Leyton sat on his bed in his tiny, cramped bedroom—the only place he’d ever had that afforded him a small measure of privacy. Until they’d moved into this apartment, Leyton had slept on the couch, never having a room of his own. Not that there was much to it. The only thing he had was a twin mattress that sat on the worn, brown shag carpet, one old pillow, and a ratty blanket that he’d been using for at least five years now.
In front of him, a pile of pills beckoned him, calling his name, urging him to end it all.
He’d stolen the bottle of sleeping pills from the old woman in the apartment above theirs after he’d gone up to help her fix her clogged sink two days ago. Since then, he’d thought of nothing but them, seeking the solace they could offer.
The two black eyes he sported had kept him from going to school for the last three days, and he knew if he went back, he was going to be put in in-school suspension for ditching, but he’d prefer that to everyone talking shit. They didn’t know that he’d gotten the new bruises and the broken nose from his father’s last drunken rage, nor did he want them to know. It was easier to let everyone believe he spent all his time fighting, when it was actually far from the truth. Although, these days, he did manage to get a few punches in when his father railed on him, but more often than not, Leyton spent most of his time trying to prevent more broken bones since Carl had started using the nearest object to add to the beatings.
As he stared down at the pills, slowly moving them around until they were laid out in a neat row before him, Leyton counted them. If he had to guess, the old lady had just refilled her prescription or she didn’t take them often, because he counted out twenty-eight pills. Whether or not that was enough to kill him, he wasn’t sure, but he could only hope. He was only sixteen years old, and he was ready to put an end to it all. Ending his life seemed the simplest way to stop the pain he endured on a daily basis, to put an end to his bleak existence.
The only thing he had to look forward to was hanging out with Max, but recently, Leyton felt as though their friendship was so one-sided. Max was always there, always attempting to get him to go out and do things, but Leyton couldn’t let his best friend see the various bruises and burn scars he’d acquired, didn’t want him to know that his father beat on him for sport or used him as an ashtray when he felt like it. However, Max had grown increasingly suspicious, so Leyton had started pushing him away. The only friend he had, the only person who actually gave a shit about Leyton, and he couldn’t bear to share the horror of his life even with him.
Leyton felt like a coward for not standing up to his father, but no matter how many times he promised himself he’d fight back, it never seemed to work. He feared the next beating, wondered whether or not his father would eventually beat him to death. That certainly wasn’t the way he wanted to go, hence the sleeping pills.
A knock sounded on his front door, but Leyton ignored it. It was probably his neighbor, needing him to come fix something. Why she didn’t call the maintenance man, he didn’t know.
Picking up the glass of water he’d set on the floor beside his bed, he picked at the pills. If he took them now, he’d go to sleep and hopefully be dead before his father came home. Then he’d never have to see the bastard again, never have to endure another physical or emotional blow from him.
As he held the glass in his hand, he noticed the scars that dotted his arm. Those weren’t even the half of it. Most of the cigarette burns were on his back, some on his chest. The scars on his arms were mostly from the end of the lighter after his father would heat it with the flame, then hold it to Leyton’s skin as though it were a branding iron. He never went without a shirt, most of the time preferring long sleeves so that no one would notice and ask questions.
The knock sounded again, and Leyton closed his eyes briefly. Couldn’t the woman find someone else to take care of her shit? Didn’t she know he hated having to unclog her toilet or dig hair out of her drain? That wasn’t his job.
Taking a sip of the water, he stared down at the pills. It was now or never.
“Why are you ignor— Holy shit! What the fuck happened to your face?”
Leyton jumped, spilling water down his shirt. His eyes flew up to see a very concerned—possibly even angry—Max standing in the doorway to his bedroom. “What are you doing here?”
“Answer my question first,” Max demanded, crossing the room in three steps, his gaze sliding down to the bed, to the pills lying there. “What the hell are those?”
Leyton was embarrassed. “Nothing,” he snapped, reaching down to grab the pills, but Max beat him to it, sweeping them up, dropping a couple on the floor in the process.
“Are these…?” Max stared at the pills, then looked around the floor. Leyton saw the bottle at the same time Max did.
Once again, Max reacted more quickly, grabbing the bottle and reading the label. His eyes lifted, concern etched on his face as he stared back at Leyton. “What were you gonna do?”
Leyton didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Emotion bubbled deep inside him. Anger, fear, desperation. It coalesced into a churning, fiery pain that exploded in his chest. If Max would’ve waited just a few minutes longer…
Max stuffed the pills back in the bottle, grabbed the couple he’d dropped, and added them, as well, then set them on the windowsill beside the glass Leyton had deposited there before dropping onto the mattress beside Leyton.
“It’s time we talk,” Max said firmly. “And by talk, I mean it’s time you tell me what the fuck is going on.” Max pointed at Leyton’s face. “And you can start by tellin’ me who did that.”
It was dark by the time Leyton finished telling Max everything. The words had spewed forth, and he’d been unable to stop them. He’d told Max about his mother leaving when he was little, having to leave his friends in Fort Worth, about his father’s drinking, his drunken rages, the burns from lighters and cigarettes, his repeated abuse. He didn’t stop until he was too tired to talk anymore, and at that point, Max informed him that if Leyton wasn’t going with him, then he wasn’t leaving. Then, Max had taken the bottle of sleeping pills, poured them into the toilet, and flushed them right out of existence.
So now, as Leyton lay on his lumpy mattress in the dark room, staring up at the ceiling, Max was doing the same on the dirty-carpeted floor on the far side of the room. Leyton didn’t have a television, no radio, nothing to pass the time, so after they’d finished their conversation, Leyton had told Max he just wanted to go to sleep.
Easier said than done.
Sleep had evaded him for the longest time, but he must’ve dozed off, because he awakened to the sound of his bedroom door slamming into the wall and his father yelling his name. Leyton sat up just in time to connect with something hard as it smashed against his cheek with a sickening crunch. Leyton yelled, the excruciating pain in his head making him dizzy.
“Who broke the fucking front door? And where’s my goddamn beer?” Carl hollered. “I know I had two left. Did you steal it, you little fucking prick?”
Leyton tried to roll away, but whatever object his father was using made impact again, this time with his shoulder, sending shards of pain through his neck and down his arm. He heard the sound again, lifted his arms to cover his head, but before the object hit its intended mark, Max was there, shoving Carl backward.