleep by accident, but a quick check outside the windows proved it to still be too early for anyone else to be awake yet. They all must've gone to their own respected bedrooms and put the blanket on him to keep warm with the dying fire. Skip took the fuzzy cloth in his hands and worked on giving it a few gentle tugs before folding it and placing it down where he previously fell asleep. Damn that couch for being so comfortable.
He crossed the living room until he came to a stop outside Leo's bedroom; the door was still ajar and, elated at the luck he had been given, Skip witnessed Sam fast asleep on Leo's chest in the darkness. It was hard to see at first, but a soft purring that rang through the air proved it was him, half covered with a hand and a thumb that stopped mid-stroke down the center of his back.
Skip took a few steps forward, cringing at the creak in the floorboards, continuing with slow movements before reaching the side of the queen sized bed and crouching to his knees before his friends.
He witnessed Leo's chest heaving up and down, the heavy breathing causing Sam to rock but not at all affecting his slumber. In fact, the up and down motions seemed to give Sam a better sleep, because despite any noise Skip made, he didn't wake up.
"Sam," Skip whispered. He waited, yet nothing happened. "Hey, Sam."
Still nothing. He reached a hand over to give a cautious tap, but the second his pressed a gentle finger to Sam's side, the purring in the room rang out for the whole house to hear. Out of whatever instinct deep within, Skip traced his finger down to Sam's tail, finally getting the appeal of Elijah's fascination with the soft extra appendage. It was like his purring was a reward for a job well done, and Skip smiled at the thought. Sam looked incredibly at peace in his sleep.
Skip decided he would leave him alone.
Someone so patient, so innocent, so good, and Skip wanted to ruin that for him like he did everything else. No, he would leave Sam alone and go on his own, if not to get revenge on Sam's behalf, then to protect his innocence in the future. It wasn't as if he was doing anything wrong, anyways. He would go through with teaching Jamie a lesson, and then come right back to tell Sam every detail.
Easy. Simple. And Sam would purr to reward him after all was said and done.
With one last fond look at his friend, Skip wondered when he had gotten so protective over him. Maybe it was from the start, when the late night conversations over the phone allowed Skip to open up about who Zeke was, and Sam listened to every word as if it mattered. Maybe it was ever since he found out about Sam and the fragility that came with his size, because the first thought that ran through his head when he saw a crying boy attached to a string in the kitchen was not 'what is that?', but 'is he okay?'. Maybe it was the first moment he held Sam in his own hands and watched as he fell asleep against his chest. Nobody had done that before. Nobody trusted Skip enough to find a safe place near him, and nobody looked past his outward appearance from the moment he was born. Sam was too good a person to be friends with the likes of Skip, the 'big brother', as he described him.
Skip rarely smiled, but when he looked down at the little person that his finger had just retreated from, his grin was too genuine to hide.
He would go on his own.
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True to his own prediction, it took a thirty minute drive in the beat-up truck for Skip to find a rusted, milky White House on the inside of a cul de sac. The sun had just lifted enough to break through the trees on the horizon behind the houses, alerting every bird in the nearby area to start singing for anyone looking to wake up way too early.
Skip pulled into an empty driveway and turned off his GPS, taking in a precious gulp of air, and turning his head to the side of the headrest to watch the front door only a few feet away.
Getting inside without a key wouldn't be an issue; growing up to defile your parents led to Skip being able to do a few things outside the law, and breaking and entering was something he used to do to abandoned warehouses anytime he needed an escape. He had a hairpin in his glove compartment for that exact reason, still left over from his days of sophomore year.
If he was going to do anything, he might as well get it over with and make it back to Sam as quickly as possible. He might even make it back before Sam had the opportunity to wake up, and then grant him a good story that Sam would praise him for. Skip turned off the engine at the thought.
He hopped out of his truck, stomping towards the front door but being careful to slow down his steps the minute he got close enough for anyone inside to hear.
Skip picked the lock like it was the easiest thing in the world. The only thing on his mind was getting back to Sam, but he needed to bring good news when he finally drove back. Besides, he made it this far, he might as well go through with it and carry out his plan of action for Sam's sake.
So he pried the door open and took a step inside.
A cross on the wall in front of him fueled every new footstep, allowing Skip to tiptoe through the quiet household in search of any source of evidence that a teenage boy lived here. He checked the kitchen first, the den, and then an empty bedroom with a king sized bed and no decorations around it. Everything was bland, from the bed sheets to the curtains, leaving Skip with the assumption that this was the parents room. He didn't have any quarrels with Jamie's parents, aside from giving birth fifteen years ago.
Another bedroom came into view, this one with the door closed. Sunlight peeked through the windows of the hallway, bouncing off the white door and highlighting it with a sign for Skip to go ahead with whatever he was about to do next. He took a deep breath, a step forward, and turned the knob to bring himself into the room before him.
Nobody was inside.
It was obvious a teenage boy lived here, although weird in a few aspects. A periodic table lay above the bed, and charts of scientific posters spread through the walls as if it were a classroom. The desk stood at the end of the room, littered with a mess of worksheets and pens in every color. It was clear to Skip that Jamie had no sense of organization; even the bed was a mess of covers and pillows at every edge.
Skip continued looking around for proof of Jamie anywhere he could find it. When he reached a closer look at the desk and stole a glance at the name atop every worksheet, he found his answer. This was the Jamie Foster he was looking for, the one that killed Sam's parents and the one that he was here to teach a lesson to.
A cluttered sound rang out through the room, and Skip's boot caught on something on the ground at the exact same time, forcing him to whip around in an anxious spurt to see what it was.
Just a box of crackers on the floor. Nothing to worry about, but when he listened in the dead silence, he could barely detect a small scratching inside the box. A mouse, maybe, but the minute Skip grabbed the box to inspect it, his phone blared out and forced him to drop it on the desk with a small thud in surprise.
Skip thrusted his phone out, looking at the caller ID and immediately declining it the moment he saw the name.
Elijah was calling him. True, Eli was an early bird, and he might've just woken up to find Skip missing in the house. If anything, Eli most likely figured Skip went back to McDonald's for a coffee, and there was nothing to worry about. Leo and Sam wouldn't be up for hours, anyways.
He shoved the phone back in his pocket, immediately forgetting about the box on the desk, and moving on to the collection of trophies along the dresser to his left. From what he could gather, Jamie seemed smart. He had countless awards from scientific competitions and debates, all stacking up against each other to prove that the owner of this room was a nerd, if nothing else. Skip scoffed at the thought, until his phone rang out again.
Skip decided to ignore it this time, not being able to see that the caller ID read Leo's name.
The more he toured the bedroom, the more anxious he began to feel. As if Skip's subconscious was telling him to get out before he did something he might regret, he wrung his fingers and sat on the edge of the messy bed to figure out what to do next. The box of Crackers lay atop the desk, unmoving, no sound producing anymore. Skip figured he must've scared the mouse If there was any to begin with, and continued scanning the room with a blank stare. There was no point in coming here if Jamie didn't even show up, but he wasn't going to give up so easily.
Skip sat on that bed for no more than five minutes before his eyes picked up more scratching, this time near the walls. Movement was going on inside If he was quiet enough to hear it, and he stayed silent to listen in.
Skip heard a voice. He swore on his life he heard a voice from inside the walls.
Though, the minute he got up to inspect his suspicions, the door to the bedroom cracked open, and a single
"Who are you?"
Broke through the air on impact.
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A/N: Early Update, because I couldn't wait any longer to share a little bit of Skip's thought process. He is the worst and I love him for that 😌
Please feel free to comment and leave a vote if you liked this chapter, and thank you so much for reading!
-D