Glass Words

The glass cup hurtled towards Sam's face at an alarming rate, and it took everything in

him to remind himself that this would all be over soon. Sometimes, it felt like the fights lasted forever, but eventually, the anger would die down, and he would be a forgotten shadow in the corner again. Just as he liked. Although sometimes it hurt. Hurt as bad as the glass shards hitting his cheek. It took ages of practice not to flinch as another item flew over his head and hit the wall, shattering into a million pieces.

"Clean it up." His mom's voice hissed. Fire lined her eyes as she crossed her arms and looked at him. At the son he knew she wished she had never had. The nuisance in the family, the one who couldn't do anything right. At his slight hesitance, she repeated herself. "Now." The word cold and ferocious.

Sam always thought his mother was like a wild animal that had learned to talk. Anything that came out of her mouth was either slurred with the effects of alcohol or biting and cold, cutting deeper than any knife or glass shard.

Ducking down, he began to pick up the broken glass. The sound of her clipped footsteps faded as she walked down the hallway to her bedroom, probably to either drink more or sleep. As Sam picked up the last piece, it cut his finger, but it didn't bother him as much as he thought it would. He was finally becoming numb to it, accustomed to her bitchy ways. Finally, After 17 years. It didn't feel good, though.

Brushing his bloody finger on his jeans, he sighed and got to his feet. Pulling on his sneakers, he tied the laces and then left, hefting his bag over his shoulder. It was evident that he had missed the bus, hadn't even heard its engine over the screaming just minutes ago.

Stepping out into the sunlight, he had to shield his eyes. Pretend. He told himself. Pretend as if nothing is wrong.

Walking up to the garage door, he hefted it open and covered his mouth, the dust from inside finding its way inside his nose, creeping down his throat. He coughed into the crook of his sleeve, and walked in, grabbing for the handle of his bike. The silver exterior dented and rusted with age and several crashes. It still surprisingly worked, despite the countless times Sam had tinkered with it and tried to fix the one relentlessly squeaky tire.

Sighing, he hopped on and pedaled out of the driveway, down the road. Leaving behind the hell hole he had come from, the dad that wasn't there. His drunk mom. He couldn't stand either of them, or the house.

Familiar left, familiar right. Stop at the stop sign. Car. Stopping again for another goddamn car. Sam thought it rather enticing to just pedal right in front of the speeding truck and just end it right then and there. But he had things to do, and Sam would much rather see Nick one last time anyway.

Sam wondered if Nick was up. Nick rarely was ever there in the morning, always sleeping in too late, never on time for anything. Even school. Even for things that were rather important.

Pulling up to set his bike beside the rounded brick walls of the school, Sam covered his head with his bag and sprinted for the double doors as rain, cold as ice, began pouring down from above. The doors were locked, and by the time Sam rattled the glass enough to have somebody open them for him, a sorry puddle had gathered beneath him, soaking through his shoes.

Sam avoided making contact with his reflection in the glass. Sam knew what several sleepless nights could do to somebody, having seen it on Nick one too many times. The paleness of his skin caused by the cold probably made the bruise on his jawline and the cuts on along his cheekbone more prominent than ever before, and he didn't need the hiss of the principle as he walked into the office to know that he looked like absolute shit. Rain dripping from his blonde hair plipped down on the floor and slid down his back, and Mr Peter's eyes flashed with pity, taking in Sam's sorry state. Handing Sam the note to dismiss himself as late, Mr Peter looked down and away from him. Sam left the room in a hurry, trying to wring out his hair as much as possible on the walk down the several hallways to get to his locker and classroom, both miles away from each other.

Walking into the room, Sam brushed his hair back before entering, knowing it wouldn't make a damn difference and he'd still look like he went to hell and back.

He flicked the note on Mr. Brine's desk and went to take a seat at the very back of the room. The seat in front of his was empty. It was where Nick would usually sit if he was ever here to sit his ass down instead of sleeping in late every day. Sam let out a bored sigh and started flicking his pencil back and forth on his desk.

The bell rang and Sam got up, making his way down the hall. He was minding his own business when an awfully familiar voice shouted out from right behind him.

"Where's your bitch at?" Gabe asked, cuffing Sam over the head on their way down the hallway. Sam had tried his best to avoid Gabe but it was hard to do that when most of his classes were cursed with his presence. Every. Fucking. Class.

Sam was dead silent, his folders clutched to his chest, and he set his lips in a thin hard line. He refused to talk to Gabe, thinking that would make him go away faster. It didn't.

Gabe shoved him harder and Sam's shoulder hit the dirty yellow wall of the hallway. "You're clearly not deaf, I've heard you run your mouth. Not so talkative, are we, without the freak around?" Gabe grinned. Sam knew he was talking about Nick but he refused to rise to the bait. Sam could see with satisfaction, as he looked up to glare at Gabe, that a bruise had blossomed on the edges of his pudge cheek. Nick had done a number on him. Realizing this sent a pang of guilt through Sam as he shoved his way past Gabe and down to his locker. Nick shouldn't have done that.

He was doing it to protect you. A hopeful voice said in his ear. Because he likes you.

"Hey, don't walk away." Gabe said, out of breath as he jogged to catch up.

Sam didn't say a thing, just kept walking.

The rest of the day, Nick wasn't at school. Which killed every ounce of happiness in Sam's body. It wasn't that Indigo wasn't enough, she was very entertaining during lunch time where they spent time folding napkins and throwing them at each other, but Sam missed Nick. And Simon. Lunch felt awfully hollow without them both there and Sam could tell that Indigo felt it, too. As the bell rang, signaling for lunch to end, Sam caught up to Indigo at her locker, waiting for her to finish putting her stuff away so he could badger her about the homework he had to copy off of her.

"You brought the science stuff, right?" Sam asked hopefully. She gave him a look.

"Yes, stupid." Then she straightened up, stuff in arms, and they walked down the hall to their next hour.

The last bell rang and Sam walked back to his locker alone. Nick was gone because he was stupid, Simon hadn't been at school, he was sick, and Indigo rode the bus home. Sam would be stuck walking alone and the thought of the silence he'd be stuck in bored him to tears. He'd had a shitty day and now he'd walk back to his shitty house where he'd have to deal with his shitty mom.

Sam thought about walking around town instead. His mother wouldn't care if he made it home or not, she probably rejoiced at the thought of him leaving her for good, but Sam had too much homework and he knew he couldn't waste his time trying to spite her. Or wishing she'd notice, for once in her drunken, miserable life, when he wasn't home. But she never did.

Walking out the door and down the streets, he dug his phone from out of his bag and started scrolling through his contacts. He found Nick's number and called him, hoping to at least talk to Nick if he couldn't see him.

The phone rang several times before Sam was brought to voicemail and he frowned, hanging up. He pocketed his phone, feeling slightly worried. Sam remembered last night. The way Nick had walked out the door had seemed so final. It seemed like he'd never see Nick again. An icy shiver ran down his spine as he remembered that dog wandering the streets. Something hadn't been right with that animal.

Running his hand through his floppy, blond hair, Sam shook his head. He was being stupid. Nick was probably busy or he'd gotten grounded for getting detention. Maybe his phone was dead.

Yeah, that was probably it. Nick was okay. Nick was always okay.