Adventures of Aiden
Chapter 5
With the school day officially over and our punishments doled out, we all take the bus home. Milo and Alex have nothing to worry about. They go home to the safety of their homes. Well, now that I think about, probably only Milo gets that privilege, I know next to nothing about Alex's home life. Regardless, when I go home, eggshells will be scattered across the floor just yearning for me to step on them. Alex and Milo were able to stop me from walking or stealing a bus to get home earlier. I'm not happy about it, but upon further reflection, I was being stupid and the result would've been too similar for it to have mattered. All I have left now is the ride home, and then I'll be screwed for the rest of my life. Both him and Milo already said what they needed to and went on their way. I, on the other hand, get to endure another fifteen minutes of anxious, lonesome hell.
Glancing out the window, I watch the nature, cell phone towers, and various cars zoom by. Everything seems so bland in this moment. Normally, I love looking out the window and just observing the world pass me by, as if I was travelling through time. But today, there is no spark. I think about every person in every car, their pitiful, shitty life, the nature being sucked dry by our greed, and the cell phone towers giving us new connections but destroying old ones. A negative lens smothers me, and rightfully so. Spending so much time in therapy, I would've thought I'd be able to keep this feeling and thoughts at bay for longer, but I guess that's all wasted money down the drain now. This feeling is back, and I don't like it. Warranted, yes, but is it comfortable? Alluring? Useful? Hell no.
The bus halts. It's my stop. The end of my life as I know it. My foot paws move on their own as I lug my backpack--heavier than usual--off the bus and slug my way up the driveway toward the garage. Inputting the passcode, the door slides open and grants me access to the inner door. I slump inside, rip off my shoes, toss them and my backpack on the tiled floor, and head into the kitchen. She's waiting behind the island, arms crossed, a scowl on her yellow muzzle.
``I received a call from the principal.''
My eyes hit the floor and stay there.
``Well, aren't you going to explain how many times you've disobeyed me? How many times you've already gotten hurt, how you've gone and gotten your friend seriously injured.'' My mom slowly makes her from behind the island, slithering her way toward me. I don't like it. ``You've been constantly ruining your uniforms, and now I!'' She points to herself, now resorting to yelling. ``Have to pay for your carelessness!''
I whimper, ears drooping. ``I'm sorry...'' I mutter.
She throws her arms up into the air, walks away slightly. ``Honestly, after I finally trusted you! You go ahead and repeatedly disobey me. Repeatedly run into harm's way.'' She's pointing at me now, right back in front of my face again. ``Repeatedly go un-pro-tect-ed.''
I can sense the scorn from that last word. I can feel it in my quivering body, trembling paws and legs, racing heart. ``I...''
My mom waggles her finger at me. ``Eh, eh, eh! Don't bother trying to explain yourself. I'm done with this shit! I don't give a damn about the court order, the agreement, or anything. I. Will. Keep. You. Safe. You are my only. Child. Every other attempt failed. You! Are all I have. Do you understand me?''
``Y-yes, mother.''
She's breathing pretty heavily, I would imagine smoke coming out her ears, but I need to focus right now. One mistake and this can get much worse.
``Upstairs. Now. I'm locking your room. You are no longer permitted to leave your room, this house, or go to school, without my permission.'' She counts all those on her fingers, and I'm standing here, sobbing. I'm trying to keep it together, so they aren't full-on sobbing tears, just some sniffles and a few stray drops. ``What are you waiting for?!'' She moves inches away from my muzzle. ``I said. Go...''
I turn around and run. No resistance. No hesitation. No hope. Heading upstairs, the full-on sobs coming down now, I charge into my room and slam the door. Not even ten seconds later, I hear the door handle click. Locked. My windows, as per the now thrown-out agreement, are locked from the outside as well. I'm trapped. My breathing hastens, I'm still shaking all over, and I opt to sit on the edge of my bed at the end of my room. I heave and cry. Pulling my knees to my chest, I rock back and forth in gentle, swaying motions. I know that's a very stereotypical, baby thing to do, but it is quite comforting. I do this for several minutes until my crying is somewhat under control, and then, just as my therapist had told me, attempt to regain control of my breathing. I try to ground myself, breathing slowly, inhaling for four seconds, holding for seven, then exhaling for eight. Repeat.
Five minutes pass. I have finally calmed down enough to asses the severity of the situation. Despite the trauma, I have to keep my head screwed on tight, or else she wins. I look around my room. Dark blue walls. Not my choice; I never got to choose my color. I have my dresser full of folded clothes with a small CRT tv sitting on top, a shuttered closet with hanging clothes, a wooden toy box mixed in with my favorite plushies, a bookshelf sheltering... you guessed it... books, a bin for all my games and handhelds, which I've had to hide a countless number of times from my mother, and finally, a painted Super mario right next to my bed where I can see it from my pillow. In short, or in this case, very long, because it's a super long list, I have absolutely nothing useful to get out of here with.
Sighing in defeat, I plop down on my bed and stare at Mario, my favorite videogame character ever. He's a hero. Saves the girl. Beat the bad guy. Why can't I beat my bad guy? Be a hero? Save my friends? True, I was able to partially do so, but that's nothing compared to this italian plumber. I need to do something to get me out of this mess. The thing is, I don't have a cellphone, but we do have a landline, so all I gotta do is get to it. It's all the way outside my room and on the middle level. In fact, we have several little landline phone stations all over the house. The nearest one would be... the living room. Tomorrow, though.
I'm exhausted, and I don't think it'd be a smart move to play a game or two right now. If she hears me it'd be removed immediately. Destroyed. You get the picture. Those games and handhelds are things I hold dear. I'm lucky my dad bought them for me. I was never able to really play them by myself back then, only when mom miraculously wasn't home and dad was. She hated me playing them then, and hates me playing them now. She'd say, ``You'll rot your brains and become a mass shooter at school.'' I just rolled my eyes. The sad thing is that she's serious. I'm frickin' twelve years old and can do logic better. She's 37. It's pathetic. Logic isn't her strong suit due to her mental illness. A bit of OCD, a lot of anxiety, and a lesser form of, but longer lasting, depression. I don't remember the name of it. Sighing, I attempt to get comfy underneath my covers. It's only around 4:30pm at the moment. A little nap wouldn't hurt, I guess, but honestly, if I'm going to stay afloat tonight I'm going to need all the energy I can get.
Opening my eyes, still groggy, I glance at my alarm clock next to my bed on my nightstand. 5:30pm. An hour long nap, not bad, I think to myself, and I turn on the lamp for some extra lighting. It isn't much, and I won't need much till later on, because there's still a lot of natural lighting flooding in from my large window covered in blinds. Letting out a huge breath, I lift myself up from my bed and stretch. I just remembered; the bathroom is right next to my room. At least my mom was nice enough to lock me in a place with a bathroom. No bucket for me this time around. I go in and do my business, and just to check, I jiggle the doorknob in there, too. No dice. Sighing again, I head back out and hear a few raps on the door.
``Coming!'' I shout and race over to the door.
``I'm heading out for a bit. I got... an errand to run,'' she says through the door.
I know what she means by that, I think to myself. She's going on another date again. Hmph, fitting. You belittle your only son, and then chase after another guy again. Pathetic.
``Dinner?'' I ask.
``You get it when I get back.''
``I'm starving.''
``Should've thought about that before you went and utterly disobeyed me several times, mister.''
I make an exaggerated sigh that she can hear. No response. I hear her foot paws walking off then clambering down the stairs. ``Heartless monster...'' I mutter under my breath and walk away from the door. The urge to get out of here is reverberating in my bones, and I know that my mom has child-locked my door from the outside. Even if I break the handle off, I know certain tools will be required to finish the job. There's the locked window. That's an option, but I gotta find something sturdy enough to break it with. Walking over to my toy box, I open it up, and search for a hard plastic toy big enough to crack the glass with enough force. I take a large Transformers action figure that I had back when I was into the series: it's a Decepticon, Starscream, I think his name was? Regardless, I weigh it in my paw and grip it. It should do. I pull up the blinds guarding the rather large window. Walking back to the edge of my room, I prepare to chuck it at the window and throw as hard as I can. It whizzes past me into the window, I can hear a loud crack as a result, and I glance at the damages. It's small, looking like a bullet hole. Whatever. The crack is enough for me to break the rest, I just gotta use my foot paw...
Heading toward the bathroom, I grab a towel and wrap it around my foot paw several times for cushioning, and then I walk back over to the window. The rug feels weird on my fur as I lie down across it on my back. I cock my leg back and kick at the crack in the glass with my wrapped foot paw. Little by little, it spreads further and further until it shatters. All over me, I might add, but luckily, I shielded my face with my arms, and it was only falling glass shards. No biggy. I get up with caution, wary of glass pieces scattered all over the carpet, and begin to undo the giant screen covering the rest of the window. Once removed, I climb out, and notice the sheer drop.
``Holy crap... it's going to be a chore getting down from here. Looks like there are few foot paw holds, but... it's going to be rough,'' I mutter to myself. Just taking one look at the distance between myself and the ground makes my heart pound, but I have to do this. Even if I'm afraid. Turning around, I begin to move downward; my foot paws shuffle around blindly for hope of footing. I know that underneath me is the patio for the backyard, and we have four corner pillars for support, along with one large one in the middle housing a neat fireplace. I just gotta grab the corner pillar closest to my room and scuffle down it. The trip down isn't as bad as I thought; my foot paws were able to get some footing off of a few jutting bricks and window sills until I was able to head down to the pillar with confidence. Sliding down carefully, I finally reach the wooden paneling belonging to the patio. I walk around the back of the house and only have one destination in mind: Milo's house.
