A/N: This story was written for the November 2005 "Short Story" competition for the "A Writer's Touch"

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He wandered down the hall, swaying slightly from side to side, strands of hair hanging down in his eyes. He didn't bother to push them away; it was too late at night to concentrate on such trivial things as that. The stairway door was closed and as he reached it, the strains of music from down-stairs reached his ears. The unfamiliar tone froze him in place. The world roared around him, and he gripped the railing to steady himself. No. Not this...

The hair in his face grew and grew, splintering his vision into slivers of dim light. The music swirled and echoed and transformed into manic laughter, its origin unknown and moving about him.

His fingertips began to tingle, a sensation that quickly spread up and down his arms. Bugs crawled over his skin, and he released the railing to brush them off. The second he did, his head began to spin along with the laughter, which he found amusing. Letting out a small laugh, his knees buckled and he floated slowly to the ground...

blank...

"Get up!" Light filtered through his eye-lids a little too painfully for his liking. He heard the swish of curtains being pulled violently open, and an instant later he registered the pain in the side of his face. "Get - up!" His bed jerked violently as something collided with the end of it and he could feel his step-dad's breath lapping over his face, his eyes still scrunched up tight, refusing to open in the bright light.

"Enjoy the party, little man?" His dad's tone was hardly one of interest. Jonathon wasn't dumb enough to think his step-dad had any real interest in his social life; he had other motives for asking.

He sat up slowly; the throbbing of his forehead as he did was matched only by the burn in his eyes from the morning sun and the sharp pain in his jaw. He barely managed to open his eyes, and he could see his step-dad now standing at the foot of his bed again, arms crossed, with a glare set upon his face. Jonathon reached up and put his hand to the side of his face, wincing with pain as he touched the tender skin.

"That's what teenagers get for getting drunk at parties," his step-dad said in a smug tone. As the words made their way into his mushed-up mind, he slowly began to recognise his step-father's handy-work (something he was all too familiar with).

A heavy piece of cloth hit him square in the face and he was almost sent toppling back onto his mattress. "Get dressed. Little drunks have the lawn to mow and the cars to wash." Jonathon didn't have to look up to know the corner of his step-dad's mouth would be curling; nor did he have to ask to know these wouldn't be the only chores he had to do today.

"C-can I have a shower first?" he asked in an extremely horse voice. His throat scratched with every word, and he couldn't remember a time when talking had been more painful.

"You have ten minutes to be outside," his step-dad ordered, slamming closed the bedroom door behind him.

Jonathon got up and into the bathroom as fast as his throbbing head would let him. He locked the door behind him, stripped off his clothes and kicked them far to one side, where they came to a rest next to the bin. His whole body was covered in a clammy sweat that he desperately wanted to wash off. He turned on the water and waited for enough hot to come through before he stepped under the stream. "Why did he think I'd been drinking?" he thought to himself.

He still couldn't bear to open his eyes, but he rubbed the water all over his skin, not managing to get much of the dirt off. He tried to recall the last thing he could remember before waking up back in his bed... but he couldn't even remember getting home. The last thing he could remember was arriving at the party...

flash...

His mum stood beside him on the front porch as he reached across and pressed the door-bell. He was still a little short for his age, so his mother was still a little taller than he was. He adjusted the present and card he carried under his arm, and he heard the yellow wrapping paper crumple and wrinkle as he did. He gripped it tightly between his body, and it buckled slightly under the pressure. His mum had to tap him lightly on the arm before he realised and released it.

He could hear loud footsteps bounding to the door seconds before it swung open. "Hi, Jonnie!" an excited Kara beamed as she swung the door open.

Behind her, her dad approached with a wide grin on his face. He reached down his hands and picked his daughter up and placed her on his hip. "Hi, Mrs Furrel," he smiled, stretching out his free hand. "We haven't seen Jonnie in a while," he said, smiling a toothy grin down at the boy opposite him.

"Jonathon," he corrected the older man bluntly, re-adjusting the gift under his arm.

"You know what kids are like," his mother smiled back, ignoring that Jonathon had said anything. "One minute they're all the best of friends, the next minute they're arguing over Pokemon or something, and the next they're back to being best friends again." Kara's dad laughed at this. "And this one," she nudged Jonathon gently, "has been moping around the house for the past three months, and when the invite came in the mail, I knew he'd love it."

"We hope so," Kara's dad replied. "We've been planning this for weeks," he said, looking back into the house at all the decorations and the large 'Happy 13th Birthday' that hung high across a wall. "Why don't you come in, Jonnie? I'll show you where the rest of the boys are."

blank...

Jonathon lathered the soap between his hands for the second time before rubbing it vigorously all over his body. He moved the coarse wash-cloth over his face and nose, then down each of his arms producing more and more soapy bubbles.

Once he had covered his whole body again, he stepped back under the jets of water, rubbing the suds off with his hands. His body still tingled; he could still feel the bugs despite the massage of the water on his face and chest. His skin crawled, and he had to use all his self-control not to reach for the soap again.

His attention was distracted momentarily by a rattling of the bathroom door handle, which was quickly followed by a THUMP, THUMP, THUMP on the wood. “Get the hell out!” the muffled yells of his step-dad came through, but were mostly drowned out by the water.

There was a pause in the ruckus being made by his step-dad, but he wasn’t sure how long it lasted for. His head still throbbed, and the hot water wasn’t helping him stay focused and alert. When the yells resumed, he heard his mother at the door, pleading with him to come out. “Jonathon, open the door, honey,” she called in her high-pitched voice, rapping her knuckles on the wooden door softly. “Come out right now!” she said with more force when he didn’t respond, but he stayed in the shower, head leaning against the cubical wall, thinking… remembering…

flash...

Jonathon eyed all the gifts stacked high on the table from across the room. He didn’t stare in jealousy, but stared because he didn’t want to look at all the other boys and girls, talking in their own groups, laughing and having fun. He really didn’t want to be there.

Kara came bounding in from another room, oblivious to the yells of her brother to get out. “Hi, Jonnie!” she said again cheerfully, baring her white teeth in a smile.

“Hi,” he said, but didn’t smile back.

“Do you like Terry’s party?” she asked, staring up at him.

“It’s ok,” he replied glumly and with no real conviction in his voice.

“Are you going to play games?” she asked with the sort of wonder only a child maintained.

“I doubt it,” Jonathon said in his same monotone voice. “We don’t really play games at parties anymore.”

“We played games at mine,” Kara continued, and began to list off all the things they did at her most recent birthday before Terry arrive and gave her a rough shove.

“I told you to get out!” he yelled at his younger sister, “or I’m getting dad!” She wrinkled up her nose at the threat before storming out of the room. “You wanna come talk with us?” Terry asked Jonathon, and motioned back to the group of people he had been standing with.

”Alright,” Jonathon replied. He figured standing there in silence would be easier than protesting, so he wondered over slowly behind Terry. He continued to stand there, zoned out to everything they were saying, chuckling and smiling whenever he registered them laughing. As his eyes wandered aimlessly about, they were drawn to a white door as it swung open and Terry’s father entered with a tray carrying cups. Jonathon swung his eyes quickly back around when he realised the man was heading in his direction, a wide smile on his face.

“Here we go, guys,” Terry’s dad said, holding forward the tray and watching the drinks get taken eagerly from it. As he looked around, he saw that Jonathon was the only one left without a cup in his hands. “It looks like we’re one short,” the tall man said, his eyes fixated on Jonathon, whose eyes moved to the floor as he shrugged. “I’ll go and get one more,” he continued, turning on his heels.

Jonathon hunched up his shoulders as the others took a break in talking to gulp down their fizzy drinks. Shortly after they resumed, a large hand placed itself firmly on Jonathon’s shoulder, squeezing it, another hand offering him a large glass.

“Thanks,” Jonathon said meekly, and Terry’s dad gave back another toothy grin. For several more seconds Terry’s dad held his arm half-around Jonathon, grinning at him, staring in anticipation. Only guessing at what he wanted, Jonathon lifted the glass slowly to his lips and took a long sip of if, barely tasting it as he swallowed. Seemingly content, Terry’s dad moved slowly back to the kitchen without saying another word.

With the man gone, Jonathon relaxed a little and took a larger gulp of his drink. It tingled funnily as it moved across his tongue, making his eyes wince a little. He frowned at the cup, inspecting its contents. It was a dark colour, full of fizzing bubbles, and nothing struck him as out of the ordinary. He took another small sip, but the flavour and sensation didn’t return, but even still, after drinking half the contents, he discarded the cup on a nearby coffee table. As he bent down to drop the glass, he stumbled a little and had to steady himself on the armrest of a chair that sat next to the table. He had to stay hunched over for a few seconds more before his head cleared and he could stand up.

blank…

By now Jonathon was sitting at the bottom of the shower, attacking the soles of his feet with a scrubbing brush. He could barely hear his parents outside the door anymore. His step-dad had temporarily abandoned bashing on it, and his mother had stopped pleading with him to open it. Instead, they seemed to be arguing amongst themselves; about what, Jonathon had no idea. All he could hear above the water was two muffled voices yelling at one-another from what seemed to Jonathon like miles away. His only thoughts at the moment lay with getting himself as clean as possible.

He ran the brush back and forth vigorously over the tips of his toes, scrubbing under his nails. He did this for so long that eventually the skin began to split and bleed, but still he couldn’t stop.

As the red liquid mixed with the clear water that mixed about the drain, he adjusted his position and began to scrub the other root. His stomach muscles clenched and his body fell forward as he felt himself want to vomit. Nothing came out, but as he retched again, a smelly yellow-green substance was expelled from his stomach. It too quickly worked its way down to the drain, and Jonathon leaned back and wiped the edges of his lips before gargling some water that he’d let run into his mouth.

Amidst another heave of his stomach he began to sob. He’d now switched to scrubbing the nails on his left hand, his wrist starting to hurt from all the repetitive actions. He was distracted only momentarily as his step-father resumed pounding his fists on the door: “Let me in, you little shit!”

flash...

His head spinning, Jonathon had to sit down on the couch and wait for the dizziness to go away; something which took a lot longer than he expected. Several of the girls that were standing in the group with Terry shot dirty looks at him when it became obvious he wasn’t coming back to talk to them. Jonathon didn’t notice, as he sat with his head back and eyes closed, slowly feeling the sick feeling trickle down from his head to his stomach.

“Are you ok?” Terry asked. Jonathon hadn’t noticed him come over, and it took him a few seconds before he felt composed enough to answer. “No,” was all he could muster.

Terry stared for a little while longer, then looked around the room for inspiration, not sure what to do about his sick friend.

“I need to find a toilet,” Jonathon said, sweat starting to bead across this brow.

”You can use the one upstairs,” Terry replied. “Just over there,” he motioned to a closed door to his right. Jonathon climbed slowly to his feet without another word and made his way across to it, stumbling slightly and knocking a few angry people as he went.

He pulled open the door and quickly began to mount the stairs, pulling himself up along the banister. The hallway was dark, but he easily found the bathroom, passing a few open doors as he did. He poised his head over the bowel just in time as his stomach lurched and he vomited. He remained there for a little while longer, waiting to see if he’d do it again, and in the mean time barely noted the volume of the music downstairs drop as someone closed the hallway door. Content that he wasn’t going to be sick again, he stood slowly back up, flushed, and made his way back out into the dark hallway.

He traced along the wall with his hand and saw a light now on in one of the rooms he had passed. As he arrived, he stuck his head timidly around the door to look in, spying Terry’s dad sitting along on his bed, a smile still on his face, and staring quietly back at Jonathon. “Hi,” he grinned.

Jonathon grunted in reply, a bad taste still in his mouth.

”You don’t look so good, little man,” the man said with almost a mock frown and pouting lips. “You’d better come sit down,” and he patted the mattress beside him.

Jonathon stood frozen, unsure what to do. Terry’s dad continued to wear his stupid grin, the shadows that played across his face almost making him look evil in the dimly lit room. “Come on,” he urged again, “come sit down next to me. I have something for you.”

Jonathon didn’t really believe the man, but felt too frightened to do anything else. He stumbled forward into the room, his legs quickly starting to feel like jelly, and his knees buckled when he was a foot away from the bed. Terry’s dad leant forward and caught Jonathon before he fell too far, and placed him up onto the bed, his arm firmly around him.

The room was still spinning, and Jonathon could barely mumble a word. He felt a large hand place itself firmly upon his knee and slowly make its way up his leg as someone whispered something very close to his ear: “I’ve missed you since the last time you were here, Jonnie…”

blank…

The tears I was crying as I sat limply at the bottom of the shower mixed in with the water that ran down over my face. I’d discarded the scrubbing brush, even though my skin still crawled. Instead I cried into my hands as I held back another urge to vomit.

My heart was pounding in my ears; its sound was matched only by the thumping on the bathroom door as my step-dad tried to break it down. I could hear my mum screaming with fright when I wasn’t completely distracted by my own thoughts.

Chocking back my tears and sniffing my nose dry, I stood up slowly and gently turned the water off, and the shower turned into nothing more than a trickle. Despite my best efforts, the tears continued to stream down my face, but I ignored them as I wrapped a towel around my trembling body.

My step-dad had heard the shower turn off and stopped pounding on the door. I could hear mum plead with him to let her talk to me first, and I had no idea what to expect as I slowly unlocked the door with a rattle and a clunk.

I inched the door open very slowly; not in fear at what lay in wait for me outside, but through shear exhaustion, every ounce of energy having been drained from my body. Out in the hallway, my step-dad stood fuming several feet behind my mother. She too had tears in her face, but stopped sobbing as she looking into my eyes and realised something really wasn’t right with me.

She moved her lips to speak, but didn’t know what to say. I filled in the silence saying, “M-Mum…” My voice trailed off slightly as I tried to think how to phrase my words, my head still spinning, which didn’t help the constant urge I had to be sick. “I need t-to tell you something,” I continued in a stammer. “I need to tell you something about Terry’s dad…”