xenocommander

[xenocommander]

No Room For Doubt - Chapter 1

                                    Way Down We Go

“SON OF A BITCH, BOY!”

Jin-yun only had a moment to register his father’s booming voice before he felt something strike him in the back. The sound of wood splintering filled his ears as he buckled, going to his hands and knees, fighting for lungfuls of air. The practise of trying to breathe through the burning pain the only thing that kept him centered. And that lasted ten seconds, maybe less, before a heavy kick swept into his temple. Jin-yun swayed. Darkness curled around the edge of his eye like inky fingers squeezing at his skull. He shook his head, fighting back. There was no way in hell he’d be knocked unconscious by this man.

His father must have been drinking while he waited for Jin-yun to come home because the sound of glass shattering filled the air JUST before Dong-il’s footsteps thundered towards Jin-yun and he yanked Jin-yun’s head back, digging his nails into his scalp while he held him up, and jabbing a razor sharp bottleneck against his son’s throat. The duo locked eyes. The air between them was rancid with the stench of old liquor and bitter hatred. Dong-il sneered, digging the makeshift shivv in slowly until it pierced Jin-yun’s delicate, pale skin. A single trickle of life essence darkened the already tinted glass. Dong-il studied Jin-yun for a moment and when he didn’t find what he seached for there, he roared and brought his head forward, bashing it against his son’s. A sickening crunch ensued. It reminded Jin-yun of the sound that he boot made when he stomped down to put out one of his cigarettes.

He held onto that comforting - no, distracting, that was the right word for it...He held onto that distracting thought as his father proceeded to beat him. Which didn’t last long. They never did these days. When he was younger, Dong-il would beat Jin-yun from sundown to sunrise. Always avoiding the face. And for added measure he left an hour for Jin-yun to soak in ice and bring the swelling down enough that Jin-yun could go to school without the threat of the teachers taking away Dong-il’s fave punching bag. But as Jin-yun got older, so did the old man, and time robbed him of stamina and bestowed it to Jin-yun instead. Which probably pissed him off even more. So he was a vicious as he could be as quickly as he could be. Then after he’d done all he could, both him and Jin-yun were left in heaps of sweat, bruises, and blood on the floor. Today was no different. They both were breathing heavily, laying atop of bits of glass, broken wood, and other trash that was tossed around them like a crime scene outline - just inches from each other.

“You’re teacher came to visit today,” Dong-il said matter-of-factly. Like he was a concerned parent discussing his kid’s well being over dinner. Two things that Jin-yun would never associate with his father. Jin-yun laughed beside himself. The old man looked at him, the venom in his eyes nearly as deadly as his fist. Jin-yun rolled to his back, immune to both by now. “You think her coming here is funny, huh? You think that bitch coming into my house, telling me how to run it...How to raise your sorry ass is funny, boy?”

Dong-il started to get up, trying to catch a second wind, but fell flat as Jin-yun knew he would. Instead, it was Jin-yun who got up - though slowly and biting back groans. He’d not give the man satisfaction to know his punches still were the hardest that he’d ever felt. That he’d probably take to the grave with him. No, Jin-yun would feign indifference until he was far away from his sperm donor. He started down the hall towards his room, his legs aching from some of the kicks that Dong-il had thrown in while he’d hit him. It made him slower than he would have liked. It made him almost limp. Almost. Again, his pride was all that stopped it from happening.

He made his way to his room and closed the door, crumpling against it. Jin-yun raked a hand across his face. It came away crimson. Biting back a string of curses, he wiped his blood on his jeans, and worked his jaw. It was stiff and likely already swelling. Cradling his head in his hands, thumbs digging into his throbbing skull, Jin-yun closed his eyes, and broke down the reality of his situation. He absorbed that his father was an abusive prick who beat him because the world had beat the hell out of him and he needed someone to take it out on. He absorbed that his father was the better parent because at least he’d given a damn enough to stick around. He processed the fact that he was bound to this personal hell until he turned 18. Brown eyes flew open in desperation and locked onto a ratty calendar hanging across the room. It was one of four pieces of furniture in the room - two of those being an equally ratty desk and a plastic bucket he’d turned upside down for a chair. Currently both were hidden under piles clothes under the docket. He scanned the page for the date. September 10th.

Locking the door with habitual ease, Jin-yun straightened, and slide across the room. Along the way he picked up his backpack without looking down. He only had eyes for his ticket out of here. The calendar. A map of his road to freedom. Reverently -obsessively- he pulled his treasure from the wall and flipped through the pages. Counting to himself. 1. 2. 3. October. November. December. 4. 5. 6. January. February. March. 7. 8. 9. 10. Numbers came quicker as he neared his goal, moving past April, May, June, and July in a blur. 11. 12. August and September didn’t even matter to him. 13......October. Jin-yun exhaled a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, as if seeing the month printed on the pages had confirmed it still exsisted, that it wasn’t a dream. For everyone else in the world, 13 was a bad omen. A terrible number. It meant scary things and all the things that went bump in the night. But for Jin-yun it was the trumpet of Archangel Michael. The call of armaggeddon.  The end of this terrible life and the beginning of another. 

He placed the calendar back on the wall, smoothing it, before he started stuffing clothes into his bag haphazardly. It didn’t matter what went in. As long as it stil fit. Dong-il would be getting up soon. He needed to be gone before then. Otherwise, there were no promises that he’d be able to contain himself as well as he had this time. And that would lead to another prison that would compromise his freedom. It wouldn’t shock Jin-yun if Dong-il knew that he was pushing his luck these days, and that he planned to go too far one day,  to push the limits of Jin-yun’s kindness-and it was kindess that he didn’t fight back- just to have a permanent hold over Jin-yun’s life.  The kid smiled to himself. He wouldn’t stick around long enough to give his dad the satisfaction.

Slinging his bookbag over his shoulder, he cast a glance back at his door, locking eyes with himself. That smile quickly faded. He generally made it a rule to never look at himself in a mirror. It always made him uneasy. Girls at school, when he showed up, used to say he was handsome. They’d sit around and gawk at him when he walked the halls. Called him the bad boy type they’d like to fix. Or get mixed up with. They found the busted lips and bandages he sported sexy. He found them to just be reminders, both the girls and the bandages, of the shitty situation that he was in. He was either abused or the abuser. Physically and emotionally in both instances. Usually, that didn’t bother him either...as long as he didn’t have to look himself in the eyes and answer for it. But today right then, right there...Jin-yun absorbed that too.

Because at least if he was absorbing all the shitty things that he was stuck with, it would fill that empty void that he was walking around with. A void that he still hadn’t found a way to fill. No amount of money, booze, or pretty girls had done it yet. But hell if he didn’t have fun trying. 

Jin-yun headed over to the window and tossed it open. The panel hit the top so hard that chips of paint rained down. He ducked his head under the glass just in time to hear his door handle jingle followed the pounding of fist on the wooden frame. He froze.

“I know you are still in there, you bastard. I can feel you like a weight around my neck,” Dong-il growled. “Go to school. And before you start having wetdreams about me suddenly caring about your well being, I don’t.  But if that bitch comes to my house again talkin’ down to me again....I’ll kill her and right after that, I’ll kill you. You hear me?”

Something hit the door and the sound of glass clattering to the floor resounded. Dong-il swore a string of colourful curses then shuffled off. As he departed, Jin-yun heard the distinct sound of another beer bottle opening followed by what he was certain to be, I’ve had enough of women like that in my life because of you. 

Jin-yun stepped out onto the fire escape, sliding down, before he retraced steps he’d treaded many times over the years. Before, the fire escape had meant so much to him. It more than just a fire escape. It was the place he’d run to when he needed all the bad demons in his head and in his life to just go away. He’d spent countless hours huddled there, in his blanket waiting for the sun to rise and for the promise of escape to come. Then like a timid bird, he had slowly grown braver and bolder. Older. Venturing further and further from home. Leaving his nest behind but always...returning. Now...In 13 months and 6 days, he’d damn well fly very, very far away and never look back.