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“Go, go, go!”
Mike hopped off the back of the Yamaha as quickly as he could, almost tripping on his way but bolting for the front door as soon as he made it. He disregarded giving Jeremy so much as a second glance, not questioning the way the motorcycle only picked up to half of the speed limit it was easily capable of reaching, of going way beyond. Probably just Jeremy driving safely, Mike thought.
It wasn't because of that, it was because Jeremy was ever so subtly making sure Mike had made it to the front door and as he watched the excessively tall brunette open and quickly shut it behind himself, he sped back up and off.
Now fully alone with his thoughts and the sweet purr of the bike beneath him, Jeremy's smile fell. No point in keeping up the false facade to keep Mike guilt free any longer. God damn, his fucking face hurt, his everything was aching, but of course it's a feeling he's used to. That made it hurt no less.
They had fun. It was worth it in the end. It was, despite it all. They went to see 'The Outsiders,' one of Jeremy's all time favorites. He got to sit next to Mike, enjoy talking to his friend and… And whatever the fuck that last bit was before they left the theater. Michael was so confusing. And yet reminding himself of all the fun he had couldn't distract him from the beating he'd already received and the one he was almost certainly about to. What had Jeremy even done to Rossi? He stood back any time he and Mike fought, he’d barely even spoken to him. The only reason that asshole had it out for him and Mike was because God forbid two men be friends. That's all they were.
And he stabbed him, he stabbed Rossi, Jesus christ. Michael said he should be fine, It was only the shoulder, but he fucking stabbed someone. He had to and that was even scarier. if he didnt, Michael and possibly Jeremy could be dead or severely injured right now. Just the reminder had made Jeremy breathe a little faster. He shook his head, peering up just slightly to distract himself. Orangish streetlights and the star filled sky kept his path illuminated and yet Jeremy rode down the street slowly, as if lost. No matter how many backstreets he took or detours he followed he could not escape what he was about to experience.
His street. This was his street. He could see from here that the TV was on through their front window. He just hoped he wasn't berated with beer cans the second he walked through the door. Slow wheels crept up the driveway. It was inescapable now, and as he clicked the garage door openers button and slowed to a stop right where it was left mere hours ago, the door leading to the house busted open to reveal a very drunk, very angry looking Mr. Fitzgerald. It was worth it. A mantra repeated over and over.
“Boy, I oughta smack the shit out of you for even lookin’ at my damn bike!” the old man stomped over to where Jeremy sat, just barely with enough time to switch off the motorcycle before he was practically shoved off of it, scraping his elbows on the concrete floors of the garage. Should've rolled down his sleeves. He crawled away slowly, hoping to lose his dad's attention while he was mainly focused on checking his baby for scratches. Meanwhile, his actual son was bruised with blood solidifying and beginning to develop scabs on the entirety of his person just feet from him. Of course, it was a worthless effort. furious eyes darted to Jeremy's figure as he tried to make his way into the house and Jeremy's dad got up as swiftly as his beer belly and old joints allowed him to. “Oh no, you aren't getting away now, you little shit,” he yelled angrily. Jeremy could barely make it to the doorway, to the sweet relief of their living room, before he was yanked back by the collar of his denim jacket. Nails dug into the scruff of his neck and dragged him into the living room forcefully, then threw him down to the floor, and they had fun, he and Mike had fun so it had to be worth it. The look in his dads eyes tried to tell him otherwise.
One second the belt was being taken out and the next Jeremy was limping up the stairs, Johnny's blows to the stomach had him doubling over while his dads belt lashes and lazy punches had him squinting his eye and leaning against the wall leading to the bathroom for support. Shaky fingers twisted the handle and turned on the light, making Jeremy squint his eyes even further. Fluorescent light induced squinting be damned, the blind could still see in that bathroom mirror that he looked like shit.
The same routine.
All he could muster himself to do was splash his face with water and brush his teeth. He grimaced a bit as a cut on his lip re-opened in the middle of it, blood leaking into his mouth and turning his spit into a pink tinted glob of toothpaste when he was done. Despite finishing up the only amount of care he could muster to his wounds he stayed standing there, illuminated by the harsh yellow lighting. Bags had developed under his eyes due to the late hour of the night and a bruise began to form around his jaw and eye, one from Johnny and one from his father, respectively. He ran his fingers through his sweaty, wind blown hair, pushing his fringe back and letting his fingers grasp at the chunk of significantly shorter blonde locks in the back. Hopefully it wasn't noticeable to the average passerby…
Finally, he sighed, turned around and walked out. He almost forgot to turn the light off just from sheer tiredness. Jeremy walked to his room and attempted to get a few measly hours of sleep after changing into something more comfortable, a bit hungry but unwilling to go back downstairs and possibly give his father another reason to hit him by merely digging through their cabinets for food. Eventually he drifted off to the wandering thought of if Michael was having a better night than him.
By the time morning came it felt as if he'd gotten no sleep at all. Jeremy was quick to shut his alarm off, not wanting to disturb his dad with its noise blaring through the mostly silent house. He sighed a couple times, skipping was overall preferable today however the school would call his dad if he didn't show up at all and… yeah, no. He's made that mistake before. So he typically resorted to showing up for his first class, so he was at least known to be on school grounds, then skipped periodically throughout the day under the bleachers, the school bathrooms, etc.
Sore limbs lugged the boy into a sitting position. ‘Up and at ‘em,’ he thought sarcastically, not even managing to get a puff of laughter from himself. Tough crowd.
And soon enough he was dressed and downstairs, trying to simultaneously sneak packing a small lunch and to stay unnoticed by his dad. Just a sandwich, maybe something else he could find in the fridge. It was going relatively well, he thought he might actually be able to eat lunch today without spending money to buy a school lunch and save up for the arcade. That was, of course, ruined by the package of ham that clearly had it out for him. He accidentally knocked it off the counter and into the sink. Jeremy shied away from the loud noise, watching as the package clashed around with a bunch of yet to be washed dishes he hadn't gotten to last night for obvious reasons. And if he thought the disgusting residue of old food now contaminating the package was the worst part, he quickly changed his mind at the yelling coming from his fathers bedroom, quickly approaching and raising in volume. “fuck are you doin’ in here? Quit makin so much damn noise!”
Jeremy had to inhale deeply to keep his breath steady. “I was making lunch..”
“Don't you have enough money to buy that shit?” His dad was only vaguely aware of him helping the neighbors mow their lawns or other small tasks for money and yet he used it as an excuse to get out of providing Jeremy with his own money for basic care. “I ran out..”
“Bullshit, you were working your ass off over at what-her-faces house,” he accused, tacking on a “No wonder our house is a mess, you should be spending that time working here.”
And he did, his dad just trashed it up again. Dirty dishes the man refused to wash himself, laundry on the couch, all belonging to his dad, mind you, beer cans upon any surface that didn't have one of the man's prized possessions on them. Lord help anyone who's ever lived with his dad.
When he received no response from Jeremy he stomped out of the room, finishing off with a “put that shit back in the fridge, and rinse off the ham..”
Well, there goes at least 4 arcade dedicated quarters down the drain and into his stomach via school food. Jeremy scowled, doing as he was told, grabbing his backpack and storming out their front door, holding restraint and shutting it normally.
He didn't realize until he'd taken his usual seat on the bus, reflection staring back at him through the dusty window, that he'd forgotten to cover up his eye. A weak thud resounded out as he let his head hit the glass in defeat. He was running low on whatever it was called that he used to cover bruises up anyway, he should probably save it for a day where his fathers abuse didn't have a way to blend in, looking mostly normal to the average onlooker given what happened with Johnny. It was makeup that he used for covering this stuff up but he didn't really know what it was called, it matched his skin color and was opaque enough that you could barely see whatever was under it. Any time he stopped by the drug store to get some, most cashiers looked at him funny. One of them gave him some weird look of pity though, like she knew. Knew why he was buying this stuff so frequently.
He unclenched his hands from the tight grip he had on his pants, shaking off the thought and wiping them free of the sweat that previously made his hands a bit clammy. And when he looked out the window and recognized the boy walking up to the bus he swiftly tried to find a way to hide his eye beneath his hair.