TW : (Abuse, violence)
I was sitting curled up against the wall of the abandoned house. The moment I blew out the candle, I got a message from James asking if I wanted to come out and celebrate my eighteenth birthday.
It was a mistake to come here.
When I arrived at the place where they spent most of their time, instead of a greeting, I got a knee to the stomach from Ryan. I fell to the floor.
"Happy birthday, asshole!" he shouted.
The floor wasn't in the best condition—it was full of holes, the pale white paint peeling away as if someone from underneath had been scraping to break free from a trap. The walls were covered in random marker scribbles and graffiti.
After a moment, James walked up, grabbed me by the hair, and forced me to kneel.
I was used to them humiliating me—they'd been doing it since the day we met—but they should have stopped soon.
"You know I really like you," he said.
Suddenly, I felt his bony fist bounce off my face. My eyes went glassy.
"Don't cry, I got my ass kicked on my birthday too, remember? It's a tradition. Nobody escapes it. Not even you," Ryan said with a smirk. He had a lit cigarette in his hand, taking a drag every second.
"And remember when I came back to the house with a busted face?" James laughed.
"Shame it only happened once."
Ryan walked toward the crate of beers. He grabbed three bottles.
And I wondered if what they said was even true. I'd never seen either of them get beaten on their birthday, but then again, I'd never been to anyone else's birthday. They'd never invited me. They always had an excuse, but… what was that excuse? I couldn't remember. Ryan and Jeremy's eighteenth birthdays were coming soon, but I had no idea if they were throwing parties—or had they just not told me? That didn't make any sense. We were friends, so why would they keep it from me?
My thoughts about birthdays were interrupted by James's bony fist hitting me again, this time harder and in the exact same spot as before. I collapsed to the ground, crying out from the pain.
Ryan watched it all with a smile. He took a swig of beer and popped the cap off with his teeth.
"Nice hit," he said.
"Damn, that stings," James muttered, massaging his hand. He turned his head, scanning the abandoned building. "When are Joshua and Malachai getting here?" he asked calmly.
"Soon. Maybe tomorrow."
I touched the hot, red spot on my cheek. I thought he'd broken my cheekbone. I tried to open my mouth, but couldn't—the pain was unbearable. The harder I tried, the worse it got.
James grabbed me by the shirt and yanked me to my feet. My right ear was ringing, vomit was rising in my throat, and I was dizzy. I didn't want to be here anymore.
"Mike, wake up," Ryan said, handing me a beer. My hands shook violently from shock. "Ever try opening one with your teeth?"
I shook my head.
"What's wrong with you? You're pale as hell," James added.
It was getting harder to breathe through my nose. "Nothing," I said.
Ryan grabbed another beer from the crate. He looked at James, then at me. With a sudden swing, he smashed the glass bottle over my head.
The sound of laughter and heavy breathing blended into one. I fell for the third time. My vision blurred, and James and Ryan turned into nothing but shadows.
A moment later, I lost consciousness.
***
I remember the time I was late to meet them because I had to stay home longer. I rushed out the door and ran toward James's house. The clock said 9:30 PM, which meant I was already half an hour late.
When I arrived, I rang the doorbell. It was attached to the gate by the entrance. His property was huge—it took three minutes to walk from the house to the gate.
James came running out. He looked furious and was holding the gate key in his right hand, waving it at me.
I smiled nervously. My body was trembling from the cold. We stood face-to-face, his eyes burning with rage.
"Sorry," I said.
"Don't apologize," he replied.
He let me in. I stood on the stone path—blue and white-gray cobblestones. On both sides, huge bushes blocked the view of the trees behind them.
He shoulder-checked me hard. I bent away slightly. "Ouch," I muttered quietly.
He ignored me and kept walking. I caught up after a few seconds.
"Hey… umm… where's everyone? I don't hear any shouting or anything," I asked.
"They left," he said softly.
"What? We were supposed to meet at nine."
"I had a fight with Mary and yelled at her," he said, eyes on the ground. It wasn't unusual—they fought all the time. By tomorrow, it would probably be fine again. "And I told Ryan, Malachai, and Joshua to fuck off."
"Why?"
No answer.
I heard something snap—a sound like a breaking branch—beside me. I flinched, but felt no other danger.
Only the small front steps separated us from the door.
I stepped forward, the wood creaking under my foot. They weren't new—everything about the building suggested an eighteenth-century structure that could've been an amazing historical landmark, if only they removed the modern alterations that ruined the whole atmosphere.
James sat down on the steps, curling in on himself like a turtle.
It was something new for him. I reached my hand toward him but pulled it back.
"James?" I crouched down. "What happened?"
"I fucked up," he said, voice heavy with sadness. "Mary and I… we're done. It's over, you understand?" His leg started shaking. Instinctively, I touched it to calm him down—and it worked.
James looked at me.
"It's not over. Maybe you can talk to her tomorrow. It's not all lost," I said, though honestly I knew nothing about relationships. I was just saying random words to keep him positive. But… inside, I wasn't sad at all—in fact, I felt a thrill of euphoria, hidden deep down, careful not to let it show.
"What did you fight about?" I blurted. I probably shouldn't have asked.
"It's my fault, I just…" He rubbed his eyes with his fingers. "I drank too much and said a lot of shit about about her."
"What did you say?"
"I… I don't remember." He sniffed—not from crying, because he wasn't even close to tears. "I'm a fucked-up person," he added, going quiet.
"No, you're not…"
"I am."
I lowered my head, trying to think of a logical response. I hoped they wouldn't get back together and that everything would go my way.
"I don't know. Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm going crazy and everything will fix itself soon," he said, though there was nothing genuine in his voice. His words were meant to be positive, but came out false.
I sat beside him. Suddenly, he grabbed my hand. He just held it, and I didn't resist—I had no intention to. After a moment, he rested his head on my shoulder.
I could feel his biceps against my arm—twice the size of both my arms combined. I noticed his hair had grown a few millimeters.
"Let's go inside," he said. "Want to stay over tonight?"
***
"He's waking up!" Ryan shouted. Malachai and Joshua were next to him, Joshua filming everything. I had no idea what was happening. I turned my head right and saw a puddle of vomit.
"Yours," Malachai said.
"Alright, I'll take him home," James said, touching me and helping me up slowly. "Joshua, delete that."
Joshua nodded, unconvincingly.
James led me away from the room toward a bus stop down the road.
"What's going on?" I asked. "What did you guys do to me?"
"Nothing. You just drank too much and passed out."
"I… passed out?"
My jaw hurt, like someone had punched me straight in it. I let out a small groan of pain.
"My jaw hurts… and my head."
"When you fell, you slammed into the floor hard—you'd have to see it to believe it."
We sat at the bus stop.
"Can you get home on your own?"
I shook my head.
He bit his lip, and we waited twenty minutes for the bus. After that, I don't remember what happened.