Chapter One

SITTING ON THE BRIDGE CLOSEST TO HOME while smoking my fifth from last cigarette was the best idea I’ve had all day. Even sitting around my bedroom smoking one didn’t make me as calm as I am right now. I’d drink my problems away, but then I’d lose myself even more and my secret would be out.

Wait, what secret?

The whole neighborhood knows Koda Johnson is nothing but a coward that let himself get beat up by his own mother to the point that he’s a jumpy moron whenever someone even touches or gets near him and refuses to speak.

The point of all this, is that I now live with my supposedly ex-abusive-mother and too-forgiving-father. It used to be just my father and me for a while when mom was in prison for the last three years. She only got sentenced three to five years with the possibility for parole at three years for child endangering and child abuse. It’s complete bullshit.

I was only fourteen, battered, bruised, broken and scared for my life when she was locked away. And now I’m seventeen; a useless, still broken piece of garbage that still visit’s the therapist. All because of my PTSD from what ten years of abuse did to me psychologically, emotionally and physically.

I have just one more month before my birthday and nine more months until I graduate from high school. Then I can make sure I’m out of here before she even tries to think about doing something.

Well, that was the plan, because just last week my mother was released from prison early on good behavior with a nine month parole sentence. I want to be as far away from that piece of property as I can, and for as long as I can every time I see her disgusting face. But so far all I’ve done is lock myself away in my room while she’s home.

A police officer, whose friends with my father, had stopped by about two weeks ago when the decision was made. Explaining the situation and what she’s not allowed and allowed to do when she’s released. My mother isn’t allowed to be alone with me, not allowed to be alone in the same room as me, always has to be within sight of someone else if I’m in the room and she’s not allowed to live under this roof.

Okay, those are my rules. Her real rules are that she’s just not allowed to be alone with me end of story, but she’s going to be living in this house. Under the same roof as me for nine more months of my miserable existence before I can be free of her once and for all. And so far, she’s followed every stupid a*s rule applied, and it’s making me too uneasy.

I sigh heavily before pushing up my black, thick rimmed glasses so I could rub my eyes a bit. I’m exhausted, and just thinking about this is making me exhausted, so I just take another drag from my cigarette and the thoughts just lift themselves away like they’re nothing, almost like they’re wisps of smoke in my brain.

I should really get home, not only because it’s dark out, but because my father wanted me home two hours ago. I remember him saying this morning about having plans for the two of us. Something that a father and son could do, but I wonder what that’d be because ever since mom got locked away, he wanted nothing to do with me. Blamed me on the absence of my mother even when he witnessed the abuse she unleashed on me. So he wasn’t really the loving sort the last three years of my life. Sure, he took care of me and everything else, but it wasn’t at all pleasant like it should have been.

And even with her home, he’s still not all eager to spend too much time with me.

Sighing, I get up off the sidewalk, using the guard rails for the bridge to get me up on my feet and to help me stand straight.  It took me a moment to get my footing, but once I found it, I picked up my back pack and I started my half mile walk home. Hoping I don’t smell too much like cigarette smoke when I get there.

 

#

 

“Dakoda Alex Jordan, where have you been? I thought we discussed you were going to be home right after school today!” My father, Ayden, cried out loudly when I walked through the front doors of our simple one floor house.

Taking my shoes off by the door and shifted my back pack on my shoulders a bit to ease the soreness from carrying it too long I could only glare at him. He should know that on Fridays I‘m out late anyway, I spend all that time moping in any place I could find to clear my thoughts before the weekend where I locked myself away the entire time. And he should know that I hate it when he calls me by my full name.

“I thought you’d be home on time for once to help me discuss what we’d do while your mother is actually home for the whole weekend.”

I blatantly ignore him this time, because he knows my opinion on actually spending time with my dear mother. Especially for the second weekend she’s actually home from prison, where she should still be.

“How much longer are you going to be quiet? It’s been three years since she hasn’t been home! You should be able to talk at least to me by now.”

I’m hoping he’s joking. Three years isn’t even close to enough time to heal from wounds that the dragon inflicted upon me for ten years of my childhood. I just hope he can decipher the bewildered glare I’m giving him right now.

“Don’t give me that look! You need to suck it up and get your head out of the past. It’s time you grew up” he says, and I can’t believe he actually said that. It’s like he completely ignores everything around him and refuses to accept anything. Like hell I’ll talk before I’m even remotely ready to.

After debating on whether I should throw something at him or just head to my room for a brief moment, I decide to hell with it all and stormed past the living room and down the hall to my room. I wanted nothing to do with him right now. He can be happy mom is home, just not with me in the same room.    

“Koda, please, you need to give her another chance. She wasn’t right in the head and you know it.” He says, but I just ignore him, laying my back pack down by my bed before I threw myself down and just laid there.

I sigh heavily in not only frustration but exhaustion, wishing I could just go to sleep, but I just let him talk. I’m going to let him think I’m paying attention. I have a pounding headache from him just talking about mom and it’s making me want to light another cigarette. I usually don’t smoke this much, this often. Actually, I kick started up to five or more cigarettes a day the moment I learned she was coming home earlier than she’s supposed to be. Ten months too early to be precise.

I don’t bother digging for my lighter and pack because I don’t feel like moving right now, nor do I even want to finish my homework. I know I can do that later when I’ve taken some shut eye.

“You haven’t had dinner yet. Would you like to eat before you get working on your homework?” Man, my father is persistent, but I continue to ignore him until I knock on my wall once. It’s a system we started, one knock is no and two is yes, three is unsure or undecided, four knocks is thank you and five is your welcome.

“I’ll save you a plate then, I made chicken parmesan with green beans, mashed potatoes and salad for the sides.” My father, the chef, tells me. I didn’t lock it, and I’m glad he doesn’t try to open the door like he’s done so many times before.

Four knocks on my wall make the conversation end on my side of the door.

“You’re welcome, oh, and your mother won’t be home until late, so if you wake up and she’s up and walking about, don’t be too shy. Try to have at least a little interaction with her.” And with that, he walked back down the hall and, to my guess, to the kitchen.

Me, interact with a woman who hasn’t even tried to talk to me herself? What utter nonsense he’s spewing is unrealistic. Just like a hero will come and save me again when she’s back for another taste of my blood to compensate for what she’s missed for three years.

I’m not letting the dragon get her chance. Not this time, I hope.

 

#

 

I woke up with a dry throat that nearly had me choking on whatever saliva my mouth could produce. And once I get my glasses on, I look at the alarm clock sitting on the night stand next to me. It read eleven, almost midnight.

I didn’t sleep for too long, but that’s alright, I have things to finish anyway like homework, getting something to eat, and taking something for this headache that won’t go away. That reminds me, I have medicine to take and I’m late on taking them. I was supposed to take them three hours ago just before I retired to take my nap.

Lying on my bed for a few more moments, I take notice to the light patter sound I can hear from my window next to my bed. I groan when I notice that it’s just raining outside, no wonder I have a horrible headache. I rub more sleep from my eyes before I get up and stretch and leave my bedroom, heading to the kitchen for something to eat. Not failing to take notice that all but the kitchen light was off, meaning that either my father is up or he’s in bed and my mother is home and in the kitchen. I can only pray that it’s not the latter.

But luck has never been on my side as far as I can recall, because when I walk into the kitchen my mother is sitting at the table eating her own plate of food. And from the looks of it she probably just started eating.

“Oh, Koda, it’s just you. What are you doing up so late?” She asked, like she even has a right to.

I just ignore her like I have for the whole week she’s been here. And I just know it’s starting to piss her off, but she knows she can’t do anything, making it easier for me to ignore her at least because one wrong move will get her back in prison for another three years.

“You should start showing me some respect and look at me while I’m talking to you.” She demands, but I ignore her again as I keep my back to her and look in the fridge for my plate of food Dad saved for me earlier.

“Don’t you even know how to be respectful?” God, like she even has a right to ask me that kind of question! “I would have thought after all these years something would have been drilled into that thick head of yours.”

I have to continue ignoring her and look for the plate of food that dad left for me and take notice that it’s not anywhere in the refrigerator. It’s only dawned on me now that mom probably dumped one down the disposal while I was sleeping, knowing I’d sleep through it so she’d have the other and leave me with nothing like she used to. I’m so used to her habits to know that she’ll never change. I wish that I would freely talk like I used to, because I want to tell her ‘thanks for ruining my dinner b***h’ but I just close the refrigerator and open the freezer to pull out some chicken patties and warm three of them up in the microwave.

I grab an apple from the fruit bowl and snack on that while I wait for my food. I’m not too hungry anyway and this will be plenty until breakfast.

“You’re as ungrateful as ever.” Mom said behind me before I heard a plate being put in the sink and her heeled shoes walking out of the kitchen and down the hall.

This is why I didn’t want to be left alone with her; she’ll never change. The degrading words, the sneers, the looks of complete and utter hatred and unwavering distaste towards me.

I don’t realize I’m trembling until the apple falls out of my hand. Watching as it landed on the counter before rolling onto the floor with a thud. I don’t even realize I’m holding my breath until I’m gasping for air. My legs are shaking so much it’s nearly hard to stand even when using the counter to keep me steady.

I hate it when this happens! Every time I’m near her or when she talks to me!

Valium, I need my valium before I start hyperventilating, and they’re all in my room.

None of this would be happening if one of my school teachers over the summer didn’t call me out, asking if everything at home was alright when she saw bruises on my arms; and it was all because I rolled the sleeves up on my jacket when I got too hot.

I bite my tongue when the microwave is finally finished and I pick up the apple off the floor, throwing it away before grabbing a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and my food. I was in such a rush to get to my room I almost slammed my door shut on accident. I really don’t need to hear her yelling at me right now.

No, stop thinking. I need to stop thinking.

Quickly putting down my plate and drink on my computer table, I rush over to my bed side table and open my top drawer to pull out my bottle of valium. With shaking hands I force the bottle open, walking towards my computer desk and take a pill to my mouth. The taste is bitter, but it’s washed away when I down my whole bottle of water with it.

I place the bottle down quickly before I could drop it and sit down in my computer chair just as my knees go out on me. And all I could think about was one of the times she reminded me how much she really cared about me.