Bullied (18+)

 

Chapter 28: A Forgotten Childhood (part 1)

 

The first thing I saw were the miniscule motes of dust particles being highlighted within the stream of rosy-golden sunlight that peeped out from around the edges of my curtains. And just barely, I picked up on the cheerfully chirped notes from bathing birdies.

This was weird for me. I usually would wake up sometime before the sun could yellow the air in my room. I was used to being greeted by a red room.

Not the expectedly welcomed scene, but still quite a beautiful radiance of light for me to look upon. It was a pity the experienced had to be spoiled with this Godawful hammering in the back of my head.

In ignoring the ache, I focused on another problem and wondered, ’Why am I on the floor?’

At first, I was unaware of what had woken me up, but with relief, I could discard the cause being a fitful slumber. I didn’t flutter my eyes open to the same sights I normally saw.

Instead of the heart-racing unease I regularly woke up to, or having that foul and bitter coppery taste in my mouth, or the bewildering acrid smell I’d find on myself… Okay, after a sniffle, I found my morning breath and B.O., but nothing to panic about this time.

A palate cleansing brush and refreshing shower was a must before I moved on with my morning. At least, it would have been, but I saw there was an exception for me to take care of first. But I was left to contemplate what reason I had to be in this bewildering state of disarray.

Here I was sitting down on my floor with what looked like my computer chair having wheeled out of place and strolled on over to judge me. I would too if I chose the spot I happened to have slept in. It was a hard floor over my comfy bed -- the carpet didn’t soften my position any.

After a moment of clearing the fuzziness out of my eyes, I wondered, ’What happened?’

There was a headache, and I did have a crick in my neck, so I supposed I fell out of bed and… Having seen that my blankets and sheets were roped up in a tangled mess beside me, and with a look over my shoulder at an almost bare bed, I assessed for me to have done this much thrashing about, I second-guessed myself and thought I had a restless night.

It was a reeeally muggy one yesterday.

Well, that would explain why I woke up late, and with the pillow left behind on my bed, enduring a headache and pain in the neck too. I wondered, ’Did I drop down on my head?’

And after my unusually destructive episode, I somehow managed to sleep through this bedside tumble. I must’ve been dead to the world for me to have avoided an alarmed Dad checking up on me.

Then again, while I scooped up and began to untie the twisted sheets from the blanket, I thought, ’Maybe he didn’t hear me?’ I probably had a soundless fall on these knotted up bed covers. Not as cushy as a pillow, my discomfort being evident of that observation, but quiet soft and quieting enough to not wake either of us.

Standing up with an arm full, I pulled off the fitted sheet and tucked it in a now overfilled elbow. If I was right, I likely soaked my sheets in sweat from the overnight’s heat.

Padding away on my footsies, I nudged the chair back into the desk before I would head for the bedroom door. Open and closed, I walked out into the hall and silently listened for another set of footsteps.

And I heard nothing. I supposed the humidity got to my dad and he ended up sleeping in too.

So out in the hall, wearing a pair of turquoise pajamas, holding a balled up set of bed covers, and feeling oily under my nightwear; I quickly slipped past my dad’s room towards the bathroom. Going fast, I got jittery. A bubbly pocket of excitement burst a “Vroooom!” out of me on my way through the hallway.

Not as quietly as I first intended, but it was fun.

Once behind a safely secured closed door, I made sure the dirty clothes hamper first received my sheets. I unceremoniously pulled the lid off and let it drop to the floor before the bundle in my arms were dumped in.

Daring not to touch another thing until I had clean hands, I stepped towards the sink -- which was still a bit difficult for me to use properly. I couldn't quite reach the faucet without a step stool.

Sometimes I still made it work without the stool by having to climb up on the counter. But I wanted to do this without any aids.

So I gave it a shot. I strained to lean over the bathroom's counter and made a grab for the knob atop of the water faucet. It took me standing on my toes and ignoring the keen edge digging into my armpits, but by some miracle, I did it!

This had me being so giddy with excitement that I slipped on the tips of my footsies and crashed my knees into the cabinet doors beneath the sink. It didn't hurt, but the combination of my success and this incident had me uncontrollably giggling.

Back on my feet, I reached back out and held my hands under the running water.

A quickly rubbed in squirt of green goo from a liquid soap container, and my hands were rinsed and washed up. Ironically, I found it kind of disgusting that the dyed green goop oozed down from the droopy nose of a Muppet called Gonzo.

Dad called that a gag-gift, and honestly, I used to gag when I saw this as boogers. Of course, I knew better, and I thought I managed alright this time around.

That aside, I went on to consider my success without an assist. I wondered aloud, “Maybe I’m taller?”

Being curious, I hopped backwards and smacked my back up against the second bathroom closet. On the wooden frame was an upward trail of black marks.

My progress growing on up in the world.

While rocking on my heels, I straightened up and reached to hold my hand right above my head. I turned and glanced where I was at, but saw no difference.

“Awww…” I complained over being no taller than the last time I was measured.

But I wasn’t going to take any of that! This day, I was a year older. That meant I should’ve grown up.

Back to being upright with my face forward, I stood up on my tippy-toes and placed my hand where I would be now on the marked doorframe. When I twirled on my toes to look, I proudly beamed a bright smile at new heights I reached.

Whenever Dad woke up, I would have to show him this.

Then I made quick work of brushing my teeth… And, since I didn’t plan on wearing my jammies to school, I wiped the frothing mess on my sleeve. When I stripped down to nothing, my now dirty outfit became the next item to be deposited in the tall plastic basket of filthy clothing. Not that there was a lot of clothes in there. I just knew that basket never had a decent scrub.

...Now that I thought about that, I probably should take the basket out and dump it into the washing machine before I get squeaky clean. It sounded like a good idea.

Before I took the basket, I open the bathroom door back up and then --

“Morning,” a pair of boxers with a pitched tent said to me. “Come on, I’ve got to piss so Goddamn bad, I can taste it. Move.”

Right away, I backpedaled out of Dad’s way and quickly looked elsewhere as he went straight for the toilet. For a moment or two, I sort of waited for him to finish draining his lizard.

“Hey, Dad,” I tried to grab his attention while lining myself up with the marked door frame. “Dad, look. Dad! Daaad!”

"Jesus, Clint..." Without even bothering to peek at what I was trying to show him, he said, "Give me a few shakes, will you?”

My hand fell away from the top of my head and I impatiently bounced where I stood in wait. I didn’t want to be eyeballing the back of my dad while he peed, so I had my gaze roam elsewhere.

Then the moment came when my eyes passed the reflection of a longhaired blonde in the mirror. And catching on that head of hair was the only part not showing of skin, I snapped myself out of idleness.

Just because I turned seven today, that didn’t mean I was comfortable parading around in front of Dad while wearing my birthday suit. At least, not openly running around naked.

A squeak out of me, followed by a hurried jump in the shower and a pull of its curtain later, I then changed the subject when I suggestively stated: “Basket is full!”

“Hm?” was all I heard in response from Dad.

So while I played with the tub’s temperature, I rephrased a little louder my implied request for him to take the laundry. “Dirty clothes!”

As I switched the tub onto the shower, I go an unenthused “ahuh” from him.

And when I noticed he finished emptying his bladder, I shouted over the shower’s spray to him: “No flushing!”

Another affirmative grunt came out of him. I hadn’t heard his departure yet, so I began to wonder, ’Is he waiting on me?’

Well, I did ask him to look my way, but that was before I retreated behind the shower curtain. I could always grab a towel from the closet and showed him where to adjust a new mark.

Poking my head out of the curtain, I looked to see what he was up to. And I watched as Dad ran sani-wipes over his palms. I was thankful he had the sense to not run water from the sink too.

Freezing cold showers were not fun.

When he balled up and tossed the used wipes away -- unfortunately catching him throwing that in the toilet -- I quickly adopted a disapproving tone of voice and asked: “You want in?”

As he was most definitely caught doing something bad, he whirled around to face me and shot his hands up in the air in surrender before getting a chance to stutter his response. “I’mim not -- I’ll wait.”

“Mhm,” I hummed with my chin up.

“Hurry up,” he told me in a groggy voice. And I raised my chin higher in defiance. “You’ve thirty minutes until the bus gets here.”

That made me fall back in line… Or I would have supposed in this case, the shower to get scrubbing and fast. I had to wonder, ’What time is it?’ If it was a half an hour before the bus’s arrival, I calculated and came up with it being seven in the morning.

Not good. I would have to cut my shower short.

With no more time to waste, I grabbed the soap and got my body all lathered up. Through the suds across my eyes, I carefully looked down at myself to ensure my skin was completely rinsed of soapy residue.

Whatever amount of bubbly growth I neglected to spray, I collected into the palms of both hands. I huffed my skinny tummy deeply in and puffed my chest out, as if that controlled how much I inhaled, and blew the foam away and into the shower’s line of fire. And just in time too.

The instant I heard our toilet flush, I froze up.

A startling second later, I slunk under the streaming arc of the shower and shut it off before I literally froze. After I got my wits back, I screamed: “Dad!”

“Done?” Just as he asked, the curtains were pulled aside and a purple towel being thrust towards me. Then came a command with the routinely listed instructions. “Hurry up, get dressed, breakfast -- oh, there’s a tupperware container on the top shelf in the fridge -- take your vitamins, grab your bookbag -- it’s by the recliner -- and stand by the porch, not the sidewalk or driveway when you wait for the bus.”

Taking the offered towel from him to wrap myself up from the shoulders down, and before stepping out of the tub and his way, I brought up a question about that last thing he mentioned. “What I do?”

“Nothing.” He didn’t directly answer me, but with what he said next, I got the hint. “Stay on the porch or you can watch for the bus from the front door.”

To make this clear between us, I said, “I didn’t tell.”

“In or out,” was all the response I got from him.

Dad stepped in and I took that as my immediate cue to scram before the curtains closed. I already was drying off, and if I didn’t want to get the towel soaked, I should bail out.

So, I did.

When I turned around to face him, he had already shut himself off and turned the water back on. I still wanted him to know and shouted: “I didn’t -- if asked, you’re watching me from the window! But nobody asked me! I didn’t tell on you!”

In return, I got reminded of the time. “Twenty minutes!” I wasn’t sure how accurate that was, but he made it apparent what my priorities should be right now. “Go and get ready for school!”

Twice now, I huffed at the shower and vented a lot of hot air in its direction. Just so Dad would hear me, I loudly stomped my foot down before turning away and growling in a squeak of frustration. Then when I recomposed myself enough to have my tantrum mellowing out, I settled with storming out of the bathroom.

But not before I shouted back: “Don’t forget the laundry!”

Back out in the hall, and closing the door behind me, I scampered away and headed on back towards my room. I had to think fast about what to wear, but more importantly, breakfast.

To put Dad in a good mood on my birthday, I wished to present him with a dish that would make a culinary artist envious. And if I impressed him, he might consider giving us both a day off to celebrate.

Problem was, I had a fifteen minute window to excel at this...