Before I Fall - 1. Trapped

Trapped

I stare at the mirror in my bathroom and a boy stares back at me. He is tall and gaunt and he has blue eyes the color of the sky and dark hair. I reach up and touch my face and the boy does the same. He is naked. I quickly pull on a pair of boxers and look back at the boy. I have stared at him nude so many times and watched him strip down so many times that it almost looks unnatural for him to be clothed. I feel like that boy, trapped behind a pane of glass with no way out. Helpless. I hate that boy who can not save himself. I hate him.

I am a shell. I'm a body with no soul. I'm empty. I wear a mask of normalcy everyday. No one sees that I am slowly floating away like a balloon. So many pieces of me have died that I wonder how I am standing here, living. I stare at my reflection. I am repulsive. I just showered but I am so filthy I could throw up. I am broken.

Slowly, I pull my clothes on. I wear normal clothes. Slim fitting jeans, a plaid button down shirt, and a pair of flip-flops because it's warm enough outside to wear them. On the outside, I am normal. I have to be. On the inside I am nothing.

I turn off the lights in the bathroom and walk out then stop to grab my backpack from my room. I'm home alone, like I am most mornings. I like mornings, solely because I am usually alone. I wake up early and stare out my window to watch the sunrise. It makes me feel like maybe one day I'll be able to feel again. Maybe one day I won't be so numb.

I walk outside and inhale the smell of summer meeting fall. It smells like roses and dying trees. This is my favorite time of year, when things so opposite collide. I walk down the sidewalk and try to concentrate on not stepping on the cracks. I count each block, this way I don't have to think. Thinking too much brings up things I'd rather not think about.

Soon, I reach my school and I quietly walk up the walkway and through the double doors of the front entrance. I enjoy school because it is a blissful distraction from everything that plagues me. “Hey, Tom,” I hear someone say and turn around. I smile. It is almost genuine.

“Hey, Ethan,” I reply. Ethan is my best friend, sort of. But he doesn't know anything about me. Not really. He doesn't know the me that is empty, he knows the me that I pretend to be. Thomas Edward Murphy, a nice guy who has virtually no enemies and only a handful of friends. He doesn't know the me that cries inside because he's run out of tears to cry outside.

“Guess who's trying out for football this year? That would be me. Up top bro,” Ethan says with a big grin on his face, holding out his hand for a high five.

I laugh and give him a high five and we start to walk down the hall to class. “Trying out doesn't mean making it,” I remind him. I love this feeling, of feeling normal, joking around with a friend and feeling as close to happy as I'll ever get. It's amazing.

“I know, but I mean I got skills, man. Got this in the bag,” he says. I can't help but laugh because we both know that he doesn't have any skills in football or any other sport for that matter. Not that he couldn't learn. “I figure it's a new year and I don't want to be a loser for the next two years, so why not try football. You should do something too, man. Maybe student council. Follow in your Dad's footsteps?”

The idea repulses me. My father is the Mayor. I never in any way want to follow in his footsteps so I make a mental note to never join any type of political anything in school. “I'm not really into that. Maybe I'll join the...”—I almost say swim team but I can just imagine my dad coming to all my meets and staring at me in only a speedo and I change my mind—“track team or something.”

“I could see you doing track,” he voices, seeming to consider this. I look over at him. He's a handsome guy, with tanned skin, black hair, and brown eyes. I can see why girls might like him.

We reach my classroom and I wave a little goodbye to him and enter the room. I pick a seat in the back of the class and take out my notebook. There's nothing like geometry first thing in the morning to distract a wandering mind. My teacher assigns us some textbook problems and I quickly finish them. My desk is the second desk from the window and I look to my left so I can gaze out at the courtyard but there's a face obscuring my view.

A boy I've never seen sits in the desk next to me. The desk is usually empty and when someone does sit there they're usually sleeping or twiddling their thumbs but this boy is working diligently on his assignment. He has short blonde hair and I can tell he's tall, even though he's sitting. He's probably a little taller than me and he's wearing a light green polo and light wash slim fitting jeans with flip-flops.

He looks up and meets my gaze. His eyes are an incredible forest green that reminds me of trees in spring and he has a sprinkling of freckles across his nose and cheeks. He smiles and I swear my heart flutters. Why is he smiling at me? Shouldn't he be creeped out that I'm staring at him? Why is his smile making me feel this way? I turn away and pretend to be working on my math even though I finished and double checked everything.

“Hi,” he whispers. I look up and stare into his green eyes, almost dumbfounded.

I clear my throat. “Hi.”

“I'm Connor,” he says quietly. He smiles again, a sweet, closed-mouth smile.

“I'm Tom. Are you new?” I ask. My mouth seems to be working without my permission. I don't talk to people. Well, except for Ethan and occasionally the people we sit with at lunch, but even then I'm not good at it, hence why—

“Yeah, this is my first day. I'm from Colorado,” he tells me. The babbling in my head is cut off my his response and I nod because I can't think of anything else to do. I'm not used to talking to new people. The conversation basically drifts off after that. I look back at Connor and admire his profile. He does something to me. When he looks at me, he makes me feel. This is one of the only times I feel something other than pain. I want to say something else but I can't seem to make my mouth form words.

I don't see Connor again until lunch. He's sitting talking to Ethan at our usual table and some of our other friends are there too. How does Ethan know him? I walk over and set my tray down and they both look up at me. “Hey, Tom,” Connor smiles.

“You two know each other?” Ethan asks curiously as he takes a bite of his burger.

I'm about to say, “Not really,” when Connor says, “Yeah, he's in my geometry class.” He says this to Ethan but he looks directly at me. I look down and push my food around because my stomach is getting this weird fluttery feeling and I'm not particularly hungry anymore.

“So, you're a junior too, right?” It takes me a second to realize Connor's talking to me.

I clear my throat and run my fingers through my hair. “Yeah.” I planned on saying something more but I'm not good at this whole making conversation thing so I don't.

“You don't talk much, huh?” he chuckles. I shrug and he smiles at me. I smile back and it's a real smile. I wonder if his smile is contagious or if a part of him is just able to make me smile like I used to when I was younger.

Ethan and Connor start talking again and I make sure to say something every once in a while so they don't ask questions.

The day is over way too soon and the next thing I know I'm walking home again. Today was different. I didn't feel so much like the boy in the mirror today but now, on my way home, I'm right back to where I was this morning—empty. When I arrive home, both my parents are there. My mother is sitting on the couch curled up against my father and they're watching TV. They look so normal. The Mayor and his good little wife, curled up on the couch all cozy and happy. Like fucking perfection. If Mom only knew. I wonder briefly if she would care.

I walk to my room to do my homework because I can't stand looking at them. I can't stand knowing how my father lies to my mother and how she believes him. He puts up the perfect facade of being an amazing husband and father. He plays the part of loving husband that works hard everyday to provide for his family so well that I wonder if he is the same person that hurts me so much.

I work diligently on my homework, checking and re-checking everything because it distracts my mind. I'm smart, extremely so, because putting all my concentration into schoolwork and learning is the way I escape. When I finish everything, I open my math textbook and work on extra stuff. Formulas are so easy. There's right and there's wrong, nothing in between. That's why I love math. I do this until my mom knocks on my door to tell me dinner's ready.

I walk into the dining room and sit at my usual seat across from my mother and next to my father, who always sits at the head of the table. “How was school, honey?” My mother asks as she cuts into the steak on her plate.

“It was fine,” I smile. I cut a piece of my steak and then another. The sound of metal colliding with my plate is soothing somehow. “I was thinking of trying out for cross country this year,” I tell my parents cautiously. I peak up at my father through my eyelashes. I watch his movements as he cuts the steak. He is cutting it normally, not with the violent intensity that means he is mad and trying not to let his face give it away.

“I'm glad you're making an effort to fit in,” he replies. What he means by that is he's glad that I'm doing something normal, like playing a sport, because it helps with my normal facade. So that's why he's so calm, he sees this as an advantage.

“That sounds fun, honey,” my mom comments, looking at me with kind gray eyes. Sometimes I wonder how she is so oblivious.

“Yeah, I hope it will be,” I mumble. I take another bite of the steak my father made. It's disgusting.

When dinner is over, I go to my room and lay on my bed for a while. An hour or so must have passed of me just laying on my bed and staring at the ceiling before I got up. I take a shower. When I'm done, I stare at the boy trapped in the mirror. “Save me,” he whispers. I can't save him. I want to save him but I'm helpless. I imagine him shriveling up into nothing because I couldn't save him.

There's a knock on the bathroom door and I jump. “Honey, are you decent? I just wanted to say goodnight.” It's my mom.

“Just a second,” I call and quickly pull on boxers and some sweat pants. I swing the door open and my mom stands there in her night gown and pink slippers.

“I'm going to bed, sweetie. Goodnight,” she stands on her tiptoes and gives me a kiss on the cheek. She goes to sleep early everyday because she's a nurse and her shift at the hospital starts at four in the morning so she has to get up at three. I hate that she goes to sleep early. I'm tempted to beg her not to but I don't.

“Goodnight, mom,” I say and I smile as she walks away. I go back into my room and lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling. It gets dark but I leave my lights off so I can see the glow-in-the-dark stick-on stars that decorate my ceiling. My mom bought them for me when I was eight and I never moved them. I've stared at them so many times and wished I was somewhere else, anywhere else.

I slowly strip naked and crawl under my covers, lying on my side. It's about an hour and a half later before my door creaks open. My father scoots under the covers with me and spoons me, running his hands over my naked body. I can almost feel the dirt he leaves behind wherever his fingers touch. He trails his calloused hands over my butt and spreads my cheeks. He takes a big breath and lets out a sigh of pleasure.

I hear him move and hear the sound of his clothes dropping the floor. He crawls back into bed with me, pressing his bare body against mine. He pushes me so I'm on my back and climbs on top me, caressing my cheek with his fingers. “You're so beautiful, Tommy,” he says. I hate that name. I hate that name. I hate that name. I hate it.

I know what's coming and I just lay there as he pushes my knees to my chest and has his way with me. I stare at the ceiling behind his head and focus on one star as I try to tune out his moans and grunts. He starts to fondle me and I jump a little. I hate when he does that. I fucking hate it. Because my body reacts without my permission and I find myself getting an erection. Like some part of me wants this. I feel sick and I try to focus on the glowing green star on my ceiling.

When it's over, he pulls out of me and lies next to me for a while. His breathing is labored. I think I might actually be sick if he stays any longer. He smells like sex, alcohol, and body odor. And there's the distinct smell of filth that clings to me when he's done with me. He leaves and I hear him turn on the shower. I lay there for a while, staring at that star, until I fall asleep.

I wake up the next morning to the smell of filth. There are hands touching me, caressing me, feeling me up. I feel something push inside of me and I stay perfectly still, keeping my eyes closed. “I know you're awake, Tommy,” my father says. I don't answer, I just lie there and let him hurt me. “You feel so good, Tommy,” he whispers in my ear. It takes all the energy I have not to cringe away from him. I can usually tune him out but I hear every word and every obscenity he whispers in my ear. I want to push him away but it's useless, he's bigger than me.

When he's done with me, he kisses me on the lips and I kiss him back. That satisfies him and he leaves. I open my eyes. I am afraid to move. I feel dirty and I want to clean myself but he might be waiting for me in the hall. I wait for what seems like forever but is probably only twenty minutes and then I hear him leave for work.

I walk slowly to the bathroom, still naked. I take a long time in the shower, trying to wash off the filth that my father left on me, but it won't go away. I step out and look in the mirror. The boy in the mirror has bags under his eyes and he looks gaunt. I swear the glass trapping him is thicker than before. The boy is crying. His face is calm, wiped of emotions, but there are tears dripping down his face. He looks like he might say something, like the words 'save me' are on the tip of his tongue but he realizes it's no use. He is beyond the point of being saved.

Dad rarely ever hurts me in the morning. He is usually gone to work when I wake up.

I pull on my boxers and jeans and a t-shirt. I slip on my flip-flops again and go grab my backpack. The walk to school is short and soon I am inside, bombarded by the sights and smells and sounds that are my high school. “Tom,” someone calls out. It's Ethan again.

“Hey,” I try to smile but I fail.

“You okay, man?” He asks, looking concerned.

I avert my gaze and clear my throat slightly before saying, “Yeah, I'm fine.”

“You look like you're gonna be sick. And you've got bags under you eyes,” Ethan points out.

“I'm just tired,” I mumble. I start to walk off down the hall to my left.

“Where are you going?” Ethan calls out because he knows my class is the opposite way.

“Bathroom,” I yell back. I duck into the bathroom and make sure its empty before locking myself into a stall. I start hyperventilating. Dammit, this stall is so small and I feel like I'm running out of air. I take a deep breath in and try to force myself to calm down. I should be used to what my father does by now but he rarely does it before school and when he does I usually skip school altogether so I have time to collect my thoughts. Why the fuck did I come to school?

I sit on the floor and put my backpack down next to me, still trying to gulp in breaths because I feel like my throat is closing. There's this overwhelming feeling that I can't place and it's seeping throughout me, taking me over. I scratch my leg because I have an itch but I soon realize it's not a physical itch. Something inside me is itching to do...something. I scratch my leg harder and draw a little blood. It feels good.

The release is what I want, I realize. I dig through my backpack and find my math compass. My hand shakes as I line up the sharp point with the inside of my left wrist. I dig the point into my skin and drag it down. The overwhelming feeling inside me subsides as I concentrate on the feeling of pain shooting through my arm and the sight of blood drizzling down into my half-closed hand.

I put the compass away and walk out of the stall to run my arm under the cold water in one of the sinks. I grab a paper towel and hold it to the cut. It's throbbing but I don't mind. It takes a while to get it to stop bleeding but once I do, I pull on the sweatshirt that's in my backpack to cover the evidence and walk to my second class because I missed all of the first one.

I look at all the faces in my second period class and wonder what they would think of me if they knew what my father did to me. I imagine how Connor would look at me if he knew. I don't think he'd ever smile at me again. Ethan either.

At lunch, Connor looks up at me when I sit in the seat across from him at our table. “Hey, Tom, didn't know you were here today,” Connor says around a mouthful of pizza.

“Why wouldn't he be here?” Ethan questions, looking confused.

“He wasn't in geometry first period.”

Ethan looks at me quizzically. “You skipped? Dude, you love math,” he chuckles. I blush a little and start shoveling food into my mouth. “Seriously, what's up with you?”

“Just having a bad day,” I mumble. He studies me for a few more heartbeats and then gives up, going back to eating his pizza. I briefly wonder how long I can keep up this charade. Sooner or later, Ethan is bound to see that the boy he met in elementary school is gone.