The Red Thread (14 page)

“Can I come in?” he pathetically asks. It sounds as if he is holding back tears.

“Yeah. I’ll be right there.”

I quickly dress and race downstairs, not even bothering to be quiet. My parents will live. Tommy is standing at the front door when I tear it open. Before I can even breathe, his arms are around me, and he starts to cry against my neck. I don’t even mind that he is bleeding on my shirt. It’s old anyway.

“What happened, Tommy?” I ask him in a soothing voice.

He doesn’t answer.

“Tommy, what’s going on?” I begin to plead, worry taking over.

“My dad got drunk and decided he needed a punching bag. I hit him back… and well, that’s a huge no-no in his household. That fucking bastard did this to me.”

His sobs echo throughout the house, and I hear a door creak open. Shit. This will be hard to explain to Mom and Dad.

“Jess, what is going on?”

I look over to see Clara standing on the staircase. She wears her fuzzy pink bathrobe, and her hair is in a wavy mess.

“It’s nothing. Go back to bed, Clara,” I demand of her, as I watch Tommy hide his face away in shame.

She doesn’t listen and makes her way toward Tommy.

“Oh my God,” she gasps. “What happened?”

I hear the worry in her voice, and I let Tommy know he can trust my sister. He tells her the story, and I watch as her face contorts with a look of disgust. She says she’ll be right back, and the way Tommy stares at her is similar to how a puppy stares at his owner when they leave, thinking they’ll never come back.

Clara comes back with a first aid kit and a wet towel. She sits on the other side of my friend on the couch. She brings the towel to his head, and she cleans up his blood. Tommy tries to hide his tears, but I see how much he struggles.

“It’s okay. You can cry. I’m not going to judge you,” she says in her soft, conciliating voice.

Tommy simply nods, but he still tries to stop his crying anyway. Clara gets him all cleaned up, putting a bandage on the right side of his head. She tells me to sneak him upstairs to my room to sleep. As I help Tommy up the stairs, he stops and turns toward Clara, who still sits on the couch.

In a soft, thankful voice he says, “Thank you.”

“Of course,” she responds.

Tommy turns around and walks up to my room. He strips down to his boxers, and he gets onto one side of my bed. I keep my T-shirt and lounge pants on, embarrassed of my scarred body, and lie on the opposite side. Before I know it I hear the soft sounds of his breathing. The side effects of the pills cause my eyes to become heavy to the point where I can’t keep them open, and soon I join Tommy in the world of unconsciousness.

I WAKE
up confused when I feel the warmth of another’s person’s body next to mine, but then the memories of last night come flooding back into my mind. Tommy’s red hair plastered to his pale face with blood and sweat. Tears were running down his face, and he was badly bruised. I look over to see that he is still fast asleep. I sit up against my headboard, moving my pillow to make it more comfortable. I move as quietly as I can so as not to wake up Tommy. He needs the sleep. I grab my book off the nightstand, and I open it up toward the end. I’m so close to being finished. Just a couple more chapters.

As the novel comes to a close, I wipe a tear from my eye. I don’t think there are too many things worse than finishing a good book. It’s like telling a friend good-bye. You can always visit them, and each time it is wonderful. There is no better expedition than that of reading a novel. When I open a book, I’m not just reading words on a page, but I’m transported into another world, and I feel as if I’m a different person going on this fantastic journey. Books are the closest we’ll ever get to magic in our world.

The silence of my bedroom is broken by the mumbles of a sleeping Tommy. I look over to see him moving around, mumbling nonsense under his breath. Fear is drawn across his face, and his mumbles turn into gasps. I place the book on my nightstand, and I lightly touch Tommy.

“Come on, wake up. You’re okay,” I lightly soothe as he comes to.

Tears run down his face, and he wraps his arms around my waist. I let him cry against my chest.

“It’s okay,” I tell him once again, rubbing his freezing cold bare back with my pale hands.

We stay like that for a while, the usually tough Tommy holding on to me while I continue to rub his back in small circles. We don’t speak, even after his sobs die away. All that is left is our simultaneous breathing meshing into one. We aren’t just men or friends. In this moment we are so much more. We’re brothers.

Tommy slowly unwraps his arms and looks up to give me an awkward smile. He’s acting shy, as if he is a small, embarrassed child. He looks away in shame.

“You don’t have to feel humiliated. It’s okay, Tommy. It’s okay.”

He wipes away all the tears. “Thank you.” He speaks in a quiet but shaky voice.

“It’s okay. I’m here for you. You’re safe here.”

He slowly nods, and he maneuvers his pillow so he can sit up like I am. We sit there in silence.

“Thank you, Jess,” he says once more.

I look over at him, and he stares at me with his big green eyes.

“I really mean it. Thank you.”

I nod because I can’t find the words to say. His eyes are so serious and full of pain. It’s like every wall he has ever built has come crumbling down in one moment. I don’t feel pity for him; I only feel sympathy. I want to hug him and make sure he knows everything is okay now. But will it be okay in the future? He will have to leave soon, and he will have to return to his home. When that happens, what will his father do?

There’s a knock at my door, and I look over to Tommy, who gives a slight nod.

“Come in.”

The door slightly opens, and Clara walks in, a blush rushing to her cheeks at the sight of Tommy shirtless.

“Sorry….”

“It’s okay,” he says.

Clara has always been one to get embarrassed easily.

“How are you feeling today?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, never fucking better.”

There’s the Tommy Riley I know and love. Clara’s smile doesn’t disappear. She just looks on at him with sympathy.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. You were great last night, Clara. Thanks for cleaning me up.”

“It’s okay.”

She closes the door and walks over to the bed, sitting on the edge. She grabs Tommy’s hand, catching him by surprise, and she rubs it between her fingers.

“Tommy, I may be just the older sister of your friend, but I am here for you too, okay? We need to do something. You can’t stay with your father.”

“Yeah, what am I supposed to do? I’m nineteen. It’s not like I can go into foster care. I don’t have the money to move out and get my own place. Dad doesn’t always beat me. Just when he drinks too much or not enough. If he’s not passed out drunk, he’s angry.

“Thank you for the help, really, but I’m fucked. I’m completely fucked in life. I’m just a fucking deadbeat who can’t live on his own.”

Tommy has tears welling up in his eyes, but this time he refuses to let them spill. I watch as he bites his lip hard. He turns to anger instead, allowing his voice to rise. Clara and I just sit there patiently, wanting him to get his feelings out. When he stops, Tommy apologizes once again and says he must go.

“No!” I shout. “You can’t go back to your house.”

“I have no fucking place to go.”

“Just stay here, maybe we can figure something out.”

He lets out a laugh.

“Please,” he jokes, as if I said the most ridiculous thing in the world. He pushes the blanket off him and grabs his baggy jeans, pulling them over his boxer briefs. He searches for his T-shirt and pulls it over his head.

“I really should go now. My dad should be at work, so it’ll give me enough time to shower and change out of these clothes.”

He looks down at his shirt and grimaces. “Fuck. I really liked this shirt too.” He tries to laugh again, but it just comes out incredibly awkward and forced. It sounds like he’s in pain, which I’m sure he is.

“At least stay for breakfast,” Clara offers in a soothing voice.

When you have a problem, Clara is the person you always want with you. The way she talks and acts, it is as if just with her voice alone, she can make you feel like everything will be okay.

“I don’t know. How will your parents react when they see my face?”

“They’ll live,” I respond.

He nods. “Fine. Let’s see how awkward I can make your parents this morning.”

Clara lets out a small giggle. “I’ll meet you two downstairs.”

She lightly closes the door behind her. I look at Tommy and tell him I’ll be right back. I grab some clothes and bring them into the bathroom to change. As I undress, I turn around and look in the mirror. The fluorescent light allows my pale skin to almost illuminate. I close my eyes in disgust because the lights also show off every single one of my scars. Many long, thin scars run up my sides. They’re faded, but can still be seen. They go up in rows, some crisscrossing and others looking like
X
’s. I look like fucking Frankenstein’s monster. I look down at my arms, the finishing touches to my skin, as a deep scar lies on each wrist. I lightly run my fingers over my left arm, feeling the raised skin. I open my eyes and look down, and shame washes over me. Why did I do this to myself? How could I let myself get this bad and not do anything to stop myself?

I quickly pull my sweater over my head and a pair of skinny jeans up my legs. Tommy still sits on my bed in his bloody T-shirt.

“Do you want to borrow a shirt?” I ask.

“Yeah, why not.”

He pulls his shirt over his head, the muscles tensing in his stomach. He might be skinny, but he does have some defined muscles. I grab a plain T-shirt from my closet, and I throw it at him. He pulls it over his head, and it clings to his body, making him look more muscular than he actually is. I would be lying if I said he didn’t look good in it.

“Damn, you’re one skinny fucker.”

He pulls the hem of the shirt, but it shoots right back, like a slingshot, clinging to his toned body.

“Maybe you’re just fat,” I tease.

“Would you really make fun of your friend in his time of need? That pains me, man. That really fucking pains me.” He finally has a wide grin on his face, forgetting about what happened for the moment at least.

“And you have a bad fucking mouth,” I spit right back.

We both break out into laughs. “Come on, let’s go,” I say.

He follows me downstairs, and I lead him into the kitchen. My parents aren’t shocked when they see Tommy, so I assume Clara forewarned them. But that’s before they notice his face. My mom almost drops the bottle of milk in her hand when her eyes take in Tommy’s bloody form. I guess Clara failed to mention the extent of Tommy’s injuries.

“Tommy,” my mom begins. His name sounds so soft on her tongue, as if she is saying something foreign that she doesn’t understand.

“Hey, Mrs. and Mr. Holbrooke… how are you?”

Even my tough-as-nails father, who hates emotion, can’t hold back the pity in his eyes. I know people mean well, but pity is so undermining. It makes you feel sad and weak, like you’re worthless. My mother’s eyes are full of sympathy. Many people don’t realize this, but there is a thin line between sympathy and pity. It’s like the line between love and hate. Thin, but it’s there.

I look over at Tommy as he fiddles with his hands. He seems to scrunch up behind me, a redness rising up his neck and to his cheeks.

“Let’s sit down,” I whisper.

Tommy nods, and we all sit down at the table. We eat in silence, as my mom tries to bridge the gap with meaningless conversation. She is smart enough not to ask what happened to Tommy in front of everyone else. I know her well enough, though, that if she gets him alone, he will be forced to answer what happened.

“Tommy, why didn’t you tell us about your father?”

We all look up to see my dad staring at my friend, with his serious dark brown eyes.

“Um….” Tommy flusters underneath everyone’s stares.

“Maybe now isn’t the time,” Mom whispers to him. Well, she tries to whisper, but we all hear her. Mom has never been good at whispering.

“I should probably go.”

Tommy is up, and he nearly runs out of the house before anyone can stop him. I hear the front door slam shut, and I know he’s going to head home to a house that isn’t safe.

“That poor boy,” I hear my mom state. “I wish there was something we could do to help him.”

“He’s an adult. He can move out if he wants to,” my dad says, sounding loving as usual toward Tommy.

I look up at him, and with the most anger I can find, I state, “Dad, he doesn’t have the money to leave his house, otherwise he’d be gone already. Don’t talk about things you don’t know shit about.”

“Jess,” my mom begins.

“I’m going upstairs.” I’ve had enough.

I hear my dad call for me, but I ignore his voice, and I lock my bedroom door behind me. Anger wells up inside my body. I feel it in every part of myself. I feel as if I’m boiling, and I need to explode. I need to get out my anger, or I might just erupt. Why is this happening to Tommy? He’s a good guy. Why would the world do this to him? And Adam? All the pain he has in his life. Not only was he given the stutter, but he also had to have his parents ripped away from him at such a young age. How can the world allow any of this to happen? This is the reason I don’t believe in a God. If there were one, he wouldn’t allow so much pain to go on in the world. He wouldn’t have made me the way I am.

I grab my phone, and I text the only person I want to talk to.

Hey, Adam. Can I see you today?

He texts back immediately, up early as usual.

Of course :) What time!

I can feel his excitement even through the words he sends on my phone. It’s like he has an energy about him that is so infectious.

Now good? I can walk over to your place.

Yeah, is everything okay?

Not really, I want to send.

I just need someone to talk to
is what I send instead.