Chapter 7
He dragged his feet when
he walked through the front porch of his house. He dreaded meeting his father
at the moment. Many thoughts were running through his head when he took out his
keys to unlock the doors.
“Where have
you been?” he heard his mother asked. He was so caught up in his thoughts that
he hadn’t heard his mother opening the front door even before he could insert
the key into the slot.
“I… I…
Didn’t I call last night, Mum?” he asked, trying to act innocent and crossing his
fingers behind his back, hoping that his father wasn’t home and he prayed that
he didn’t know that he wasn’t home whole night long.
“Home now,
ain’t he?” his father asked.
‘Uh-oh,’
he thought. Prayers and hopes weren’t working their charms this time. Closing
his eyes, he prepared himself for the pain that’s about to come.
Immediately,
he was raised from the ground. He could feel his father’s knuckles pressed
tightly against his collarbones.
“I’ll repeat
this once more. Where have you been last night?” his father whispered into his
ear. When he refused to answer him, he felt a blow on his left cheek and
the-now-familiar burning begun. He shook him violently and ranted obscenities,
waiting for the answer that he desired from his son.
Running a
hand through his hair – he knew he shouldn’t do that because it’d agitate his
father more but he couldn’t help it – he stared into his father’s eyes.
If he told
his father where he’d been and what he’d been doing the night before, his
father would beat him up. Then again, if he didn’t tell his father, he
would still get beaten up. There’s no point listening to him lecturing
and then getting the pain as well. It’s better to stick with the pain than to
get both the pain and the nagging and lectures.
He doubled
over when he got another punch from his father, curling into a ball as his
father released his grip on his collar. Somehow, he hoped that by curling
himself into a ball, he’d be able to block out all the pain and protect himself
somehow. It’s bad enough when your father’s beating you up but now he’s
shouting obscenities that made you feel as if you’ve got no self-esteem and
pride and you’re just a random empty drinking can by the roadside.
Gritting his
teeth, he tried to stop himself from crying out as he felt a sharp pain in his
stomach. His father really had hit a bad spot. He winced as he tasted blood
from his lower lip and he tried to wipe it off but couldn’t as his father
punched him hard on the lower jaw.
He staggered
backwards and dropped onto the floor, rubbing his sore jaw. His mother was
nowhere to be seen. He stood up hastily as he felt anger surging through his
body.
“I can’t and
I won’t take this any longer!” he shouted at his father and tried to
fight back but his father was much stronger than him. He gripped his son’s
collar and shoved him to a wall, pinning his both his arms down and said,
“Look, if you wanna stay here, then do whatever I told you to.”
With that,
he left his son on the floor – bloody and bruised. He walked in the direction
that he’d knew and very accustomed to now – the bedroom – and that’s where he
knew he’ll find his wife…
~~ecaf~~
“Chris?”
Paul called.
“Don’t talk
to me,” Christian said. “I need to calm down.”
Paul tried
to inch his way toward Christian but couldn’t.
“I said stay
away,” Christian warned.
“What’s up
with this, Chris?” Paul asked. “We’re all worried about you.”
“Then, don’t
worry about me. I think I’m old enough to take care of myself,” Christian said
icily.
“Chris, I
don’t mean that and I’m sure you know full well which topic I’m on.”
“If you
think that you have the rights to talk about sex to me like what your father
usually did to you, then you don’t. I know what I can do and what I can’t do in
sex.”
“Christian!”
Paul exasperated. “One thing, my father didn’t mentioned anything about
sex to me when I was young.”
“Neither did
mine.”
“That’s
old-fashion way, Chris. I learnt it off school…”
Christian
didn’t say a word, his eyelids didn’t even twitch.
“Back to the
last topic we’re on…” Paul observed if there were any reactions from Christian
but there was obviously none. “As I was saying, we’re worried about you…”
“Paul, shut
it. Don’t play big brother with me. My personal problems are none of your
concern.”
“If any of
this is going into long-terms, you’ll suffer,” Paul said.
“Do I even look like I care? Besides,
don’t you think I’d suffered enough when you lot listened to that song earlier?
I was in depression when I wrote it.”
“You just wrote
it a few days ago!”
“No, the
song took me months.”
“Months?!”
Paul gasped. That’s very impossible for Christian. He’s a talented man and he
usually takes only a day or two to finish a song – in rough, of course. He never
took months to finish one song (a/n: although I do used up a few months
for just one song). “You’re depressed a few months back and you’re still
suffering from depression now.”
“Glad you
came to terms with it.”
“Why didn’t
you tell us?”
“Should I?”
“Why
shouldn’t you?”
Christian sighed.
This conversation with Paul was going nowhere, especially when Paul didn’t know
about the story and the actual meaning of the song as well as the hurt that
he’d been through before. “The suffering doesn’t seem to have any effects on my
work.”
“Yes it
does. More depressing songs,” Paul reminded him.
“Apart from
that, we all still write quality songs and I don’t think I’d lose any fans
yet.”
“You might
soon.”
Christian
shot him a dirty look. Trust Paul to be as straight to the point as usual. He’s
always saying something that’s negative. If it did happened, he’d know
which other three a1 members he should throttled first.
“Paul…”
“Might as
well listen to your side of story now. I know there’s something wrong when
you’re a teenager.”
“Nothing
happened, okay?” Christian snapped. “Nothing!”
“Aww… c’mon.
I know something happened. You told us so a while ago.”
“That’s for me to know and you to find
out.”
“How can I find out when we’re all
staying in London now and it happened in Norway?”
“She’s British.”
“Bless her. Hang on, your girlfriend’s
British?!”
Christian nodded as he shot a look at
Paul.
“Chris loves British girls…” Paul
teased.
“Who doesn’t?”
“Well, I dunno. Probably you’re just
one of those who loves any type of girls – from German to French to
Mexican to Swedish to Norwegian.”
“I do like those ‘types’ of
girls.”
Paul shook his head in disbelief.
“Slut.”
Christian shot him a
“Say-the-word-slut-again-I’ll-personally-see-that-you-die-an-excruciating-death”
look.
“So, what happened actually when you’re
with her?” Paul asked, changing the subject.
“I suggest you go get Mark and Ben
here. I think I should explain and I believed I owe them an apology for
shouting at them earlier.”
Christian sighed when Paul left the
room and started rubbing his temples. His pounding headache was back and he’s
about to tell his bandmates about his love-history that he’d been so adamantly
guard. He started rubbing his eyes slowly and slightly shaking his head in
despair.
“Chris?” Mark placed a hand on
Christian’s shoulder.
Christian opened his eyes slowly and
fixed a stare at the three guys sitting on the settee in front of him. They
were all happy guys and they had no worries – even if they do have
worries, those weren’t as serious as his. Why would they want to make it a
burden for themselves just so they know his side of history? Why must they
care?
“Chris?” Mark called again; worried
that Christian might’ve changed his mind about telling them.
“I’m fine, Mark, if that’s what you’re
wondering.”
“Sorry,” Mark said as he sunk into the
leather settee opposite Christian.
“You wanted to tell us something?” Ben
asked, knowing full well that the answer will be a “yes”.
Christian nodded a little. “It’s about
my past…”