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My Dreams	By : coldblood Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Linkin Park Views: 1702 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Linkin Park. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Dad walked in with beer on his breath - I could smell it from where I was standing - a good meter away.
Mom was out and my sister had gone to stay over at Brandon’s - I was alone and dad had just come home after a heavy session with a keg of beer.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
I couldn’t wish for better.
Not.
“How are ya Dave?” He slurred, throwing his arm around my shoulders and nearly toppling over.
“Great. Hey you need to sit down... Have you been at Milo’s place again?” I huffed.
The beer reek was so bad my face must’ve looked like a pit bull terrier who had just had a whiff of rotten cheese.
God it was foul!
“You’re a wonder boy... A miracle...” Dad hiccupped and tottered a bit.
“Thanks dad.” I muttered.
I hoped to direct him to the couch, but he had other ideas.
Suddenly he planted a big wet one on my mouth - I spluttered and gagged - god it was fucking awful - the reek alone was gross!
“Dad!” I spat in shock.
“Now boy don’t - hic - don’t be rude to your old man...” He swung me around and teetered too far - falling down with me under him.
“Ugh - dad get off me!” I snapped.
But there was something wrong this time - I just knew something was up.
Dad pulled at my pants and yanked them down, talking my underwear with it - no, there was something going wrong here and I was beyond doubt.
Then it all just became a blur - I was struggling, my dad had me pinned there and...
Pain.
Insane pain and all I remember was snippets of what caused the agony.
Piecing the snapshots together I realized what happened and then I wished I never realized it - more over I wished he’d never got drunk... Dad had never hurt me before.
Never - never like that.
That scared me, perhaps the most terrifying thing of the entire ordeal was the fact that that was the first time it had happened.
When dad was done with me I crawled to my bedroom up the stairs like a stunned mullet with a carrot up its ass and there I stayed, refusing to come out even when mom and Sally had come home.
I had locked my door and just sat on my bed staring off into space, just emotionless.
What feelings I did have didn’t really make sense. I didn’t know what to think.
It was very late by the time any kind of response appeared.
The shock had worn off and the reality had set in, and it appeared like a monster covered in blades.
I shattered into a million pieces there on my bed, for several seconds just whimpering, forcing tears back, and then I got up and stood in front of my mirror, staring at my reflection.
I got angry then - so insanely angry I grabbed my football trophy and pitched it at the mirror, then grabbed my baseball trophy and pelted that at it too - grabbing all of my trophies and just ditching them at the mirror over and over again until I ran out of ammo.
Then I grabbed my baseball bat and with an insane livid roar I swung it at the cracked pane - totally smashing it into a million pieces.
I heard mom’s voice from behind my door, tapping and asking if I was alright - I didn’t answer her of course.
My gaze fell on the shattered glass littering my floor and I just got angrier - so I seized a jagged piece and just slit open my wrist with a quick, clean slash.
Then another - and then several more appeared, each as neat as the other.
Strangely it didn’t hurt - in fact it almost felt good.
I was panting, but calming down as I watched the blood trickle down my up held arm and stain my jacket sleeve.
Mom was still hammering at the door.
I turned and walked over to my windows and opened one, looking down at the ground below and wondering how far it was to fall.
Briefly I wondered if I could kill myself from just that distance, but then I decided it wouldn’t be enough.
So I swung out onto the sturdy tree branch I had used all my life to sneak out and climbed down the tree then bolting down the street.
I was feeling cold, sore and confused, most of all betrayed - how could my dad do that to me?
Never the one to admit that crying was okay for guys; I made sure I kept my eyes clear, casting my gaze down when tears welled up so no one could see.
I took the long way round, vaulting over fences and coming back around in a wide arc to Brandon’s house.
He was my best friend; we’d been that way since pre-school and now in our first year of high school it hadn’t changed.
If there was anyone I could talk to, it was Brandon.
I threw a few stones at his window and almost instantly he peered out to see who was throwing them.
“Phoenix! What are you doing here man?” He asked in a strained whisper.
“I need to talk.” I replied.
He could tell it was serious - maybe he had guessed what I may have done - the expression on his face showed his concern.
He knew me too well I guess.
“Okay, come up.” Brandon nodded to the room next to his, his art room where at the broken window was a huge tree.
I always found it funny that so many people so conveniently planted trees right next to the house - even if they weren’t quite on the right windows.
Maybe they were planted by kids like us.
I clambered up the tree and stole into the room, tiptoeing to the door and opening it and walking into Brandon’s dumpster bedroom.
“What’s wrong bro?” He asked.
I hesitated and then lifted up my sleeve.
There was silence for a second.
“Fuck.” He whispered, staring at the cuts and then looking up at me. “Why?”
I shook my head and shrugged.
“Shit man - don’t go there dude - don’t do it... Fuck. What happened?” Brandon took my wrist tenderly in his hand and inspected the wounds, shaking his head.
“I got mad.” I replied.
I wasn’t exactly lying, but I wasn’t telling the whole truth either.
My friend sighed and slumped onto an available beanbag, taking a deep breath and tousling his short blond hair.
He had a mousy kind of face, and that was seriously emphasized when he got in the pool out the back - he was like a drowned rat - I s’pose that was where the nickname Rattus and Rats came from.
I stood there quietly, once again numb.
“Man, you can’t just do that when you get mad - dude - you’re a champion - don’t throw it away... I mean - I mean, use your skills bro - get your anger out by playing your sports or something...” Brandon shook his head again.
“I don’t know. Rats... Look, it’s just... Just too hard to explain. I guess I’ll sort myself out - but I’m not going home tonight. Not tonight.” I said determinedly, sinking onto his bed.
Brandon watched me.
I could tell he was seriously alarmed by my injuries - so uncharacteristic to my nature - but he didn’t want to push me into saying anything.
“Just sit tight man, I’ll go ‘n get something for that.” He said at last, standing up and leaving the room.
His heavy elephant stampeding footsteps continued all the way down to the first floor and then all the way back up.
He entered and shut his door, coming up to me and gently sponging the blood away with alcohol swabs - I bit my tongue to stop me from making any noise - then he placed gauze over the wounds and wrapped my wrist up firmly in a bandage.
“I dunno where you can sleep man... On the sofa or sommat... I’ll wake you up before it gets late in the morning.” He told me as he secured the bandage.
“Thanks man... I really appreciate it.” I managed to mutter.
“That’s cool dude. You know though that if you wanna talk then I’m here.” He replied.
“Yeah thanks...”

Phoenix paused and took a deep, slightly shaking breath.
He glanced at Rob who was watching him intently, then back out the window, touching the glass with light fingertips.
Rob could imagine its feel - cold and ancient.
“I woke up so sore... So agonizingly sore I couldn’t pick myself up. In the morning Brandon’s mom found out I was there and how I couldn’t get up and all that. She took me to the hospital and they checked me over... My father had torn my ass. He had bruised the walls - but it wasn’t just physical... I was an emotional wreck - I couldn’t look at him without feeling sick - and going near alcohol was the same. I refused to stay home alone. I know all of that might sound a bit radical, but... I was scared. My own dad had done that to me and I was truly scared. I never told anyone - if I did... I wasn’t sure what I was worried about, but I just couldn’t bear the thought of anyone knowing.” The bassist lowered his gaze and sniffed, blinking hard.
Rob stood unsure of what to say - he was sickened at the thought of that happening to his friend, of anyone having to go through that and he wanted to say something comforting to Phoenix, but he couldn’t find the right words.
“I’m sorry...” Rob said lamely. “I -I mean... No one should go through that shit...”
Phoenix looked up at the taller male.
“It’s okay. You’re doing great so far. I half expected you to bolt and never want to look at me again after telling you that.” He joked weakly.
“I wouldn’t do that.” Rob shook his head.
Phoenix smiled and glanced at Rob again, studying him in a different way, a way he had never done before.
“That’s good...” Phoenix whispered.
The drummer blushed slightly at the soul searching gaze and sought to divert the attention.
“There’s more... Isn’t there.” Rob said, turning his vision to the window.
Phoenix sighed.
“Yeah. A lot more...”
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My Dreams