Page 77 of Five Summers

“Then we'll need to find some way to make money until we find the perfect people to join our band, but only if they're the right fit. I don’t want just anyone to join us. We still have five weeks until we leave, so I might be able to save another two or three hundred dollars by then.” Ace glances at the clock. “Damn, it’s already three in the morning. You might as well stay here tonight.”

The following day, Ace and I decided to sleep in and skip school altogether. I didn’t really mind, as I had no desire to see Poppy anyway. However, I couldn’t help but keep glancing at the unanswered text message.

To take my mind off things, I get lost in the music again, writing more songs while Ace adds his awesome sounds to the mix.

As the clock strikes eleven at night, a wave of fatigue washes over me, mingling with a gratifying sense of achievement. We had successfully worked on and completed another song, which was now ready to be shown to any label who shows interest. And yes, once again, it’s a song about “her”. I’m certain that Ace has caught on to this pattern, but he hasn’t said a word. I don’t think he knows how to approach the subject, and honestly, I would probably lash out at him if he ever brought it up. It’s a subject that we both consciously avoid.

As Ace drives down the darkened street towards my house, I can’t help but wonder if Poppy waited for me again, like she did two nights ago. I haven’t received another text from her. Yeah, I did check, and I’m annoyed at myself for doing that.

Ace pulls up to the curb and looks at me as I gaze two doors down towards Poppy’s house. All the lights are off.

Ace’s voice catches my attention, and I turn to look at him. “You can tell me about her if you want.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. I’ve already told you she’s not my type,” I reply.

I open the door, ready to get out, but pause when he speaks again.

“But if there’s something on your mind, you know you can always talk to me. I’m here for you, man.”

“See ya later, Ace.”

As I step out of the car, I shut the door and stand on the sidewalk, keeping an eye on him until he disappears around the corner. Only then do I turn and make my way towards the house.

As usual, the lights in my house are out. The hinges of the screen door screech into the silence. I cautiously open the door and step inside. Almost immediately after shutting the door, I feel it - a sudden impact from behind. The force of the blow drills into my side, causing me to stumble. Instinctively, I raise my hands to shield my body. But it’s too late, my father has me trapped against the wall. His arm forcefully presses against my back, while my chest and face are forcefully pushed against the hard surface. I’m grateful that I left my guitar at Ace’s place.

“Where have you been?” he barks angrily. “Off fucking some little slut.”

With each word, he increases the pressure of his arm against my back, causing my head to repeatedly bang against the wall in front of me.

“Let me fucking go, asshole.”

“You're just a useless piece of crap. I wish I found out I wasn’t your father before your mother died, because I would have thrown her skanky ass and her bastard kid out long ago.” His face inches closer, and the stench of alcohol on his breath overwhelms me, instantly making me sick. He makes me feel like barfing the pizza that Ace ordered using the cash he took from his mom's new boyfriend, while they were banging in the shower tonight.

I can’t move, not with the way he has me pinned against the wall. History serves as a reminder that resisting only escalates to more violence. In just over five weeks, I’ll finally be able to escape this shithole and never lay eyes on this asshole again. For now, I must simply keep quiet and bide my time. That’s how I’ll endure these last five weeks.

His face remains close to mine. And the seconds seem to stretch on as the pain in my body continues. Suddenly, I feel his arm loosen its grip on my shoulder. Just as I’m about to step away, he forcefully grabs my hair and slams my head against the wall. The impact causes the drywall to crack, joining the countless other holes scattered throughout the room, remnants of my father’s fits of anger and violence. With a cruel laugh, the fucking bastard walks away, seemingly satisfied with his cruel act.

I remain there standing, still propped against the wall, desperately trying to suppress the pain as the throbbing ache intensifies in my head. Surprisingly, my legs manage to hold me upright, refusing to give way. I catch a glimpse of his silhouette as he moves down the hallway, watching him as he exits the room.

Trying to regain my balance, I notice a slight dizziness creeping in. Carefully, I take a few steps forward, desperately searching for something to hold onto. To my surprise, my hand lands on one of the whisky bottles that he always keeps on the coffee table in the room. Without a second thought, I swiftly grab the bottle and quickly leave, my head still spinning. I make my way out of the front door and onto the street, desperate to escape before he comes back and realizes one of his bottles is missing.

Unscrewing the lid, I indulge in the alcohol to numb the throbbing pain in my head.

I waste no time drowning my sorrows to numb the pain of what just went down. I despise him and everything herepresents. The kind man he used to be, is now a distant memory. It’s as if that version of him faded away, replaced by this despicable asshole. Why did my mother have to reveal her secret? That’s when everything changed. That’s when his animosity towards me began and has been festering ever since.

With the bottle now half empty, my headache has subsided and my body feels more at ease. One day, I hope he faces the consequences he deserves. I can only hope that I am the one who brings him down a notch by proving my worth to the world. He will see me the way Poppy sees me, acknowledging that I am truly something.

With thoughts of Poppy consuming my mind, I roll onto my side and glance towards her house. Bringing the bottle to my lips, I take a large gulp. A sharp ache courses through my body as I fixate on her home. It’s a debilitating and relentless pain, gnawing at my gut for the way I’ve treated her since that night I walked out of her room.

Is this what love feels like? An ache deep within your soul? If it is, I want no part of it.

I close my eyes and envision what it will be like in a few weeks when I walk away from her. The feeling is soul-crushing. It’s like I’ve been torn open, left with an immense void that's bleeding out my very essence. My eyes snap open. How the fuck did I let this happen? I’ve made a terrible mistake. She never should have infiltrated my heart so deeply.

Guzzling down another gulp, I get up off the curb. I’m on my way to Poppy’s house, feeling an overwhelming need to see her right now, as if my life depends on it. I know she must be angry with me for ghosting her, but I hope she can channel that sharp tongue of hers in a different way. Instead of yelling at me, she could use it to get me off. All I want is to kiss her, to feel her touch. I want to encourage her to follow her dreams and stand up against her mother, who constantly belittles her. Maybe I’lleven have the guts to tell her mother to back off before Poppy does.

Noticing that all the lights are off, I decide not to bother with the front door since I know Poppy is already asleep in her room. I proceed to walk around to the back of the yard. Finishing the last drop, I casually toss the bottle aside and search for something to use as a step.

As soon as I notice a wooden crate by the back door, I make my way around the side of the house, struggling a bit and stumbling a couple of times. My goal is to reach Poppy’s bedroom window.

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