The Art of Gravity

TOBIAS MITCHELL

Pain was an unknown emotion right now.

I don't feel any as I drive my fist into the wall, my hand bloody and bruised but I don't stop. I can never stop. I was sure my hand was broken by now, but I didn't care. I deserved it.

My mind is clouded with thoughts of Noah. And how I'd just screwed up everything. I admitted to having feelings. I admitted to wanting to be something more with him and now he hates me. I'm sure he hates me. I'd hate me. He deserves so much more. Why was I so fucking stupid?

Tears trail down my cheek, salty and bitter. I'm so fucking pathetic. Noah would never want me anyway. He needs someone strong to protect him, someone he can count on not to have a fucking episode every single time something makes him angry. He needs someone who could love him the right way.

And, I could never give him that. He had to hate me. He's going to leave. I knew he'd leave. I'd never feel his stare on me again. Never see those eyes, those curls, those lips, him again.

And it was my fault.

All of it was my fucking fault.

I rest my head on the cool surface, trying to calm down. My broken hand fell to my side, forgotten. There was a hole where my fist had broke through the plywood. Why do I get so angry all the time?

I hurt him today, for one. I hurt his fragile back because I couldn't control myself. I warned him not to be around me when I lashed out. I warned him... How was I supposed to look at him again?

My breathing starts to get heavy again, and I think about it. I really do. I glance at the scars, but what I see disgusts me, so I look away. There was another way.

With a hard ache in my chest, I stand upright, heading over to my desk. Various drawings were scattered across the surface. I sit down, grabbing a blank sheet and began to sketch a rough outline of the only thing that could ever calm me down.

And as I finish, Noah's lazy smirk from earlier comes into view. I'd captured each and every lock of his hair, every spark in his eyes. Even the tiny birthmark on the side of his neck. I smooth my hand over the surface, my teardrops dampening the page.

Unfortunately, that's what distracts me from the heavy footsteps making their way towards me.

•. •. •.

Christopher smirks at me, and I glare. It wasn't fucking Thursday. His eyes make their way to the hole I'd put in the wall and back to me, a glint in his stare. I'd hidden the drawing before he marched in. He didn't need to know that I had something that made me happy.

"You put that hole there, boy?" He asks me, and I don't answer. I never answer. I know what's coming, my heart beats heavy in my ears. There's a sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach as Christopher continues to stare at me. I want to throw up.

His eyes go to the closet door behind me, and I silently pray for him not to. My hands grab the desktop, as if I could ground myself there so he wouldn't move me. But he would. He always did.

I shake my head at him, lips trembling. I could act tough in front of my mother, but here, alone with him and the closet, I was terrified. I was weak. I was never strong enough. 

"Haven't been in there in a while, have you?" He asks, but he knows I haven't. My breath was skipping, panic slowly making its way towards me.

I dig my hand into the wooden desk, "Please, don't..."

My words waver, my body trembling as Christopher's smirk widens.

"Don't fight it. You know it'll only get worse," He says, and I shake my head again as he walks towards me. I was so fucking weak. I had no power when it came to the closet. I hated it, ever since I was little. It was dark, small, and he always locked the door.

Christopher comes closer, and I try to run towards the door, but he grabs me and slams me against the floor, making me cry out as my head bangs against the floorboard.

He grabs me by the back of my shirt, and starts to drag me to that forbidden place, and I fight, digging my nails into his hands, twisting and turning.

His hand comes down across my face, and I turn my head to the side, spitting out blood. I could feel my lip split.

"You should be grateful, brat. I pay for this damn house, I'm the one who's letting you stay here. And that damn bitch," he spat, "Who can't even fucking cook right. You're both pathetic."

I shake my head, memories coming back to me, the ones that were buried deep down. I hated him. I hate him.

I shake my head, and I sob, "I'm sorry! I don't wanna go — Don't put me in there!"

There's something stuck in my throat as Christopher throws me in the dark box, kicking me in my side when I try to escape. He shuts the door, and I hear the sound of the lock clicking into place.

I bang against the door, crying for him to let me out. I hear the front door slam and that makes me cry out louder because I know that I'm alone now.

I dig my nails into my arms, my body numb, fear embedding itself into me. The walls of the closet began to close in on me.

And as the memories from my past began to take ahold of me, I let out a dark, piercing scream. And deep down, I knew that I screaming for Noah.

author's note; okay, so i was wondering if anyone wanted me to make a playlist for the book? if you're interested in that, tell me. also, if anyone wants a visual representation of noah and tobias, i could do that too. the pictures wouldn't actually be noah and tobias, like not how i fully imagined them, but they'd be pretty close. anyway, that's all. :)