Comfort in a Needle
Face Down
Arin stormed out of the house, high on pure adrenaline and pain. For the first time Richard had actually inflicted serious damage on his son, though he immediately apologized once he saw the blood pouring from the boy’s broken nose. The fifteen year old didn’t stick around to hear his apology, too tired and pissed off to care about what his father had to say. He paid no attention to where he was going; just glad that it was Labor Day weekend and that most of the neighbors were out of town. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked, ignoring the disgusting feeling of blood dripping down his lips and into his mouth.
His feet carried him to a piercing shop that he had known about all his life, it wasn’t too far away from his house, but he never stepped foot in. He knew that if had had gotten a visible piercing, especially at his age, that his father would literally rip it out of his skin. Quickly, he wiped the blood off of his face, then off his arm on to his shirt before he walked in, standing taller than he was too look even the slightest bit, older; for a fifteen year old he was already very tall and gangly, like his limbs had grown, but the rest of him hadn’t yet. Slowly, hesitantly, he made his way up to the counter where a red headed boy, who was only seventeen or eighteen himself, sat with his cowboy boots on the glass and his nose in the latest issue of some tattoo magazine.
“I-I want my navel pierced,” he said in a tiny voice, which caused the male behind the counter to raise a thin, pale eyebrow, dropping the magazine in his lap. He finished up the article he was reading before he looked up at the person who requested the piecing. His eyes widened before he bolted up right in the chair and leaned over the counter to grab the younger man’s chin between his fingers, looking at his nose with a worried look in his eyes.
“You’re so lucky my brother isn’t here,” the red head mumbled, placing both hands on the sides of the boy’s nose before he cracked it back in place. Of course, that caused Arin to let out a scream. “Chill, kid. Jesus Christ. I’ve got ice and pain killers. And if anyone’s asks, you’re my cousin, got it?” The younger man nodded before he was dragged in the back of the shop. He sat down on the paper covered chair and watched as the older boy zipped around, filling up a bag of ice and grabbing the much needed pain killers. He nodded his head in thanks when he was handed the pills, popping them in his mouth and dry swallowing before he put the ice on his nose. “So,” the older man started once the room fell into an awkward silence. “How old are you, kid? And don’t give me the ‘Oh I’m seventeen’ bullshit because you maybe look fourteen.” Ar dropped his gaze and blushed when he was told he looked like a child.
“Fifteen,” he eventually said as he moved the ice from his face, daring to look up at the unnamed boy, who let out a slow whistle at his age.
“Fifteen and getting in fights? Shit kid, can you even hold your own?”
“It wasn’t a fight! It…you wouldn’t care if I told you. Hell, it’s not like it matters because it can’t be stopped…I’m used to it, really. It’s just…”
“It’s your pops, ain’t it?” Slowly, Arin nodded his head, too ashamed that it was that obvious to a complete stranger. The other boy sighed and sat next to him, draping an arm over his shoulder. “It’ll be alright, Kid. Jacks’s got you,” he said in a soothing tone that almost had the younger man calm in an instant. The read head squeezed the other boy’s shoulder before hopping back off of the chair and crossing the small room to look through his drawers.
“So, lemme guess, you’re hoping the pain from the needle will bring on a different kina pain, one that you can find comfort in?” Jacks asked, earning a faint ‘yeah’ from the younger boy. He smirked and grabbed a pair of gloves and snapped them on, not that it really mattered since he had already touched Arin’s blood, but old habits die hard. He turned around to face the younger boy as he continued talking, “I’m the same way, kid. My step-dad wasn’t the nicest guy in the world.” He clicked his lip rings against his teeth to prove his point. “He was a drunk, so I forgave him. It’s not entirely his fault, he got better once he stopped drinking, but still.” The older boy brushed his hair behind his ear with a soft chuckle. “I got my lips done to numb the pain. It kinda worked, then I got ink which helped even more, but the only thing that really helped, and I mean truly helped was seeking out real help. Because there’s numbing pain and then there’s fixing it. At the very least you need to find a place you can call ‘safe’.”
The words began to sink into the younger man’s head, he really did need a safe place that he could run to whenever Richard decided he was a punching bag. After all, when teachers asked about his bruises he always lied and said that he was rough housing with his cousins that they never got to see each other so football became more about contact than actually playing the game. Sad thing was, no one at the school ever questioned what he said because his father was so far from the abusive type; he never drank or used drugs, he didn’t smoke, he was a special education teacher for Christ’s sake so Arin knew if he told anyone that he would be labeled as attention seeking because Richard wouldn’t lay a hand on anyone, much less his own son.
“At least he had an excuse,” Arin mumbled before he laid back on the chair, causing the paper to crunch under the movement. “My dad’s as sober as the day he was born. He never touches alcohol. Ever. It’s…I don’t know what he thinks.” The two fell into silence again, this time it was comfortable. The younger of the two stared up at the ceiling, mesmerized by painting of, what he assumed, was a battle between angels and demons. However, it was a bit more complicated than that because in the middle of the two warring armies was a man with solid black eyes like the demons and large wings like the angles, but along his face were black veins that marred his otherwise beautiful face. IN his hands was a sword that he held by the blade, causing blood to run down the menacing steel.
“Jacks, what’s going on in the painting? Who’s the guy in the middle?” The question earned the younger man a chuckle from the older male who had finally crossed the room with a needle and jewelry in his hand. The piercer shrugged before he pushed the boy’s shirt up, string down at his flat stomach as he mentally tried to figure out what would look best on him. “How many holes kid?” Arin held up to fingers as he continued to stare at the ceiling. He listed as the piercer explained what was going on, hoping it served as some sort of distraction as the needle went through his skin. It must of worked because the younger man barely flinched. Then again, it could have been the pain medication that was coursing through his body.
The more Jacks spoke the more Arin began to understand what was going on. The older man had seen the image in a dream, which was so vivid that every angel and demon seemed to be their own person, even if there were hundreds of them. He also learned that the man in the middle was something called a Nephilim and he was the son of a human and the Archangel Michael, which was why he was depicting three things, Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory. Whichever side won over the hybrid would win the war and call Earth their play thing. Or so Jacks said. The older man had said that if he didn’t paint what he saw in his dreams that he would suffer from a blistering headache until the image was on some sort of paper.
“Okay, kid, you’re done,” Jacks said once the bars were in place and the new piercing was cleaned. The two boys talked for a while, Arin finally introduced himself when he signed off on the paperwork. “My brother would flip if I don’t do the proper steps,” he explained after he told the other to lie on the papers. After that they talked about any and everything, they found out a lot about each other. Like, they both had similar musical interests and liked the same local bands. Jacks was into playing the piano and doing vocals, both singing and screaming, whereas Arin was an aspiring drummer who could scream, “not half bad for a fifteen year old” the older had commented.
Before either of them had noticed the sun had gone down and Arin’s anxiety began to skyrocket. “I…uh I gotta go,” he said, interrupting the older male’s story about the shop. Jacks frowned, but nodded, knowing that the younger man wasn’t rude so he really must being feeling on edge.
“Dad’ll flip. Just…I need to leave so-now.” He sighed and thanked the other profusely as he pulled out his wallet only to be pulled into a hug. “’s on the house this time, kid. Next time, though, we’ll figure something out. You’re a baby and I ain’t takin’ your money.” A bright smile took over Arin’s face, masking his fear for a brief moment as he hugged Jacks back.
“Next time,” he agreed with a nod of his head as he headed for the door, looking back at his new found friend before leaving the shop. The air outside was still warm, but with his anxiety it felt like he was in an oven. As he walked the medication began to wear off causing his new piercing to begin to bother him. When he finally made it to his front door he stared at the mahogany for some time, contemplating just running and never coming back home, but he couldn’t. He was too young and it was illegal, the last thing he wanted to do was get in trouble with the cops. With a soft sigh and a mumble of ‘fuck it’, he walked into the house, bolting immediately up the stairs to avoid Richard, who was too wrapped up in his work to pay him even the slightest bit of attention.
The teenager didn’t go down for dinner that night; he told his mom that he had eaten while he was out, but in reality he knew he wouldn’t be able to stomach food if he saw his father. What did he do to deserve a broken nose and shattered dignity? Arin always did his homework and passed every test; he never talked back or cussed around his father. He was the perfect child, but he just wasn’t perfect enough for Richard. At least, that was the only logical explanation because his father never raised a hand to his mother so it had to be something wrong with him, right?
He got out of bed to clean and look at his piercing before he promptly got back in under the safety of his sheets, pulling out his Walkman that he kept under his bed. He opened the lid to check what cd was in, smiling as he stared at the black cd with a silver winged skull on it. Waking the Fallen, it was an album by a local band that, unknown to his parents, he had seen at least five times mostly at Chain Reaction. The cd and its predecessor had a way of always making the shittiest day just a little bit better, it was a combination of the amazing riffs and the hypnotically insane drumming that could ease his mind in a heartbeat. He had met the band before and on several occasions actually hung out with the drummer after shows. Jimmy was insane in the most beautiful of ways and his hair always stood straight up, adding more height to his already impressive frame, but the thing that made him really stand out was that he was the kindest soul Arin had ever met. He always listened to what Arin had to say, they would talk about drumming and how the younger was scared of actually pursuing it because of his father. To which Jimmy had said, “Fuck ‘im. He’s not worth it. No father, no matter how strict, should ever hold their child back.” Of course, those words just made Ar idolize him more.
Every time he would listen to Avenged Sevenfold he thought back to what The Rev had said, and for a brief moment he would realize that he was right. Why should Richard hold him back? He wanted to be a drummer so goddamn it he would! Then, he would remember that he was too young to make any money to get a kid, but that was okay because one day he would be one of the greats. One day, he was going to work side by side with Jimmy “The Rev” Sullivan and everything would be okay! At least, he always told himself that before he would drift off to sleep, dreaming of being behind a huge kit and playing for thousands of fans. One day.
His feet carried him to a piercing shop that he had known about all his life, it wasn’t too far away from his house, but he never stepped foot in. He knew that if had had gotten a visible piercing, especially at his age, that his father would literally rip it out of his skin. Quickly, he wiped the blood off of his face, then off his arm on to his shirt before he walked in, standing taller than he was too look even the slightest bit, older; for a fifteen year old he was already very tall and gangly, like his limbs had grown, but the rest of him hadn’t yet. Slowly, hesitantly, he made his way up to the counter where a red headed boy, who was only seventeen or eighteen himself, sat with his cowboy boots on the glass and his nose in the latest issue of some tattoo magazine.
“I-I want my navel pierced,” he said in a tiny voice, which caused the male behind the counter to raise a thin, pale eyebrow, dropping the magazine in his lap. He finished up the article he was reading before he looked up at the person who requested the piecing. His eyes widened before he bolted up right in the chair and leaned over the counter to grab the younger man’s chin between his fingers, looking at his nose with a worried look in his eyes.
“You’re so lucky my brother isn’t here,” the red head mumbled, placing both hands on the sides of the boy’s nose before he cracked it back in place. Of course, that caused Arin to let out a scream. “Chill, kid. Jesus Christ. I’ve got ice and pain killers. And if anyone’s asks, you’re my cousin, got it?” The younger man nodded before he was dragged in the back of the shop. He sat down on the paper covered chair and watched as the older boy zipped around, filling up a bag of ice and grabbing the much needed pain killers. He nodded his head in thanks when he was handed the pills, popping them in his mouth and dry swallowing before he put the ice on his nose. “So,” the older man started once the room fell into an awkward silence. “How old are you, kid? And don’t give me the ‘Oh I’m seventeen’ bullshit because you maybe look fourteen.” Ar dropped his gaze and blushed when he was told he looked like a child.
“Fifteen,” he eventually said as he moved the ice from his face, daring to look up at the unnamed boy, who let out a slow whistle at his age.
“Fifteen and getting in fights? Shit kid, can you even hold your own?”
“It wasn’t a fight! It…you wouldn’t care if I told you. Hell, it’s not like it matters because it can’t be stopped…I’m used to it, really. It’s just…”
“It’s your pops, ain’t it?” Slowly, Arin nodded his head, too ashamed that it was that obvious to a complete stranger. The other boy sighed and sat next to him, draping an arm over his shoulder. “It’ll be alright, Kid. Jacks’s got you,” he said in a soothing tone that almost had the younger man calm in an instant. The read head squeezed the other boy’s shoulder before hopping back off of the chair and crossing the small room to look through his drawers.
“So, lemme guess, you’re hoping the pain from the needle will bring on a different kina pain, one that you can find comfort in?” Jacks asked, earning a faint ‘yeah’ from the younger boy. He smirked and grabbed a pair of gloves and snapped them on, not that it really mattered since he had already touched Arin’s blood, but old habits die hard. He turned around to face the younger boy as he continued talking, “I’m the same way, kid. My step-dad wasn’t the nicest guy in the world.” He clicked his lip rings against his teeth to prove his point. “He was a drunk, so I forgave him. It’s not entirely his fault, he got better once he stopped drinking, but still.” The older boy brushed his hair behind his ear with a soft chuckle. “I got my lips done to numb the pain. It kinda worked, then I got ink which helped even more, but the only thing that really helped, and I mean truly helped was seeking out real help. Because there’s numbing pain and then there’s fixing it. At the very least you need to find a place you can call ‘safe’.”
The words began to sink into the younger man’s head, he really did need a safe place that he could run to whenever Richard decided he was a punching bag. After all, when teachers asked about his bruises he always lied and said that he was rough housing with his cousins that they never got to see each other so football became more about contact than actually playing the game. Sad thing was, no one at the school ever questioned what he said because his father was so far from the abusive type; he never drank or used drugs, he didn’t smoke, he was a special education teacher for Christ’s sake so Arin knew if he told anyone that he would be labeled as attention seeking because Richard wouldn’t lay a hand on anyone, much less his own son.
“At least he had an excuse,” Arin mumbled before he laid back on the chair, causing the paper to crunch under the movement. “My dad’s as sober as the day he was born. He never touches alcohol. Ever. It’s…I don’t know what he thinks.” The two fell into silence again, this time it was comfortable. The younger of the two stared up at the ceiling, mesmerized by painting of, what he assumed, was a battle between angels and demons. However, it was a bit more complicated than that because in the middle of the two warring armies was a man with solid black eyes like the demons and large wings like the angles, but along his face were black veins that marred his otherwise beautiful face. IN his hands was a sword that he held by the blade, causing blood to run down the menacing steel.
“Jacks, what’s going on in the painting? Who’s the guy in the middle?” The question earned the younger man a chuckle from the older male who had finally crossed the room with a needle and jewelry in his hand. The piercer shrugged before he pushed the boy’s shirt up, string down at his flat stomach as he mentally tried to figure out what would look best on him. “How many holes kid?” Arin held up to fingers as he continued to stare at the ceiling. He listed as the piercer explained what was going on, hoping it served as some sort of distraction as the needle went through his skin. It must of worked because the younger man barely flinched. Then again, it could have been the pain medication that was coursing through his body.
The more Jacks spoke the more Arin began to understand what was going on. The older man had seen the image in a dream, which was so vivid that every angel and demon seemed to be their own person, even if there were hundreds of them. He also learned that the man in the middle was something called a Nephilim and he was the son of a human and the Archangel Michael, which was why he was depicting three things, Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory. Whichever side won over the hybrid would win the war and call Earth their play thing. Or so Jacks said. The older man had said that if he didn’t paint what he saw in his dreams that he would suffer from a blistering headache until the image was on some sort of paper.
“Okay, kid, you’re done,” Jacks said once the bars were in place and the new piercing was cleaned. The two boys talked for a while, Arin finally introduced himself when he signed off on the paperwork. “My brother would flip if I don’t do the proper steps,” he explained after he told the other to lie on the papers. After that they talked about any and everything, they found out a lot about each other. Like, they both had similar musical interests and liked the same local bands. Jacks was into playing the piano and doing vocals, both singing and screaming, whereas Arin was an aspiring drummer who could scream, “not half bad for a fifteen year old” the older had commented.
Before either of them had noticed the sun had gone down and Arin’s anxiety began to skyrocket. “I…uh I gotta go,” he said, interrupting the older male’s story about the shop. Jacks frowned, but nodded, knowing that the younger man wasn’t rude so he really must being feeling on edge.
“Dad’ll flip. Just…I need to leave so-now.” He sighed and thanked the other profusely as he pulled out his wallet only to be pulled into a hug. “’s on the house this time, kid. Next time, though, we’ll figure something out. You’re a baby and I ain’t takin’ your money.” A bright smile took over Arin’s face, masking his fear for a brief moment as he hugged Jacks back.
“Next time,” he agreed with a nod of his head as he headed for the door, looking back at his new found friend before leaving the shop. The air outside was still warm, but with his anxiety it felt like he was in an oven. As he walked the medication began to wear off causing his new piercing to begin to bother him. When he finally made it to his front door he stared at the mahogany for some time, contemplating just running and never coming back home, but he couldn’t. He was too young and it was illegal, the last thing he wanted to do was get in trouble with the cops. With a soft sigh and a mumble of ‘fuck it’, he walked into the house, bolting immediately up the stairs to avoid Richard, who was too wrapped up in his work to pay him even the slightest bit of attention.
The teenager didn’t go down for dinner that night; he told his mom that he had eaten while he was out, but in reality he knew he wouldn’t be able to stomach food if he saw his father. What did he do to deserve a broken nose and shattered dignity? Arin always did his homework and passed every test; he never talked back or cussed around his father. He was the perfect child, but he just wasn’t perfect enough for Richard. At least, that was the only logical explanation because his father never raised a hand to his mother so it had to be something wrong with him, right?
He got out of bed to clean and look at his piercing before he promptly got back in under the safety of his sheets, pulling out his Walkman that he kept under his bed. He opened the lid to check what cd was in, smiling as he stared at the black cd with a silver winged skull on it. Waking the Fallen, it was an album by a local band that, unknown to his parents, he had seen at least five times mostly at Chain Reaction. The cd and its predecessor had a way of always making the shittiest day just a little bit better, it was a combination of the amazing riffs and the hypnotically insane drumming that could ease his mind in a heartbeat. He had met the band before and on several occasions actually hung out with the drummer after shows. Jimmy was insane in the most beautiful of ways and his hair always stood straight up, adding more height to his already impressive frame, but the thing that made him really stand out was that he was the kindest soul Arin had ever met. He always listened to what Arin had to say, they would talk about drumming and how the younger was scared of actually pursuing it because of his father. To which Jimmy had said, “Fuck ‘im. He’s not worth it. No father, no matter how strict, should ever hold their child back.” Of course, those words just made Ar idolize him more.
Every time he would listen to Avenged Sevenfold he thought back to what The Rev had said, and for a brief moment he would realize that he was right. Why should Richard hold him back? He wanted to be a drummer so goddamn it he would! Then, he would remember that he was too young to make any money to get a kid, but that was okay because one day he would be one of the greats. One day, he was going to work side by side with Jimmy “The Rev” Sullivan and everything would be okay! At least, he always told himself that before he would drift off to sleep, dreaming of being behind a huge kit and playing for thousands of fans. One day.
