Första kapitlet på Somewhere I belong

Dock är inget direkt redigerat, men jag hoppas att ni gillar detta medellånga första kapitel.

Noah's age: 11?

”Noah! Get your hands off that! That's your daddy's.” She slapped his hand hard. “I don't have time for this.” She started fumbling with her fake Luis Vuitton purse and got hold of her wallet. “Here.” She reached him a dollar without looking at him. “Be good to dad/father now okay? He's tired.”
He's filled with shit. He wanted to say but left it unspoken. Instead he nodded in response. She put her hand around his neck and kissed his forehead. Then she hurried out of the kitchen dressed in her cafeteria uniform, leaving him with a pot of cold porridge on the oven and a drunk father in the living room.

He should love her, shouldn't he? She was his mother after all. Wasn't it morally incorrect to not/not to love your (own) mother?

The walls stared blankly at him expect for the door which was covered with a large Led Zeppelin poster he'd gotten for his last birthday by his brother. He wasn't really allowed to put things on the walls, it would be easier and less expensive to sell the old shanty if he didn't ruin the wallpaper.

He sat down on his bed, an military one his dad had bought lose from the days of his military training. He picked up his cassette tape player, covered his ears with the yellow headphones and shut his eyes as the music danced through him. The words streamed inside of him, brought him with them to another space and time where only he himself could decide what would happen (to him).

“So.. how's school (today)?” His dad said with a newly awoken voice when/as Noah accompanied him in the living room.

“It's summer-break dad.” He said, but tried not to sound too disappointed about his dad's lack of knowledge, it would only trigger him. It was not worth it. He sat on his hand in the sofa from the 70's.

“Oh.. yeah, (of course) I knew that.” He put down the empty beer bottle on the table beside the armchair and tried to sit up straight.
This was how they interacted with each other, all the time, short sentences, no care in either of their voices. In the background Jerry Springer talked about how people should not forget to love those they call family.

“So when's she comin' home?”

“Late.”

“Mhm..” He grunted and got up from the armchair. Noah noticed his dad looked older and more miserable than it had been, dressed in those ragged clothes, as he headed for the bathroom.

Noah had loved him once as only an innocent child can love his father. When he was younger, when his father didn't drink so much, then he had been Noah's hero. The summer days spent fishing by the lake, learning how to ride his bike, falling – getting up again, listening to his father playing the bass. He missed all those things, but he had a feeling he'd never get all that back again.

When they'd eaten the porridge, or mostly Noah had, since his dad counted the calories in what he was drinking rather than what he was eating, the front door opened with a low shriek. Jesse stepped into the hallway dressed in a pair of tight jeans and a jeans jacket. His hair was pitch black and too long for a boy('s). He'd once mentioned that the cause of the long hair was the rebellion in him trying to revolt/fight back against their parents.

He walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge, looked at the content for a while before grabbing the last milk and placing it to his mouth.

“Mum won't be happy about that.” Noah said.

Jesse closed the fridge and put down the milk packet on the worktop behind him.

“She isn't here is she?” He smirked.

“No.”

“Then it's totally fine.”

“Why?”

“Because we're only allowed not to drink directly from this when she can't see us, get it?” He held up the milk (package)

“Kind of..” Noah said with a strange face.

Jesse laughed.

“Everything okay here?”

“Dad's sleeping.”

“Great.” He took one last sip from the milk(package) before he put it back on the top shelf in the fridge. He turned his back on the kitchen and walked out in the hallway.

“Where'r you going?” Noah yelled after him.

“To my room.”
“You're not gonna watch porn/naked women/ladies are you?”
He heard Jesse laugh.

“No.”

“Can I come then?”

“..Sure.”

Noah left the unfinished/dirty dishes on the (round) table and trotted to the stairs.
His brother's room did not follow the set down rules of naked walls, instead they were totally covered with all kinds of (legendary) rock bands like Nirvana, Led Zeppelin, Gun's and Roses, Queen, etc. Noah stared at the black electric guitar placed on the wall above Jesse's bed. It had Curt Cobain's autograph on it.
“How did you get that again?”

Noah never got tired of asking, and Jesse, even though he was (he) never showed, that he was tired of explaining.

(Later Jesse will give the guitar to Noah as they grow older, in the first chapter Jesse's about 16? and Noah's 9-10?)

Jesse took down the instrument and placed himself on the bed. Noah climbed up beside him to listen to his brother re-citing the story of the how he'd gotten when he was at (band) concert.

When he had finished explaining Noah said:
“I wish I could be in a band...”

“Why do you think I practice everyday?” Jesse said with a smirk, placing the guitar neatly in his arms. Jesse closed his eyes and shut out the world around him. Quietly he started jamming on the guitar, humming along with its gentle melody. Noah sat quiet, listening, trying too to shut out the surroundings that suppressed them both. He tried to feel the music dance inside of him but to his disappointment he didn't feel it.

He thought about how much he hungered to learn, how envious he was over/about his brothers talent. How he two wanted to learn, to be taught how to not only play but how to actually play with his heart and so it poured out of him:

“Could you teach me?”

He had longed to say it, to ask the question he'd carried like a burden for so long. His brother was everything to him and he didn't want to seem like a carriage to him, and if Jesse said no Noah would feel more than just sad(ness), it would be like the end of the world.

“Really? I mean.. you'd like that?”

Noah nodded.

“Okay.” Jesse placed the large guitar in Noah's lap. “Put your fingers here.”
“Here?” Noah said, looking carefully up at his brother, while he felt the blood rush and the adrenaline pump in him like he was on fire.
“And then you just...” He put his hand on top of Noah's and together they pulled Noah's small fingers over the metal strings.

When it was all dark outside they started arguing in the kitchen again, yelling at each other to shut up. Noah sat on top of his bed, listening to his cassette bands to put out all the noise. He tried to sing along to Nirvana's (?) as quietly as he thought was possible, sounding only like a low whistle or a whisper in the wind. He wanted nothing more than to sing, to become a rock star, to get away from everything.

The door burst open and his mother stood in the doorway, panting and staring at him with furious eyes. Her blond hair was a mess and so was her makeup.

“The dishes! Why would you leave the freaking dishes on the table, Noah! I've told you...”

She started crying. He just looked at her blankly.

“Give me that!” She yelled, stretching out her arm to him while she stumbled into his room.

He squeezed the player tightly as he tried to hide it from her in his arms.

“Stop it Noah! Give me.”

She was close now, too close. He crawled up to the wall with his knees pressed to his chest. She put her hands forward and tried to bend his arms open.

“No!!” He yelled, feeling the lump of cry thicken(ing) in his throat. “Let me go!”

She could hit him as hard as she wanted as long as she didn't touch the cassette band-player. It was all he had, it made him be able to escape to where ever he wanted.

“Give me that useless thing!” She shouted. He felt her saliva on his face and then he felt the hard thud as he fell headlong to the floor with her on him. His head started aching, the blood rushed through it and it felt like his brain would explode any minute.

“No—Noah?” She whimpered. “Noah?”

He looked to his left, his arm outstretched with the cassette band-player not far from him. It didn't play any music but he heard the song in his head as he closed his eyes. There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold. And she's buying a stairway to heaven
He was rushed to the emergency and later his mother gets mad at him again for costing her money.

Somewhere I belong får mig att gråta

Det händer inte ofta, men ikväll GRÄT jag verkligen när jag skrev, det gjorde ont i hela mig. Ni kanske inte kommer fatta direkt vad det handlar om eller förstå varför jag gråter när jag skriver, vilket jag inte heller kan riktigt förstå, men det gör verkligen ont i mig att göra som jag gör mot mina karaktärer, att döda ett barn, beröva det på dess barndom när jag vet hur många har lidit i verkligen livet. Det är hemskt, men jag måste skriva såna här scener om jag ska kunna genomföra den här berättelsen, vilket jag verkligen vill. Just nu letar jag information om hur barn "erkänner" för sina föräldrar att de blivit utsatta för övergrepp. Hittade ett helt forum med desperata föräldrar som skriver sina berättelser om hur deras barn överlevt övergrepp. Tänk om jag fick vara deras röst genom min berättelse.
Nu har jag i alla fall lyckats snyta näsan och torkat tårarna, ska försöka rensa huvudet, tänka på något annat, måste hoppa i säng nu.
Inspirationen till den här scenen kommer från det avsnitt då Tyler Perry besökte Oprah.
När han berättade att han flydde till en plats han älskat att besöka som barn när han blev utsatt för övergrepp fick jag idén till den här scenen, nu är den "äntligen" nedskriven, dock verkligen inte redigerade at all.

He felt him behind him. Wanted to scream. The petrifying fear numbed him. His heart stopped. The little boy inside him died right there in the bedroom of his mother. He closed his eyes, desperately trying to get to the place in his memory, the most beloved memory. To the park where he used to play on the swings with his brother. Desperately trying to remember Jesse's smile, those smiling eyes, those smiling eyes. Trying so hard to remember what turned blurry before his eyes. It hurt, it burned the pain was unbearable. The hand with the narrow fingers silenced him turned his cries into whispers no one could hear. “Jesse!” The little boy in the park is screaming. “Jesse where are you?!” Tears streaming down his face when he can't find his brother. Looking around him but can only see grass and trees, can't even see the swings in the playground. Is suddenly hearing his brother's warm laughter. “Here I am silly!” Turning his head, facing his brother, the playground arises from the ground. Seeing him, feeling the relief of finding his brother. Running towards the swings. It burned even worse. Jesse reaching out his hand to him. “Can I swing with you?” “Sure.” Jesse is saying and takes his hand, pulling him up on the swing. They swing together in the happy place. He doesn't want to let go of that memory, desperately clinging on to it with his entire life. Wanting nothing more than to be at that place right now right at that moment when the dragon slays him, swallows him alive. Longed for Jesse to take him with him to the park where only happiness existed, where there were no tears or sad scars on ones heart. The dragon huffed and puffed then left his pray to die. Would he rise from the ashes like a phoenix? Or would he just disappear into the nothingness.

Jesse came home late that night. When their eyes met, Jesse knew. “Let me help you.” he said and led his brother in to the bathroom. He put the water on in the bathtub then he turned the water on.
They crawled in to bed, Jesse let his brother sleep closest to the wall. They held hands in silence, had barely spoken a word since Jesse had put his foot inside the house. Noah squeezed his brother's hand tightly not daring the risk of letting go, what would happen if he did?

waaaaa skrivarglöd, mitt i natten!!

Gud höll på att somna men så började jag lyssna på ipoden, svensk hiphop och detta bara svämmade över mig. Shiit skrivarglööööd! och på svenska dessutom! Jag fångade stunden och det här skrev jag. Det här ska inte bli en hel jäkla bok utan bara en novell, jag vill sätta en punkt på något av mina verk. Låt mig dela med mig, jag gråter när jag skriver, jävla mens jävel. Jag blir knasig!! PS. Inspirations musik; NEWKID - Jag gråter bara i regnet och HIGHWON - Från Hjärtat.

Jag minns de bruna ögonen när de log mot mig för första gången. Jag blev kär, svag. Jag ville inte bli okontrollerbar men han kom innanför murarna jag byggt upp, de som skyddat mig från allt. Innerst inne försökte jag intala mig själv att jag tillät honom att riva de, men jag vet inte vem jag var när jag mötte honom. Han hjälpte mig på vägen mot något nytt.

Jag vilade mitt huvud på hans bröst. Rummet var tyst och kallt, jag hörde ingenting alls, inte ens mina egna andetag, inte ens det tickande ljudet från maskinerna. Jag blev lugn, lugn över att få vara nära. Jag hade aldrig levt med kärlek på det här sättet. Jag behövde honom, jag kunde inte andas utom honom. Jag hade låtit honom komma nära som ingen annan och nu revs jag sönder invändigt. Det gjorde ont i mig att det gjorde ont i honom. Vi var två själar som äntligen hittat hem.
En stor hand på min axel, den kramade samtidigt som den drog bort mig från värmen av ett sovande hjärta. Jag minns inte riktigt vad som hände men jag kommer fortfarande ihåg den där känslan. Jag förstod på en gång och allting gick så snabbt. Det tickande ljudet tickade fortare och fortare som en bomb redo att explodera. Sköterskorna i vita, skrynkliga dräkter rusade in i rummet. Ljudet från deras träskor ekade i mitt huvud, jag höll för öronen för att jag inte ville höra mer, jag ville inte ha ljuden, jag ville inte låta de tränga sig in och stanna som eviga minnen. Jag ville inte minnas Rasmus såhär. Jag vet inte vad de sa till varandra men jag hörde rösterna som hetsade varandra, de var ojämna och skar sig med varandra som om de inte hörde ihop. Jag kunde inte se Rasmus ansikte längre, mina ögon fylldes av regn som lämnade spår på kinderna.

”Lyssna på mig (namn)!” Min bror tog tag om mina överarmar och tvingade mig att se upp på honom. Hans mörka ögon var stora och allvarliga, någonstans därinne såg jag något sorgset som han inte lät komma fram. ”Det finns ingenting mer. Han är borta.” Mitt hjärta stannade men jag slet, jag drog, jag ville bort därifrån jag ville inte inse vad verkligheten målat upp. De hade rivit våra murar, klättrat över våra stängsel och nu stod jag där naken och ensam medan de såg ner på mig, skrattade. Rasmus sa alltid att ensam är stark, att man aldrig behövde någon att stödja sig mot. Men jag visste att han visste att han hade fel. De var bara tomma ord som han inte kunna sätta musik till. Jag vet att han alltid ville vara stark men med hårt mot hårt så var han alltid mjuk inombords.
Jag skrek tills jag inte orkade mer, jag slog min bror så hårt jag kunde tills händerna skakade. Han stod där tog emot som bara en vägg kan göra. Jag älskade honom, jag skulle alltid älska min bror.
Vi stod i korridoren nära väntrummet, alla ljuden kom emot mig igen, fotsteg, höga röster. Jag sjönk ner på golvet med ryggen mot väggen till Rasmus (rum). Zanza kom upp till mig, borrade in sitt stora huvud i mitt ansikte, försökte trösta som hon alltid gjorde. Jag strök henne över nosen, mellan de bruna ögonen, över det rostbruna huvudet. Hon log men hon kunde inte göra mig lycklig. Jag la händerna för öronen igen och stängde ut ljuset (blundar) från lysrören medan jag nynnade på orden han skrivit, musik han komponerat. Jag hade hört den så många gånger att jag kunde den utantill nu. Orden liksom dansade ur munnen på honom när han rappade. Jag såg honom framför mig när han stod i min brors studio nere i källaren med de stora hörlurarna på huvudet. Han vände sig mot mig och log. Jag tror aldrig jag kommer glömma den glädjen han kände då den spred sig genom rummet och nådde mig också. Vi hade allt men det rasade tillslut. Rasmus litade aldrig på någon och jag tror ärligt inte att han ens litade på mig, jag vet, han lät mig aldrig komma tillräckligt nära.

Den där dagen i studion, det är den låten jag har inom mig nu, den som aldrig blev färdig. Den hann inte, Rasmus blev sjuk och sen.. sen revs murarna och allting blev kallt och ensamt. De tog allt ifrån oss. De rev ut Rasmus hjärta och lät det ligga där det låg. Vi var trasiga redan innan men nu förstördes vi.

Jag vill inte sova då kommer jag tappa flowet hela, ååh det suger att behöva ta mig upp imorgon för att diskutera Charles Dickens kära Great Expectations. See you!