“I’ll be
your dream, I’ll be your wish, I’ll be your fantasy…” Ben sang as he busied
himself in the kitchen, popping open the bottles of alcoholic drinks.
“I swear,
Adams, that if you don’t stop singing that song—which you’d been singing since the
past three hours—I’ll be force to hang your genitals in the living
room!” Paul shouted from the living room where he and Christian were playing
“Tekken IV” (a/n: Is there a game with that name??) on the PlayStation II console.
Mark was sitting nearby on the settee, flipping idly through a magazine,
smiling as he came across one article and started reading it silently.
“I sing what
I want, Marazzi!” Ben shouted back. “You can’t stop me!”
“You wanna
bet?” Paul asked.
Mark and
Christian exchanged glances, both seeing each other’s amused grins fixed on
their faces. Somehow, they knew that Paul’s line was very familiar. In fact,
it’d just happen in the kitchen two days ago.
“In no mood,
Paul,” Ben sighed as he walked into the room, carrying three bottles. He handed
one to Paul and the other one to Christian. They’d tried persuading Mark into
drinking but he sticks to his reasons and refused to drink, launching into a
talk about disciples.
Ben turned
to Mark and handed him a bottle of Coke in which Mark muttered his “thanks” in
return.
“Oh shit…
shit, shit, shit, shit!” Paul rambled as he started pressing the buttons
on the PlayStation II controller furiously. “I can’t lose at this!” After
several seconds, the unmistakeable voice of the commentator that’d been
programmed into the game told them of their scores.
“Oooh… YES!!”
Christian leaped up from his spot on the floor and danced around happily. “I
won, I won, I won!”
Paul – who
was quite frustrated because he’d lost – stuck his tongue out at Christian who
was smiling triumphantly.
“Pay up,
Paul!” Christian said.
Paul paid
Christian, frowning. “Still can’t believe he won though. It’s like he cheated.
Did you guys see how well he controlled that Yoshimitsu?”
“Skill, Paul, skill…” Christian said, counting his money.
“Very funny,
Chris.”
“Am not
laughing,” Christian grinned and pocketed his money. “Want another round?”
Paul shook
his head as he took a long swig from the bottle. “Ain’t gonna lose to you
again. It ain’t fun! Ben’s better…”
“Fine then,”
Christian said as he switched off the TV.
And so, the
lads spent the night by drowning themselves in alcohol, except Mark, of course.
~~ecaf~~
“How could
you aced your Music and yet you failed Chemistry?!” his father shouted and
kicked his son’s side. “I thought you’re smart!” He kicked his son again
as he tried to crawl away from his father, away from all of this.
“Stop!” his
mother cried. She didn’t dare to stop her husband or protect her son – she
could still feel the pain from his blow the other night, still recovering from
the shock of the punch. Her son didn’t mind. In fact, he’s glad that his mother
stayed out of this… he knew he’s endangering his mother. This animal… he just
couldn’t control himself, he’ll hit anyone that came in the way.
“Tell me,
how could you fail?!” his father shouted again, kicking his side. He
immediately clutched his painful side and tried to roll away and avoid the
incoming kick but couldn’t. He rolled on the floor, in pain. Yet, he refused to
answer his father.
He struggled
to stand up and faced his father.
“You’re
gonna get nothing out of me,” he said through clenched teeth.
Needless to say,
his father was shock when he heard his son talking back to him. This was the
first time he’d heard his son spoke up – instead of shouting at him, like he
usually did when he tried to defend his mother from him – the first time in the
last 11 years. He just couldn’t believe that’s his own son talking to him – he
sounded different, very different, with an aura of confidence around him. If he
hadn’t stopped himself, he would’ve took a few steps backwards and probably
collapsed on the floor with shock.
He quickly
regained his footings and collected himself together. “You’re nothing to me,
boy!”
“You can’t
say that!” he heard his mother cried from a corner of that room. “He’s your
son!”
“Son? He’s
definitely not my son! You slept with someone and then, you came
running home, pregnant!” he shouted at his wife.
He grabbed
his father’s wrist as his father was about to slap his mother. “Don’t you dare!”
he snarled.
He shook his
arm free from his son’s grip. When his son refused to let him go, he flung his
arm out and it hit his son squarely on jaw.
He staggered
backwards, one hand on his jaw. He removed his hand away from his face when he
felt blood slowly trickling down from a corner of his mouth. He’d bit his own
tongue hard enough to make it bleed when his father ‘smacked’ him. No, I won’t
cry, he kept telling himself that but he knew he couldn’t deceive himself
any longer. He wanted to cry out so desperately – something that could sooth
the searing pain inside of him that he’s feeling from all the abuses that he’d
received for the past 12 years, ever since he’s three.
Lyeane! His head screamed.
His girlfriend, Lyeane… she understands him very well. However, Lyeane had
never been to his home before, just in case his father’s home and he might smack
Lyeane as well. He couldn’t take that risk. Lyeane knew about his father
abusing that 15-year-old. She’d been advising him to report it to someone or
something but he refused.
The students
in the school were getting curious as this 15-year-old was always wearing
long-sleeves and jeans to school and never anything that’s more revealing than
those. But he’s no nerd. He’s smart, talented and one of the outstanding
students, especially in subjects such as Music and History.
Yeah… he
thought. I really should be glad.
He snapped
out of his train of thoughts and memories as he felt cold leather across his
chest and a few seconds later, his stomach and his back. He doubled over and
fell on his knees in pain, yet refusing to let a single cry escape his dry throat.
~~ecaf~~
“Now, lads,
I want you all to look like you’re having fun!” the photographer – Mike – said
while he took the camera off from the tripod before the set.
“Okay…” all
four of them said simultaneously and at the same time, all four lit up with
smiles as bright as a light bulb, probably brighter.
“Okay, good,
good,” Mike said as he moved around freehandedly to capture the lads’ poses
from as many angles as possible. “Excellent!”
Mark, Ben,
Christian and Paul sighed as Mike gave them a short break to go to the loo, get
some tea for themselves and get an outfit change.
“Three
hours, forty seven minutes and twenty seconds to go,” Ben said as he zipped his
trousers in the gents’ toilet.
“Shut up, Ben!”
Christian laughed as he pulled off his belt and slung it around his neck,
getting ready for the next outfit change.
“Yea!” Paul
chirped in. “We all know that you looooooove photo shoots!” Paul zipped
up his trousers as well before heading for the sink.
“I don’t!”
Ben retorted as he stood there, waiting for his three friends to be ready.
“Yes you
do!” Mark argued, washing his hands before flicking several drops of water at
Ben.
“Oi!” Ben
shouted. “Cut that out!” he laughed.
“Why should
I?” Mark asked indignantly, in a high-pitched, childish voice.
“’Cause
Uncle Ben says so!”
“Eww… I
don’t want an uncle like Ben!” Mark said immediately as he screwed up his nose,
back in his normal tone. “Makes other people think twice before they talk to
you.”
“Oh yeah?”
Del knocked
on the door of the toilet urgently, saving Mark from Ben’s clever
counterattack. “Five more minutes!”
“Okay!” Ben
shouted from the other side. When they’d heard Del left, all four burst into
giggles.
“He’s so
stressed!” Christian said.
“He is!”
the other three agreed.
When the
laughter had died down, the four lads made their way to the changing rooms,
their personal stylist already there with their clothes.
Nearly
fifteen minutes later, all four ran into the room where they’re supposed to
have the photo shoot. Mike was sitting there, sipping his cocoa quietly and
raised to his feet as soon as he saw the lads entering the room.
“These are
the photos from yesterday’s shoot,” Mike said, reaching into his bag and took
out a pile of photos and placed them on the nearby table. “Choose your
favourites.”
“I can’t
believe that cheek!” Ben exploded. “I just couldn’t believe we’d just done an
autograph session for 6,000-odd fans! Tim or Del or whosoever that’s together in
that bloody photo studio should’ve at least told us about!”
“Relax,
Ben,” Mark said, shooting a look that said help-me-out-here-guys to Christian
and Paul who were relaxing on the settee, watching telly.
Paul rubbed
his sore wrist slowly before speaking up brightly. “At least the photo shoot
went well!”
“Very funny,
Paul.” Ben said icily, plopping down next to a-very-sleepy Christian who was
about to fall off the settee.
“Paul, get
your shower now!” Mark barked. “Or else, you’re always diving in whenever
I want a shower.”
“Right,
Mom!” Paul grinned as he got up from the settee and ran off to the bathroom.
Little did
they know, Mark had just saved an argument that was bound to happen if he’d
kept Paul there with them. Paul and Ben always had their clever comebacks and
it might be a huge argument if Paul had stayed.
~~ecaf~~
“No, please,
get away from me!” he heard his mother cried.
He tried
covering his ears and run away from all the screams and cries but he knew that was
an almost impossible thing to do; its as futile as wishing for a shower of ice.
There’s nowhere to run in that house. Sure, his father’s quite well-off but he
just couldn’t stuff clothes into a bag and jump out of the window… he couldn’t
leave his mother behind, not when she tried her best to ease most of his
suffering but those efforts always end up without any satisfying results. He
refused to get any help from his mother at all.
It’s time that all of this stop… he thought as he got up from his position on the cold, marbled
floor of his bedroom.