Page 4 of Loving Trent
The darkness that has been following me for two years presses in. Without any strength left to fight it, I allow it to consume me fully.
My body grows lightheaded as if I had died in that moment, and I float out of my body. Watching as the person who looks like me raises a fist and shatters the mirror. Hands that are similar to mine, except for the black that covers them, wrap around the biggest piece of glass. The slam of a door echoes through the space, but it seems only I hear it. Because the altered version of myself doesn’t even twitch. As quickly as I escaped, the sound of a fist slamming against the locked door propels me back inside my body.
The roar of my blood pumping fast is drowned out by the echoes of all the adults over the years. All their voices combine into one single demonic voice that yells at me. It tells me how sick I am, how no one will love me, how big of a disappointment I am, and how broken I’ve become.
My hand tightens around the shard of glass, and blood starts falling down it. There is no pain to accompany the cut.Another loud bang has me spinning around to see the door physically shake.
“Open the door, Trent,” Director Tom yells.
“Trent, be the good boy you are and open the door for me,” Sandy pleads.
Once again, time’s up, and I’m facing another nightmare. Drop the glass, open the door, and continue living like this, or finally be set free? My eyes drop to the glass, stained red by now, and there is only one choice. Tightening my grip even harder, I plunge it into my stomach, ripping through my skin. It doesn’t hurt. In fact, the weight crushing me lifts just a little. Needing more relief, I pull the glass out before shoving it back in. The more I plunge the slippery glass into my body, the lighter I become. With one final plunge into my chest, the door breaks off its hinges, and I fall to the floor.
I’m finally free.
But the darkness doesn’t fully take me, and it doesn’t last. The smell of bleach breaches the darkness, pulling me out. Loud, annoying beeping refuses to let me sink back into the peaceful abyss. Cracking my eyes open seems impossible, but I manage. Nurses are standing around me with their mouths moving, but all I hear is the call of sweet relief begging me to come back. Gladly, I listen and allow the darkness to pull me back under.
When I open my eyes again. The room is quiet except for the sound of my own heartbeat. I look over and see a shadow of someone sitting in the chair with their head turned toward the window. My mouth feels like it’s full of cotton, but when I attempt to ask for water, all that comes out is a cough. Which pulls a loud groan out of me as pain sears through my chest, stomach, and shoulder. The lights flip on, and I finally see who is in the room with me. It’s not Director Tom as I feared. It’s my Uncle Joey, my mom’s brother.
His brown eyes are wide and swimming in unshed tears. His lips are pulled into a thin line, and he has dark bags under his eyes. I haven’t seen him in two years, since my thirteenth birthday, the day before Dad found my journal. He looks a little older, but still looks like the fun uncle who taught me how to ride a bike and would spend hours with me as I browsed the library for the perfect book.
“Hi,” I say weakly. Speaking causes another round of coughing and pain. Uncle Joey rushes forward and grabs the cup off the table, holding it out for me to take a sip.
“Easy, you had a tube down your throat. It’s going to be sore for a couple of days.” Uncle Joey’s voice is warm and full of compassion, which is a stark contrast to what I’ve been on the receiving end of in recent years. It settles over me, calming my racing heart and soothing some of the rough edges.
Once I’m done, he sets the cup back down, lowering himself onto the chair, and moves to grab my hand. Out of habit, I pull it back and hide it under my leg. His voice and presence might soothe me, but I can’t have him touching me. The thought of anyone touching me has me fighting the urge to rip my skin from my bones.
“Trent,” he says. My name sounds like a plea, pushing me over the edge. Tears fall rapidly from my eyes. My chest hurts with each sob that is torn from my broken and abused body. He quickly but gently sits on the bed, and though I hate it, I collapse in his arms.
We don’t have time to speak because the door opens, and two police officers enter my room. Uncle Joey doesn’t go far and never lets go of my hand. I listen half-heartedly as one officer tells me that I was found on the side of the road by an older gentleman who was heading back into town two days ago. “He called 911 immediately and stayed with you until we arrived on the scene. We thanked him for his service, but heinsisted on following the ambulance to the hospital and has sat in the waiting room while you were rushed into surgery for your injuries.”
Uncle Joey squeezes my hand, gaining my attention. “Along with the six stab wounds to your stomach and one to your chest. You had a nasty gunshot wound to your shoulder. Luckily, the stab wounds weren’t serious, but they did have to dig glass out of the one in your chest. It was the gunshot wound that took the most work.” The tightness in his tone is the only indicator of how pissed off Uncle Joey really is right now.
“Son, can you tell us what happened to you?” The police officer asks.
Do I tell them the truth? Will they believe me? Or will they look at me like Director Tom did? What will Uncle Joey say if he learns the truth? Uncle Joey must see my confusion and offers an answer to the questions he thinks are running through my head.
“Once the director of the school you were attending noticed you were missing, he called the police and reported it. A search team was mobilized, but you were already found when they started the search. Do you remember who attacked you? Where did you get the scars?”
His words, while spoken in English, make no sense to me, so I shake my head. The police ask a few questions, mainly about the scars on my body, but I never answer. They eventually leave after saying they would be back. After a few tense moments of silence, I find my voice once again. “Uncle Joey, where are my parents?”
“They won’t be coming. If it wasn’t for Betty calling me, I would have never known what happened to you. According to the social worker who was here when I arrived, the hospital received a call from your dad during which he stated that they could no longer deal with you.”
After all I’ve been through, to hear that my parents aren’t coming shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. It shouldn’t feel like Uncle Joey just poured gasoline onto my heart and set it on fire. “Okay,” I say weakly.
Uncle Joey’s hand cups my chin and raises my head up. “No, it’s not okay. Not in the fucking slightest. I don’t know what happened to you, but I don’t believe the story being fed to the police. When you’re ready, I know you will tell me everything, but until that happens, don’t you worry. I’m here for you, and I’m not going anywhere. You understand me. No one is going to hurt you again. Not unless they kill me first.”
I stayed in the hospital for another week. The police came back, but I never said a word to them. I never told Uncle Joey what really happened either. When I was discharged, Uncle Joey told me I was going to live with him. Dad and Mom signed over custody of me to him with two stipulations that I never contact them again and that they would not provide any financial support for me.
Three
TRENT
Instead of tears coming from the memory, like they had in the room, this time, my blood boils, rage infusing with the cells that pump through my body. The small town’s lights take on a red hue, and all I want… no, all I need at this point is to find Sandy, Tom, and every other sick person who took part in my past and end them.
End them all.
Slowly. Painfully. But I can’t. At least not right now because they’re like snakes. They have slithered off somewhere, but I will find them. Because just like snakes, they have to come out of hiding for their next meal, and I have no doubt that somewhere out there, they are hurting more kids. They thrive off it; it feeds whatever darkness lives inside of them, but their time is coming soon, and when I find them, I will show them my darkness. The darkness that they created is far worse than theirs.
