Battlefield

[Tonyksin]

[Jackson Sullivan Memories Start]


“I hate this family! I hate this house! I hope you fucking assholes die!”

A slam of a door followed the high-pitched screams of thirteen year old Jackson Sullivan as her ran up the stairs and barricaded himself in his room, locking the door behind him as if it would save him from the wrath that was sure to follow. He moved whatever furniture he could in front of the door; more obstacles to keep them away. He opened his closet door and crawled all the way to the back, closing the closet behind him and sitting in the darkness, knees pulled to his chest, sobbing quietly in his fetal position, cradling his badly bruised and bleeding right hand. His face had scratch-marks on it, from where his mother had roughly grabbed him earlier, but he barely noticed or felt any pain from it. Before long he heard the sound of something rushing up the steps, then a loud smashing of fists upon his bedroom door.

“You son of a bitch, open this fucking door now!” His mother’s voice sounded vile and cruel, so unlike her usual tone. Before he could think he heard himself shouting back at her. “Fuck you, you stupid bitch!”

The scream of rage as his mother slammed her full body weight into his locked door shook him to the core, and he heard the flimsy lock splinter under the force of her anger. Now she was in the room. The tears continued to spill down his face as he heard her curse and shout as she made her way through the obstacles he’d placed in her way. In the distance he could hear his father’s shouting coming closer, but it was soon drowned out by the banging of rage-fueled fists on the closet door. His mother screeched at him to unlock the door and come out, and he shouted back profanities in return. The pounding stopped for a moment, and for a second he thought she’d lost interest and would leave him be. However, that was far from the truth. All of a sudden he heard smashing sounds coming from beyond the door. She was ransacking him room. A rage built up inside him, and he burst from the closet door, to find his mother stomping on his game system, one of the only new-age technologies he’d been able to convince them to buy for him.

“Stop it you crazy bitch!” He screamed. The hand that flew across his face came so fast he had no time to react.

“I payed for everything in this house! I can break what I want! You think you can put holes in my walls?!”

She was upon him in an instant, smacking him and shoving him into a wall. Kathleen Sullivan looked a mess, her hair gray and messy, her clothing unfitting and the lines in her face making her look well beyond her years. Stress had that effect on you. Jackson grabbed her arms to stop her from attacking and shoved her back, tripping her over some things she’d knocked down during her rampage. He scurried away as fast as he could, making his way over the obstacles and out the door into the hall. His father was on the stairs. He too looked aged beyond his years. The dialysis was taking its toll, and the once strong and virile man had been reduced to a thin, graying memory of what he once was. His father blocked his escape, and Jackson couldn’t get around him without hurting the frail man. Seamus Sullivan had not put his prosthesis on, and his wheelchair was at the bottom of the staircase, the man having crawled his way up the stairs. He reached out for Jackson, but the boy smacked his hand away, and attempted to run into his parents bedroom, across the hall from his own. He didn’t get far, because his mother was back up and upon him again, grabbing him by the shoulder and spinning him around. Jackson acted before he could thing, and his elbow raised high as he turned, catching his mother in the nose.

Her scream was painful to hear, and she collapsed to her knees, holding her now bleeding nose in pain. Seamus reached out for her to check for damage, and Jackson stood still in shock at what he’d done. His mother was sobbing in pain, and Jackson too fell to his knees in front of her. All the rage and anger had disappeared from all of their minds. He reached out feebly towards his mother, his tears clouding his vision.

“Mommy… I-I didn’t mean…” He was loudly crying now, and his father had taken off his shirt to hold to his mother’s nose to stop the flow of blood. She too, was sobbing, and she reached out and dragged her son into an embrace, doing her best to not hit her face with his.

“I know… Me too.. I’m so sorry, Jackie. I… I’m a terrible mother.”

“No! It’s my fault. I’m sorry… I’m so sorry!”

Seamus looked at his family with sadness, and quickly wrapped them both in his arms. It was all too much. They were all so stressed out of their minds that they couldn’t think straight and the smallest incident became a war in their home. Living like this was hell on earth. The family quietly sobbed together, all held in each others arms. None of them wanted this. They loved each other. But in the back of their minds they knew, even now, huddled together at the top of their staircase, crying together, that this would unfortunately not be the last night like this.

Not for a long, long time.


[Jackson Sullivan Memories Continued Elsewhere]