The Hollow Monster

"Say what the fuck you told her!" he repeated. I slowly started to feel like I couldn't breathe. I hit him in the arm, but it didn't help at all. He'll let me go soon—he's not going to kill me. Especially not at school. He'd be seriously fucked.

"N-nothing… I… told her nothing," I choked out.

"James, stop. That's enough," said Malachai. But James didn't stop. The veins on his arms started bulging, growing thicker with each second. It terrified me—they looked like they were about to burst.

"James, I said—"

"Shut your mouth."

He didn't let him finish.

"James, listen to me," Malachai began. "You really think HE could come up with something like you sleeping with men? He looks like he's still shitting his diapers. You think he'd go and tell Mary that?"

Mary is James's girlfriend. They've been together for five years and pretend to love each other, but from what anyone can see—it's not love. I've witnessed their arguments, like everyone else. Usually, it ends with a few scratches, but one time it got really bad—ended with a split-open head and heavy bruises on her arms and cheek.

They're both aggressors. They deserve each other.

It's not love. It's self-destruction.

I didn't say anything to Mary about him sleeping with men. I wouldn't dare. I'm way too scared of them. The fact that it's true and he's terrified of admitting it says a lot about him. The rest are probably lying now too, because Jeremy is here.

Maybe if I told Jeremy the full truth about what they do… maybe he'd save me?

Maybe he'd get me out of this?

He let me go.

My eyes turned to water. I caught my breath. Barely.

It's not like holding your breath voluntarily and taking in shallow gasps of air.

It's way more complicated—and it still hurts.

"If I hear you're spreading that kind of bullshit, you're fucking done," he said.

At that moment, I wondered if it wouldn't be better to die.

Maybe then I'd be… I don't know.

But I can't die.

My mom needs me.

Who's going to take care of her when I'm gone?

That would destroy her even more—I can't do that to her.

She hasn't visited Japan or China yet.

I promised myself I'd take her there after graduation.

"Alright, let's get the fuck out of here," Joshua said lazily.

"But we didn't clean up," Jeremy muttered.

"Not our problem," Ryan answered. "Mike will do it."

"Jeremy, you can stay and help our buddy here if you want—or come with us," Joshua patted him on the shoulder. "I'm sure he could use an extra pair of hands." He burst out laughing.

I thought a teacher would come into the classroom any second and stop them.

But no one did.

"What do you think, Jeremy?" James looked into his terrified eyes. I didn't blame him—he was shorter, less physically capable. Not that he looked bad or anything.

He was skinny and pretty. But beauty isn't enough to fight back.

He ran his fingers through his black hair—the top was longer than the rest, unlike the other four.

Ryan stepped closer and looked straight into his brown eyes.

"You're staying with him, right?" he asked.

"Y-y-yeah."

"Good. That's very good. Now let's go."

***

"Mom, I'm home!" I yelled.

Silence.

No answer.

I felt something was wrong.

She always responded when I came home. "Mom, I'm home" had become a routine.

I ran straight to the bedroom where she slept.

She wasn't there.

"Mom?!" My voice echoed through the house.

"Where are you," I whispered to myself.

"Here," she called from the corner.

She stepped out slowly, wearing her robe, with a breathing mask clutched to her side.

"Mom, I told you not to get up."

"I know, I know. I just had to go to the bathroom."

"I'll make lunch in a sec. Just lie down for now."

"Do whatever," she smiled — but coughed right after.

I could tell the smile wasn't real.

---

"Bon appétit," I said, setting a plate of chicken and rice on the table.

"Your favorite."

"I'm kind of sick of chicken and rice," she said.

"What do you feel like having? I'll make it tomorrow."

"Maybe some soup," she said, brushing her hair back.

I stepped away from the table to get myself another serving.

I noticed she'd changed.

The past few days she'd been cheerful, laughing.

Back then, she hated talking during meals — even banned me from doing it.

But ever since she got sick, she's different.

I try to understand her every time, and I should be the first to do that.

But it's hard.

She won't let me see what she's feeling.

She puts on this mask — like a cape — thinking no one will notice she's breaking inside.

"Oh…"

"What's the matter?"

She covered her face with her hands.

"I hate myself," she said.

I got down on one knee beside her.

Mom began to sob.

Tears slipped through her fingers, pooling into a tiny puddle on the table.

"Don't worry. You'll get better soon. Everything will be okay — I promise."

She didn't respond.

"I'll be done with school soon, and we can fly to Japan. Remember? Your dream."

"I don't have any dreams anymore."

"What are you saying? You were excited about it just recently. Remember how you used to read travel catalogs and say you wanted to be in those places?

We'll go. I swear."

I tried to comfort her.

It didn't work.

"Believe me."

She still didn't look at me.

"I'll get the money. I'll start looking for a job and—"

"Stop… talking," she said, voice hoarse.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

I just didn't want her to be sad.

I looked down at the plate.

"Eat something, please. Before it gets cold."

"I'm not hungry."

I didn't try again.

That always ended in yelling and ugly arguments.

So I just said:

"I understand." I stood up.

"Can I go to my room? I'm tired."

"Yeah."

She'd probably sleep for the rest of the day.

Maybe even all night.

"I'm going to the store later. Do you want anything?"

She made a sour face.

"No."

That was enough of an answer.

***

Three hours passed.

Mom fell asleep fast and was still out. Like I said.

I had nothing to do besides getting groceries.

They hadn't said a word to me. No messages.

Maybe that's a good thing.

Suddenly, I heard a knock at the door.

No.

It couldn't be one of them.

They didn't know where I lived.

And I wanted it to stay that way.

IT CAN'T BE THEM.

I tiptoed to the door, making no sound.

I opened it slowly and…

Shit.

Malachai.

"Mike?" he said, staring at me.

"Didn't know you lived in… this."

Of course. Not everyone is a rich prick like you guys.

"What are you doing here?" I asked. "How do you know where I live?"

"I saw your neighbor at the store. She told me. But that doesn't matter right now."

"So why are you here?" I repeated.

"I came to talk about… us."

Us?