Reckless

It was six months ago you’d gotten the message from John. Your bro wasn’t home, as usual, and you were killing time dicking around on your computer, trying to deal with the oppressive Texas heat. You were in the middle of a particularly witty rap about Ben Affleck that you were certain Rose was enjoying when you received a pester from John. You were a bit surprised because he hadn’t been on for a while, you figured he was grounded or something. Usually the two of you never went more than a few hours without talking, so needless to say, you missed him a bit. In the most ironic way possible. You expected some message about his week; about that girl he maybe had a crush on; about how unfair it was that he got grounded. But all you got was:

ECTOBIOLOGIST started pestering TURNTECHGODHEAD:

EB: facetime me

ECTOBIOLOGIST ceased pestering TURNTECHGODHEAD

Confused, you grabbed your phone and donned your shades, setting up facetime. Although you, John, Jade, and Rose often set up group Skype calls, the two of you rarely used video chat. John’s always found it awkward, because he can’t talk, even though you and Rose both know ASL, and Jade’s perfectly content to wait for him to type, he still thinks it’s weird. The video connected and portrayed the grainy image of John, perpetually messy hair, thick glasses that only he could pull off, sitting in his… bathroom? “What’s up dude?” The light on his end was dim, you could barely see him as he gave you a small, nervous grin and signed something you couldn’t make out. “Turn on a light bro, I can’t even see you.” He shook his head and signed something again. “John, seriously, I have no idea what you’re saying.” After a moment of stillness, he stood up and moved out of the camera frame. A light flicked on and John sat back down as the screen adjusted. Your brow furrowed as the picture cleared. It had been too dark to see before, behind the thick frame of his glasses a large, purple bruise covered most of the left half of his face. There was another one flowering on his jawline and his lip was cracked and bleeding. “What the fuck.” Your voice was low and wavering. John was staring at the ground, shifting nervously, but looked up when you spoke. He gave an apologetic shrug and rubbed his right fist on his chest in circular motions. ‘Sorry.’

Your mind was racing at a thousand miles an hour but you tried to maintain a casual, chill demeanor. “John what the hell happened man?” You managed to choke out. He only shook his head, his chin tucking into his chest. “You get in a fight or something?” You tried to keep your tone light, but he jerked a bit. When he finally made eye contact with you through the screen you realized he was crying. You hadn’t seen John cry in two years, not since his dad died. “John seriously man, are you okay?” Your anxiety was through the roof, you knew John had been sent to some majorly shitty foster homes in the past couple years, but nothing like this. He brought his hands up to his chest and signed haltingly, ‘I can’t do this anymore Dave.’ He was full on sobbing now, his entire body shaking, making reading his hands difficult. You hoped you hadn’t heard him right. “Hey, hey, it’s gonna be okay, don’t talk like that, we’re gonna fix this, don’t worry bro.” You rambled on for a bit, more to calm yourself down than him. He was about to sign something else when a loud bang and a stream of light cut him off. John glanced up and immediately shrank back, signing ‘sorry’ repeatedly. A shrill woman began to yell and you caught a glimpse of a well manicured hand swinging towards John as his laptop was slammed shut.

In the sudden silence you realized how labored your breathing was. They were fast, short intakes of breath and your hands were shaking. You couldn’t get your head straight and you kept replaying the video call over and over. Somewhere in the back of your mind you registered that you were having a panic attack. Sliding your hands under your shades and pressing your palms to your eyes, you tried to calm down. You just felt so damn helpless, your best friend was getting his ass kicked and needed real help and here you were sitting pretty in your nice apartment with your alive and well bro and yet you were the one panicking.

You stood abruptly from your desk, causing your chair to skitter back against the hardwood floor, and began pacing around your cluttered room. You ran a hand through your unkempt hair and shot John a few worried texts.

TG: hey man you okay
TG: i mean obviously youre not
TG: just text me when you can
TG: shit
TG: we’ll figure this out dude
TG: i promise

You threw your phone onto your bed and slumped back into your desk chair, resting your elbows on your knees and your head in your hands. The sound of a key turning and the front door slamming alerted you to the arrival of your bro. You wished more than anything that things could be the way they were when you were a kid, able to talk to him about anything. The two of you had been close, you had told him about all your problems and he had let you help with some of his robotics projects. Strifes were fun and he never went too hard on you, sometimes he even let you win. But as you got older the two of you drifted apart. His puppet porn empire really took off and he was gone all the time on business. You met John and then Jade and then Rose and had your friends to talk to instead of him. Now any conversations you tried to have were forced and awkward and short.

His heavy footfalls passed your room and paused outside the door, you froze, waiting, hoping that he’d be the first to reach out and sense how much you desperately needed him. The drawn out silence was broken as he muttered something and left your door, secluding himself in his work room. You sighed and swiveled around to face your computer, maybe one of the girls would know what to do.

TURNTECHGODHEAD started pestering TENTACLETHERAPIST and GARDENGNOSTIC

TG: we need to talk
GG: hi dave!
TT: Can I assume this is about John?
TG: holy shit
TG: howd you know
TG: is this some creepy psychic voodoo shit
TG: cos i want zero part in that
TG: i dont wanna be gettin cursed all up in here
TG: adding a whole nother steaming pile of shit to the irons i already got in the fire
TG: this is nonsense rose
TG: frankly im offended
TG: cant believe youd curse your best bro
TT: Considering he’s the subject of most of your conversations it wasn’t a difficult conclusion to jump to
TT: Also, considering the fact that you’re rambling more than usual, I’m going to assume it’s an alarming matter
TG: …
TG: i dont even talk about him that much jesus
GG: you kinda do, but that’s okay! It’s cute! In a weird way!
GG: so what did you actually wanna talk about Dave?
GG: I’m guessing not rose’s voodoo powers
TG: i know its a shock
TG: but no
TG: im just
TG: im really worried about john
TG: i think theres some bad shit going down that he cant tell us about
TG: and i think its hurting him
TG: and shit i dont know what to do
TG: but ill be dammed if im just gonna sit here on my ass when hes getting the shit kicked outta him
GG: Woah woah wait!!! Someone’s hurting John??
TT: I may know what this is in reference to. Something to do with his home situation?
TG: yeah
TT: I also noticed something was off about this new foster home. I did speak to him about this a while ago and he confessed that all was not well. I contacted Child Protective Services and they told me they would look into it. However, it seems as though nothing has come of that.
GG: What? His foster home?
TG: well shit
TG: what can we do can we call again
TG: call the police this time or something
GG: What is going on!!!???
TT: Jade, it would seem that John’s foster parents are not the most loving family and are not treating him as well as they should. And Dave I believe calling the police would be a bit drastic. We have no real evidence and if CPS couldn’t help I sincerely doubt the police could.
TG: no evidence
TG: rose you didnt see his face
TG: he was fucking beat to shit
TG: black eye split lip the whole shebang
GG: He’s being abused? Dave’s right we have to do something!
TG: damn straight harley
TG: theres gotta be something we can do here
TG: call cps again
TG: call some hotline
TG: call fucking oprah jesus i dont know
TT: Dave, we just have to make sure he can trust and confide in us. I mean, he’s all the way in Washington, there is really nothing we can do.

You pushed your chair out from your desk and slammed your hands down on either side of your keyboard. You had an idea. A totally moronic, probably hopeless, definitely crazy idea. But it was something.

TG: rose you glorious bastard

TURNTECHGODHEAD ceased pestering TENTACLETHERAPIST and GARDENGNOSTIC

TT: … What
GG: I have a bad feeling about this

You slammed your laptop shut and leapt out of your chair, tugging your fingers through your hair. You tore open your closet door and began stuffing clothes into an oversized backpack.

In the back of your mind you knew this was stupid, you knew you weren’t thinking any of this through. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You couldn’t just sit there doing nothing and you had a chance, however slim, to help him.

Two hours later, feeling restless and nervous, you checked off the items in your pack.

Clothes? Check. Some canned goods? Check. Doritos? Check. Three bottles of AJ? Check. Cash from Bro’s “secret” emergency fund on top of the fridge? Check.

You zipped the bag and sank into your bed. With your leg bouncing and hands shaking you scrolled through your phone, anxiously awaiting Bro’s departure.

After what seemed like an eternity, you heard the shower running and not long after that, the front door slammed and a key turned in the lock. You bolted out of your bed and raced to the kitchen window, peeking out between the blinds. Your Bro took his sweet ass time getting in his car, but finally the beat up pick up pulled away from the curb. You waited until you couldn’t see his tail lights before slipping your phone into your pocket and grabbing your backpack. You halted in front of the door and turned to face your home. A wave of fear and guilt washed over you as you stared at your living room, signs of you and Bro scattered about the room. On impulse, you snatched a polaroid off the fridge. It was from New Years three years ago, you and Bro wearing party hats with party blowers in your mouths, standing on your couch. His arm is slung over your shoulders and the camera caught the rare sight of both of you genuinely smiling. You smiled faintly, gently fingering the photograph, before you slipped it into the side pocket of your backpack. You spun on your heel and quickly strode out the front door, not allowing yourself time to change your mind.