On The Last Shelf | Teen Ink

On The Last Shelf

July 12, 2014
By kykylerr, Tacoma, Washington
More by this author
kykylerr, Tacoma, Washington
0 articles 1 photo 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
"People cry, not because they are too weak. It’s because they have been strong for too long." - Changmin, TVXQ.


Author's note: Based on a harsh reality, this piece of work has sensitized me to the past of someone very close to me and I hope that I conveyed both the emotion and the frightening lack thereof in this short piece.

It’s the throbbing aches and stinging pains that wake Sam. His small, strained hands reach up to dry his tear-sodden cheeks, turning himself onto his back as he quietly waits for his heart to slow its viscously heavy pounding.

The door to his left creaks open, light shining against the icy oak of his floor. Sam’s spine tightens as he straightens himself, red lined eyes stinging as he tries to pry them open. He can feel his heartbeat slow under clenching muscles. His throat tightens and he breathes out slowly, pushing the images of rain out of his mind as his burning eyes try to focus on the body leaning against the frame of his bedroom door.

“You need to hurry. You’re late.” The voice spreads irritation over Sam’s skin like a wildfire, and it shakes as though the world has slowed to match the lag of his own mind.

He isn’t sure whether he spits a reply to his mother or not, as he gathers his strength, He stands on shaking legs, knees seeming ready to give as he tests his ankles wearily. His head pounds as he stumbles towards his door, an icy sting shocking his skin, calloused and well-worn feet trembling across the wood before he’s reaching blindly. Feeling with numb hands, he shakily grabs hold of what feels like denim, and he barely manages to grab the flannel shirt just beneath. As he looks around his cluttered room, he can feel tears burn the rims of his groggy eyes. Chest tightening, he breathes in, squeezing his eyes shut against the aches raking through his small frame.

He’s shaken back to reality as his foggy eyes finally focus on the stale lights pouring in from the hallway, throat tightening dangerously. Wandering through an endless hallways until he can’t seem to force his legs to carry him further, he sighs, opening his eyes. He nudges at the knob of his bathroom door that he can’t seem to grasp; and suddenly he’s falling in. His eyes snap shut as he feels cold tile press against his face, knees and elbows aching from the impact. His stomach churns as he bares himself, pulling off each layer of cloth that stick to his icy and damp skin. He’s barely gotten hold of the toilet seat before he feels his insides lurch, everything left from the previous nights breakdown surging upwards, pouring out over the hauntingly pristine bowl below him.

“Sam,” The soft voice is enough to throw his head into a fit of throbbing, sharp pains and it echoes in his ears like a whisper from behind, and he’s hunched over again, stomach empty but still clenching painfully, “Are you almost done?”

Tears run along his round cheeks and acid still burns in his throat but he whimpers a soft reply, “Just give me a second.” After a deep breath, and a threatening clench, footsteps carry the other voice away.

Five agonizing minutes pass by before his muscles stop clenching long enough for Sam to drag himself off of the cold floor, a trembling hand on his stomach as he slowly stands with his back slightly hunched.

He doesn’t look in the mirror as he brushes his sensitive and worn down teeth one, two, three times. He doesn’t eye up the red lines, swollen and raised, that cover the surface of his thighs as he pulls up an old pair of jeans. His deep brown eyes remain unfocused and fogged as he reaches up, wincing as his muscles pull tight. A wave of nausea hits the back of his throat and he stills, breathing deeply as shivers rack his spine for a moment. Jaw clenched tightly, he looks down, and continues to pull his shirt over his shoulders, the sleeves hang past his small hands, reaching just below his waist. Thin, numbed fingers worn with acid and callouses slowly work through each of the small, white buttons, and he breathes through another wave of tremors before he can lift his head.

A white square, dirtied with age glares up at him. It’s a small piece of plastic, but it covers a world of nightmares that are working Sam's nerves up slowly, and his stomach and mind are thrown into frenzies as he wobbles, barely catching himself on the wall to his left. He tries again, barely lifting his leg high enough to step fully onto the scale. Red, swollen lips tremble as he reads the number aloud to himself and he can feel the nausea coming back.

“One hundred and forty one pounds.” His heart is aching behind the wall of goosebumps and rising bile. He knows it’s only his head messing with him but he swears he can feels his jeans, a size too large for his thin frame, tightening around his waist. When he looks down again, he feels empty.

“Sam!” The boy is shocked out of his stupor, and mechanically, he runs his fingers through his dark, damp hair and picks his old clothes off of the tiles, before flushing his purge down the bowl, no longer clean and bright. Careful and calculated steps guide his heavy feet along a dark line that contrasts the pale blues in the rooms decor.

The hallway is a much less daunting venture as his eyes dart around, slowing to a near stop as he’s pushed aside by a rough, warm hand on his shoulder. He wisely avoids looking too far up or down, choosing to trail along the pale cream walls. He slides past his father, coming to a stop just in front of his rooms door. He hadn’t remembered closing it.

His small fist clutches the silver knob, twisting and turning. His numb, pale skin glides over the metal as he quickly becomes frustrated with how weak his body was becoming,

“You’re going to be late.” Sam sighed loudly, reaching up to rub his throbbing head before trying to grip the knob once again. This time he successfully wrenches the thin wooden door open, and stumbles in, legs nearly collapsing as anxiety strikes through his chest. Quickly he digs his feet into his pair of old socks and through eyes now brimming with tears, he searches for his bag.

Shaking hands grip the strap of what closely resembles his school bag, and he leans over. His muscles ache as he heaves the light bag over his bruised shoulders.

Nearly half an hour passes before Sam slowly realizes that he’s still standing in the middle of his dark bedroom; he can still smell his purge on his skin, and the number one hundred and forty-one is still echoing in his ears, but he’s being pulled towards the door by some part of his subconscious that he doesn’t care to acknowledge. He’s hesitating, feeling his stomach rise and his nerves fringing, but he uses both hands to hold his weight against the walls as he reaches the front door. A pair of sneakers full of memories and dusted with dirt are slipped onto his feet, and two small hands are reaching up to twist the large knob. Once he realizes that his own body was moving ahead of his mind, Sam drags the heavy door open enough to slip out and it slams shut behind him.


His vision blurs as the sound resonates through his body and he’s suddenly stumbling down three concrete stairs and onto a pale sidewalk. The walk to his bus stop that sits a mere two blocks away only takes four minutes.

He is sweating nine steps in, and by the time his feet take the eleventh step, he can’t breathe. He turns around and walks back to his front porch.

“The bus was late...I-I missed it… The bus…” Excuses are already flowing from lips stripped and sore, but the anxiety of facing his father is worse than facing the stares of the passengers that endure that same ride as he does almost every morning. Cautiously, Sam turns back, counting each step as the yellow stop comes into sight. Limbs still shake as they carry him, but despite his throat closing and the way his slim legs tremble underneath him, he knows he’s being stupid. He can hear the bus coming around the corner, so he rushes his already straining muscles and he barely makes it to the small stop before the bus passes.

The driver flashes a sympathetic smile as he nearly loses his footing stepping up onto the bus. The effect is almost immediate.

Sam could feel the other passengers' eyes all over him. As if they know, as if they can smell his purge and can feel his cramped muscles, his empty stomach. He wouldn't consider himself to be paranoid, but he wouldn't be so hesitant to admit that it was a terrifying and entirely horrifying experience, to be exposed as he felt. He quickly scans his bus card, shakily steps down the aisle and drops into the first open seat, just across from the back door. A quick escape. Looking down into his lap, he slips on his headphones, but plays no music. He can feel his shirt hanging off of his body, and his jeans hug his calves tightly, though they barely hold his waist. His skin burns where the sensitive slashes are rubbed by the harsh denim covering his thighs as he focuses on watching the streets as the bus moves on.

There wasn't much to see, it was the same gray sheet hanging over the same unfortunate people, and houses that have held the same stories for as long as he could remember. He could feel his hands twitch; someone was watching him. There was a heavy, heated tingle crawling up his spine and he was absolutely sure there was somebody staring him down. It wasn't exactly rare. People often stared at his large eyes and slim legs.

Glancing to his right, then his left, Sam slowly turned his head to look out the window across from him. He could feel his stomach twisting all over again at the thought of making unnecessary eye contact with a stranger, but he ignored it.

As soon as he locked onto the window, he noticed. Another boy, seemingly much younger, was watching him. His eyes darkened as they met with Sam's, but neither looked away. Shock spread through Sam's limbs, running like burning ice just under his skin. The eyes roamed over what they could see of Sam's body: prominent collarbones that threatened to snap under the weight of translucent skin, strong shoulders bent and bowed from the weight of reality, and large, fearful eyes that searched surroundings carefully.

What sent the shivers down Sam's spine was not the look that lingered in the heavy eyes, it was the familiarity. Sam felt a surge of anxiety seize him, and he snapped his eyes back to his window as his tired lungs tried to breathe.

The eyes never left him.

Those eyes bring back memories he has replayed in his mind too many times to count.

They start with the quickly falling smiles and forced laughs. Sam had had a bright smile and an even brighter mind. A few more weeks and the smiles were cold, he was no longer sure what 'happy' felt like and suddenly life was no longer an interest. Sam stopped functioning like everyone else; something suddenly told him he was not normal. The people that were once a part of his life fell away, and his love for exploration and learning was gone.

This is not what Sam Kim contemplates as he sits exactly three feet and nine inches away from his bus stop. He did not make it to any of his classes. His shaking legs had carried him to the coffee shop on the corner, one street down and one street over from his bus stop, and he hastily ordered some frilly drink he’d never tried but had seen him drinking.

His legs are burning and aching, his chest is heaving, but no one was looking at him and he was okay for now. He sipped at his warm drink and tried to breathe. His heart rate is nearly back to normal when he glances around quickly, and is met with a sweet smile and cold eyes. Katie Bae’s softly curled hair is dancing in the light wind as she turns her back to Sam.

Her straining eyes dart from left to right as she tries to ignore him. She clenches her small fists tightly and turns towards Adam. Sam's turning and his back faces the two as his trembling hand digs through rough denim and brings a dry cigarette to his lips.

"Did you hear about Mark?" The voice was as soft and calm as Sam remembered it to be, and his heart slowed dangerously.

"No. What’s new?" He pulls out a cheap blue lighter from the pocket of his jeans and waits for the voice again.

"He’s run away. He just up and left his house." Slowly and steadily, Sam is pulling his arm up, his sore thumb flicking across the metal round until a flame finally catches. His body breathes in the soft lull of the autumn winds. Sam thinks, for a moment, that he is whole.

"Where did he go? I thought he said he'd made up with his parents..." The flame reaches the end of the cancerous stick hanging from pale lips, and lungs protest as they are sparked to life.

"Yeah, we all did, apparently. Nobody really knows where he is now." Deep breaths in are short breaths out and Sam questions his incentive for smoking in the first place, as his heavy eyes watch another car turn the corner, six feet and four inches to his left.

"I guess an apology couldn't change his entire childhood. You know how much he hated them." The pair continue to ignore him, but Sam is suddenly sure that Adam's voice is his favorite sound in the world.

"Still, I can't help but wonder what happened. He seemed really convinced that it was all going to be fine." Sam is not wondering about Mark. He glances down at his feet and instead, he is wondering what it would feel like to say Adam's name again.

He doesn't really want to find out.

Moments pass as Sam listens. He does not want to breathe but he must. He does not want to blink, but the breeze is heavy against his dry eyes and time is reeling before his eyes again.

"Kaite... He might be imagining it, but Sam swears he can see Adam turn to glance over his shoulder.

"Don't. Don't talk about him, Adam." Adam's bright eyes meet with Sam's own and everything is quiet. In a single moment of silence, his breath is gone.

"Katie, you can't...avoid him forever. I can't avoid him. I don't even want to." The eyes searching Sam's own are warm and vibrant, and his heart is yet again frozen.

"Yes, yes I can. And if I can, then so can you." Adam's breath hitches, but he is all too unwilling to turn from Sam. The voices are suddenly drowning Sam’s mind and everything around him becomes clear and he is involved and Sam thinks it’s too sudden for him.

"I shouldn't have to, Katie!"

"He's not someone you need to be around. He's...sick or something." Sam’s hand is frozen around the ashy stick between his fingers and he wonders why Katie would think such a thing.

"Sick? Is that what you think he is?"

"Just..." Her shoulders lift with a heavy sigh, thick with frustration and she's rubbing at her neck again, "…look at him! He's almost almost six feet tall and probably weighs less than me!"

"Katie! Stop it!" Adam’s usually gentle hands gripped Katie’s wrists tightly as he shook them, “you know how I feel about him!”

Sam watches as a raw wetness gathers in Adam’s eyes, and turns to the pair fully, dropping his cigarette to the ground and stomping it out. He is exactly twelves inches inches away when Adam turns to face him.

“Don’t!” Katie’s rushing forward and her nails scratch against Adam’s skin. Sam can hear a light thud when curved knuckles meet hard bone, and he regrets thinking of the smooth ivory that spans Adam’s narrow, rounded shoulders. “Don’t touch him, Adam! I don’t care how you feel about him! Our parents would kill you!”

Vulnerable is what he feels, but the feeling of damp skin under his fingertips sends tight tremors down his spine and he can’t look Adam in the eyes.

“Stay away from him. Please, Adam. I’m tired of this, we fight over this everyday and I’m so sick of-”

“Excuse me? You’re sick of what? Are you sick of denying me my freedom? Or are you sick of being denied yours?”

A loud, sharp sound rings through the breeze and Sam can’t feel his legs but they are moving and he can feel is heart racing to the beat of Adam’s name.

“Katie.” Sam has to breathe in deeply before he can force the sound of his own voice out over the thumping in his chest, “You…did you…lie to me ?”

The disgust was written clearly across her delicate features. Many pairs of eyes watched the loud display, but Sam couldn’t feel them anymore. He wasn’t sure what it was but something was bubbling up inside him and words began to tumble over his trembling lips and his breath was gone.

“Katie, you told me that your father went back to Bangkok. I thought you were safe!” Sam’s heart was loud and Katie’s eyes were fierce as she waited for his words to come sputtering out. “Why would you lie about that?”

“Our father hates you. And he hates Adam. But we’re not stuck in a small little village anymore and all we can do is be happy with what we’ve got now.”

“I’d happily go back to Thailand, Katie. I know you can cope, you have no problem keeping the boys close to your hip,” Adam’s bright eyes were clouded and dark as Sam’s own scaled down to watch a leaf trail the pavement, riding on the wind that gently whirled around them, “but I can’t do that, Katie. I don’t want to do that. I want to know what it feels like to smile because I want to. We’ve been here for three years and I have never been able to make friends, but you get to go out with all the boys you like. I can’t play in the arcade because I could put us “in danger”, as if we’re here illegally. What is it that you’re so afraid of? My god, Katie, we’re in high school! I’m a sophomore and I’ve never had a single friend because of y-”

“You know why I do this!” Her voice was shrill but weak as she clenched her fists and raised her hand again.

“I’ve never even been allowed to leave the house on my own because you think I’ll steal the money from you! I’ll steal the attention!” Sam wasn’t sure he wanted to remember the stories he’d been told when he’d asked how Adam could suddenly afford a new ipod last Summer. “I don’t want the attention, Katie! I want friends, and I want to go to coffee shops with cute boys, and I want… Jesus, I want a life. Is that such a crime?” Adam’s voice had started to break and he had to lean on Sam’s thick shoulder to steady his shaking legs.

Sam is quiet through this, a strong sense of displacement hanging over him but Adam is as warm as he remembers and he worries over just how reassuring that fact is.

“This is as close to living as we can get. If you can’t handle that, take it up with our parents, or go find Mark. Real life isn’t like your stupid dramas, Adam. We have to make money to survive and we survive to make money. Did you forget that?” It was hard for Sam to think about anything other than Adam’s skin against his, but in this moment he forced himself to breathe. He could feel Adam’s muscles clenching, he was breaking into a cold sweat and the stinging voice echoing in Sam’s mind was telling him to just go.

For the first time in almost two years, Sam listened.

With his arm around Adam tightly, he pulled him away, step by step. There was a bus nearing the stop, and many of the passersby finally pulled their eyes away from the scene. His palms were damp as he held tightly onto the smaller boy, as if he would disappear.

That might just be it, Sam thinks. Maybe he is afraid everything will disappear, just like that. It’s the first time in two years that Sam Kim willingly touched another person, willingly initiated contact.

It was very much new and frightening and suffocating but Adam was warm and familiar and comforting and Sam decided he’d be okay.

The burning feeling in his chest was back, and Sam was at a loss. He had long since given up on trying to figure out what this aching was. It could have been the passion he once had, trying to remind him that he was in fact, still alive, and still human. Sam hadn’t wanted to know.

The burn was different, now. With Adam’s heat and disrupted tranquility shaking in his arms, the burn was starting to feel more like the rocks of ice sitting in his chest were melting. It was too much and not enough and his arms only squeeze tighter around Adam as Katie continues to shout at him. He doesn’t hear a word she says, all he hears is Adam’s quaint whispers in his ear; he doesn’t feel the cold wind that’s picked up around them, he feels Adam’s hot breath on his neck and smooth skin against his clammy palms.

“Sam,” the soft, gentle tone of Adam’s voice was reassuring and comforting as it wrapped around Sam and held him tightly, “I missed you.”

For two years, Sam had locked himself inside his weakening shell and waited patiently. He wasn’t waiting for anything in particular, he’d thought. He was just waiting until his head would stop spinning, and he could see the world clearly again.

He didn’t know he was really only waiting for this moment.



Similar books


JOIN THE DISCUSSION

This book has 0 comments.