This won’t end well (Part 3)
Read Part 1 here! And when you’re done, read Part 2 here!
And there it was. All over the place. Jake’s feelings had discharged in a surprising moment of messiness, just like his life — puddled and incomplete, lacking direction and drive. It was as if his lanky limbs and slender waist no longer supported his bulbous head, as he fell kinked at the edge of his boyish blue room and sat looking on as a snickering Lacey pulled up her panties and pants, threw on her shirt and tied her shoes, headed straight for the door and left without hearing Jake’s side of what just happened.
“This won’t end well,” he thought, as he remained hunched over, blue jeans on the floor, shoes thrown about the room, thoughts somewhere out the door.
But what caught his attention, what crooked his spine, was a sound that erupted in the corner of his room, where a poster put up by his mother showing lush, green hills and a blue skyline shook and fell to a shatter. A boom of sorts, followed by a fiery boil, exploded into a smoky shape of a blackish being that heightened and lengthened as the sound grew deafening and louder.
The monster’s shadow fully encompassed every inch of the room with an eerie darkness that led Jake to think back on nightmares he so frequently had, when nothing, not even his consciousness, would awake among the blackness. The demon’s eyes gave the impression he would burn; his hallow, sunken mouth full of shadows for teeth, terrified him to his core.
Confirmed of his fearful future, Jake sat wide-eyed and scared as the monster’s glowing red eyes fixed their gaze into his heart and soul and surrendered his every instinct to run or reason. And although the humming, buzzing noise grew louder, Jake sat there, staring into its fiery eyes, transfixed that this would surely be his doom.
Within a blink, the monster was on him, suffocating his every move and grasping his lungs, giving them not an inch to fight for breath. He gasped and squirmed and tried to fight off the monster that blanketed and smothered until finally it stopped, but only just so, just enough to hear Jake submit and beg for mercy before falling flat, face down on the floor.
“Jake! Time to wake up, sleepy head,” his mom called from within the kitchen. “You don’t want to miss your dinner, now do you?”
Jake rose from the floor, confused as to what just happened, and stumbled into where his mom was cooking a meal, presumably dinner, as it now appeared that the sun was starting to sink.
“What’s with that scratch on your face, Jakey boy?” his mother asked.
“Uh, to be honest, I’m not sure.”
“Well, sit down. I just spent a ton of effort on this casserole and these biscuits that I think you’ll love.”
Jake did as he was told and sat dazed on the kitchen stool and ate as his mom spooned herself a helping of the chunky tomato-based, spirally noodle dish served with a blistering cold glass of cola, a mealtime favorite among the Williams family. She slid a sliver of butter on her packaged buttermilk biscuits and began to complain about her a day, a common pastime.
“Your father’s gone again, as per usual, doing God knows what, and well, things just aren’t working out as they should, not here and not anywhere else. Just look at the news,” she continued without letting Jake respond, “there are crazy people everywhere. And these people, these crazies, they’re wreaking havoc in our schoolrooms, our churches and they’re killing our cops and badmouthing our politicians. I just can’t stand it, and you know I can’t stand politics, but you know, we once lived in a better time, when people weren’t so embroiled to employ such crazy plans, like shooting up a school.
“Now,” she continued yet again without waiting to hear Jake’s response, “that’s not to say everything and everyone is bad. There are some people who do good, like that lovely family across the street who just had their first kid, Gloria, I think her name is. And you know what, I just donated a few of my kitchen items and clothes to that poor mother, Stephanie, so she can have it easier than those other mothers; you know, the ones looking for handouts. Those are the people bringing this system down. And you know I hate to complain about those people because it’s such a hard world and everyone needs help, but, Jake, those people have never helped themselves!
“Anyways, it was nice talking with you. I should clean up and watch my shows before I hit the hay. I love you, son. You know that. There’s a bandaid and some stuff in the medicine cabinet that should help with that nasty cut.”
“Thanks, mom. I love you too.”
Looking at his face in the mirror, Jake saw what he feared — two parallel scratches down the side of his cheek that looked as if a cat had mistaken his face for a ball of yarn. He did as his mother suggested, cleaned it with warm water and soap, wiped the cut dry and applied petroleum jelly before putting on bandages that nearly covered the right side of his cheek, down to his jawline.
Inside his room, he sat near to his losing spot, where he had lost the love of his life and his dignity, all in one afternoon.
With too much on his shoulders, Jake turned to his trusty TV and flipped on the channel to a drama that empowered him to empathize and then onto a slapstick comedy that eased his pain. He laughed, he wanted to cry, but didn’t on account of being man, and soon brushed his teeth before heading to bed, worried that the morning would be bring light to problems he successfully avoided during TV time.
Back at school, Jake walked among the leaders of the halls and heard laughs and scoffs as he headed towards the detention room, where he hoped he could avoid the buzz of bruising jokes. But before he got too far, his friend, Russel, stopped him in his tracks and begged to know what happened.
“You look like shit, Jake. Dude, really, what’s wrong?”
“I hate that question. You know that.”
“But dude, things are getting worse,” Russel said, looking genuinely concerned for his friend. “I know you’re in detention, but find a way to skip for a bit and we’ll talk. Ok?”
“Sure thing.”
Jake pretended nothing was wrong but felt that his eyes revealed a struggle he couldn’t conceal. It was during moments like this that he thought the world shared some sort of collective consciousness, with people in power to manipulate, far too many people who cared less and still others with no power at all.
Just then, a notification popped up on his phone, showing a message from Lacey that read:
“Who did you tell 😡 😡 😡 😡???”
Scared and confused, Jake thought back on his night and couldn’t conceive as to who could have possibly found out about their afternoon. Either way, Lacey looked pissed as Jake entered the hole, her face beaming as red as the rage emojis in her message.
“Alright class, everyone please sit and be quiet. Class has convened,” the substitute said as Jake found his seat in the back, far away from Lacey.
Another message asking the same question with a lot more profanities popped up on his phone, followed by another and another. It was at this time that Jake thought it would be good to exit, so he told the sub that his stomach hurt and that he needed to see the doctor, which bought him some time to meet with Russel.
Outside in the hall, with pass in hand, Jake met with Russel in a nearby bathroom and discussed their troubles. Jake went first and told Russel about his school problems, his falling grades and how “pressure from seemingly everywhere has started to take its toll.” Russel went next and talked about applying for college football programs and girl troubles, speaking candidly about a “lovely lady” he fell for just a few weeks ago. The story seemed similar, so Jake shared his own girl troubles, noting that his ended in disaster just the other day. It was when Jake finished with his story that he noticed Russel looking at him:
“Dude, did you fuck my girl?”
