So breathe in, breathe out {let the human in}
November 14, 2012
11:32 PM
Peter scratches at the scabs on his knees. He knows that he’s not supposed to. Mrs. Maria told him that if he picked at them, they would leave scars. But he can’t help himself, hands digging under the dried blood. There’s a sinking feeling of dread filling up his stomach and he knows exactly why. It’s the reason why he’s got the door locked to his room and a backpack right next to the front door.
He doesn’t have a window in his room.
Lisa’s at a sleepover tonight and it’s for girls, so he misses his partner in crime. They went trick or treating this year. Lisa went as a witch, Frankie went as a dinosaur, and Peter put on a big coat and two baseball caps and said he was Sherlock. Lisa loaned him her magnifying glass. They spent the afternoon after school running around Manhattan and hitting up all the stores getting candy. Then, when Frankie started getting sleepy, Mrs. Maria took them home and they watched Ghostbusters. It was a pretty good movie.
His hair is getting too long again. Peter scowls at it and ties it in a ponytail behind his head. Maybe he’ll go over to the Castle’s house tomorrow and ask Mrs. Maria if she could cut it for him. Though he doesn’t want to be a burden to her. He’s just Lisa’s friend. Mrs. Maria doesn’t have to do anything for him. She shouldn’t have to, and Peter feels a ripple of guilt whenever he asks to stay the night or if he could eat something.
It’s not fair to them. They shouldn’t have to deal with Peter’s problems.
He hasn’t even told them about the thing.
It’s actually pretty easy to conceal. Just fix the name on the records and don’t use the bathroom at school. He wears baggy clothing, so it’s not that hard to hide the small lumps on his chest. The hair is a problem, ‘cuz his dad won’t let him cut it. But Peter can usually get away with it when his dad’s away for a long time.
Peter unleashes a shaky breath and pushes up his too-big glasses. He’ll tell them. One day. Soon.
He can’t go to Lisa’s house anyway, today. Frankie’s sick with the stomach flu, and the stomach flu is terrible so Peter is keeping his distance. It means, however, that he’s stuck in his small two-bedroom apartment for the night. He didn’t touch the food in the fridge, and he already ate at school and Mr. Bailey from the apartment a few halls down gave him some leftover chicken casserole after Peter finished walking Buddy, Mr. Bailey’s dog. Peter gets paid ten dollars an hour for walking dogs. The money’s hidden in a holey sock in a compartment stitched into his backpack. He’s saving, so he doesn’t want to use it for food.
The front door opens and Peter freezes.
The gait of the person walking is unsteady and Peter can only think, It’s one of those nights.
“Jackie?” A gruff, unsteady voice echoes through the tiny, cramped apartment. “Jackie, get your ass out here right now.”
Peter, hands slightly trembling, unlocks his door and walks out into the main part of the apartment. He keeps his gaze down and his shoulders tense. Shit. He forgot his shoes.
He’s about five feet in front of Peter. He’s got his brown workman boots on. Must’ve just come back from the bar after work.
“Jackie.”
He hates that name.
“Jackie, what’s this about you spendin’ time with these Castle people?”
Peter’s blood goes cold and he snaps his head up to meet a pair of icy blue eyes.
Richard Parker sneers at him. “What, girlie. Ya thought I wouldn’t find out?”
Richard Parker had been the eldest sibling of the Parker children, older brother to Benjamin Parker. He was the golden child, could do no wrong. He went to college, got a job at a prestigious science corporation, got married to a wonderful and beautiful woman by the name of Mary Latessa while his brother struggled to make ends meet and became a police officer after going no contact with his brother. Then Richard got framed at his job for a mistake he didn’t do, lost his job, and couldn’t deal with the fact that his life had been flipped upside down.
Peter suspects that his mom had only stayed because she became pregnant with Peter and had nowhere else to go.
She left when he was five. She had been so nice, though. She loved him and would constantly talk about how she named him after someone close to her. The night before she left, she read him a story of Peter Rabbit and kissed him goodnight.
I love you, Jack. Sleep tight.
Then she was gone and Richard, who never once laid a hand on Peter or Mary after she gave birth to Peter, flipped out.
Ergo, the bruises and the lack of food and the tattered clothes and constant apprehension.
Peter’s never met Benjamin Parker. He’s only heard about him from his dad’s drunken ramblings and the fact that his dad hates him. So he figures Ben must be a good person. Peter hopes that if Ben ever meets him, he won’t hate him because Richard’s his dad.
“Jackie,” Richard snaps and Peter flinches. “Are ya fuckin’ deaf? What the fuck do you think you’re doin’, goin’ over to another person’s place? I don’t recall givin’ ya permission.”
Peter stays silent. If he stays silent, maybe-
“Answer me when I speak to you.”
Peter softly speaks under his breath. “She’s my friend.”
Richard snorts. “Friend? What a load of bullshit, Jackie.” He takes another step towards Peter. “Do you even know who they are?”
Peter keeps his mouth shut, eyes on the floor. He’s already got a split lip from Wednesday.
“Y’know, when I go to the bar, it’s not because I wanna think about my problems,” Richard says, “It’s so I can get away from them. So imagine my dismay when I got some military asshole coming up to me and saying how good friends my kid and the Castle kids are.”
Richard stops in front of him. Peter can smell the booze. It’s a nice smell, but not on him. Never on him. “You wanna know why he knew the Castle kids?”
Peter keeps his gaze down so Richard grabs his chin and forces him to look up. “It’s ‘cause Frank fucking Castle is a Marine. And not just any Marine; someone who actively fights in combat and has received medals for his duty. Someone who’s got some pull in the way things work.”
Your point?
Richard slaps him. Peter stumbles back a bit. “God fucking damnit, Jackie! You never know when to stop, do you? I pay for your ass, get you in school, and give you a fucking roof over your head and this is how you repay me?”
What did I do?
He must’ve said it out loud, ‘cause his dad kicks him in the gut and Peter crumples over his stomach. Richard kicks him again and this time Peter’s nose breaks. He must be in a pretty bitter mood today, ‘cause he usually doesn’t aim for the face when it’s a school year. School years mean teachers and teachers mean more eyes on Peter. “What did you do? You think I wanna deal with being on his radar? It’s bad enough the neighbors want to try to pretend to be good people and call CPS. And now, right after I get a decent job, to support your ass , I have to deal with someone else who might stick his nose into my business. What do you got to say to that, Jackie?”
I hate that name.
Peter speaks, because if he doesn’t, it’s worse. “I just needed a place to stay.”
Richard kicks him. Again and again. Peter curls into a ball amid snarls of “Ungrateful bastard” and “Should’a just given her up” and “Don’t know why I try to be a good father.”
Peter would laugh, but blood is in his mouth.
Richard is not a good father. He’s seen good fathers, though. At school, they pick up their kids, and at the playgrounds, they stay and watch. Lisa and Frank have a good dad. Mr. Castle cares about them and he loves them. He loves them like how Peter’s mom used to love him. With hugs and forehead kisses and nicknames. Not like Richard.
Never like Richard.
Richard finally loses his rage and jerks a finger toward the door. “Get out.”
Peter shakily gets to his feet and stumbles toward it, thankful for his backpack near the shoddy wooden thing with too many locks. He gets one foot through the door before Richard calls out to him.
“Jacqueline.”
Peter freezes.
That name is worse.
He knows it.
Richard’s drinking a beer. “I don’t want you hanging out with those kids. Got it?”
Peter nods. “Yes sir.”
“Out.”
Peter flees. There’s a nice russian lady with gray hair that lets Peter stay nights in exchange for walking her dog. She lives a few blocks away so Peter’s going to have to walk barefoot. He forgot his shoes.
Her name is Mrs. Lebedev and her dog is named Boris.
Peter walks quickly. It’s cold and he’s wearing pajamas in a gritty part of New York. And since the Avengers don’t help random nine-year-olds, he’s got to move fast.
Mommy, why do you call me Jack?
I knew a person named Jack, stellina.
It’s not that he doesn’t like the name Jaqueline. It’s a pretty name, but it’s not for him. He chose the name Peter because of his mom. Something to remember her by besides the photograph he keeps in his backpack, hidden away from his dad.
But my name isn’t Jack.
It’s a nickname, ladybug.
Peter was the name he gave himself. Jaqueline was the one his mom gave him. But she never called him Jaqueline. She always called him Jack. Not Jackie. Not anything else. Just Jack. And Jack was okay, ‘cause Jack was a boy’s name. And it was something his mom gave him, so he kept it as his middle name. Jonathan.
I don’t like it.
Oh. Is it okay to still call you Jack?
His dad never called him Jack. He always called him Jackie. And maybe Peter would have been okay with Jackie, if it hadn’t been for what Peter associated with that name now. He didn’t like Jackie because it was the name his dad used. Jack was good. Jackie was bad.
He wonders if his mom would be okay with him changing his name.
His dad isn’t.
Not the other one. I don’t like that one.
All right, Itsy-Bitsy.
He’ll tell Lisa one day. About the names. About his middle name. About his mom. About the baggy clothes and hidden records. About mismatched souls and wrong bodies.
One day.