Rent Boy Page 10

  Of course when Sam also discovered that Bob got home early, he also rushed back to his room. Bob entered the kitchen as I heard his footsteps. My bedroom door was closed but I put my head against it to hear what he was doing just to make sure. He then threw his keys on the kitchen bench and heard him mumble the word ‘Bastard!’. I kept thinking that he could not possibly know I used the kettle. He couldn’t, I refused to believe it. But realistically I refused to believe that I would get another beating. I heard him approaching my bedroom. I rushed to my desk and pretended to be working. He opened the door but with care. It thought it was strange. Maybe he was not upset. He just looked at me with almost a neutral reaction. Then he said,

  “Come with me.....”

  So I did. I followed him. He was going into the kitchen. So okay, he now knows I used the kettle. He then grabbed a chair from the dining room and slammed it down smack bang in the middle of the kitchen and said;

  “SIT!”

  I sat down immediately. I was confused about what was going on and just kept thinking to myself

  “If you want to beat me, just get it over with”.

  I kept thinking it over and over again. Bob then switched the kettle on and said;

  “If you want a coffee, then I will make you one” he said in a very sarcastic voice.

  I was thinking that possibly he was not upset that I used the kettle but wanted to teach me a lesson that coffee is not for little boys. I wasn’t sure what his intentions were and sat there curiously watching the kettle boil. Then kettle finished boiling. Bob furiously grabbed the kettle with one hand and then grabbed my head with the other hand. I immediately thought;

  “I am going to die, this is it, I am getting what I deserve”.

  I didn’t budge or try to escape as I thought it would be no use anyway. With one hand he opened up my mouth. I panicked and tried to scream. I kept thinking

  “I don’t want to die”.

  I tried to beg for mercy but I couldn’t get the words out. He then put drops of scalding hot water into my mouth which slid down my throat. The pain was so intense I thought I was going to faint. I looked at Bob’s face and could see he was enjoying it. He then put in another drop of hot water with precision. I could stand it anymore. Tears rushed out of my eyes and pushed him away. I walked back into the kitchen bench and yelled out;

  “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!!!!!!!”

  He paused for a second as Sam hesitantly walked into the kitchen with tears in his eyes.

  “Get back to your room Sammy!” Bob screamed.

  Sam ran off in fear. Bob threw the kettle down and looked directly at me, slowly walked up to me and grabbed my neck, almost chocking me. He spoke slowly and I felt the spit of his words on my face;

  “Next time.....you want to use the kettle....YOU ASK!......you hear ME!.....”.

  He let go of my neck and I ran back to my room. I slammed my bedroom door and dropped face down into my bed and cried. I cried and cried and cried. I heard the bedroom door open very slowly and immediately thought;

  “Oh my god, not again...”

  But it was Sam. He sat next to me on my bed and looked at me with such empathy and said softly;

  “I’m gonna tell mum”. I interrupted saying;

  “No!. Don’t tell her, I don’t want her to know, I don’t want to upset her, she won’t believe me...”

  “No, I have to, he can’t get away with this, I have to tell her, I have to” Sam begged.

  “Please, please, please don’t.......don’t....” I responded and begged.

  Sam didn’t say anything and just looked at me just like a little brother would. And just like a little brother would say, he said;

  “Don’t worry Jamie, I will look after you”.

  It was so sweet for him to say that. So I just gave him a half smile and wiped away my tears and said “We will be fine, one day I’m gonna run away”. I expected Sam to question what I just said but he just looked at me as if he actually believed that I was planning to run away. And I was. One day.

  For the rest of the week I just kept out of sight from Bob. I would not even be in the same room as him and spent most of my time in my bedroom. Bob hated it that I spent so much time in there. Mum also was not very happy that I spent so much time in there but never questioned it.

  On the Friday the same week, I get home from school and noticed my bedroom door was gone. It was completely taken off the hinges and taken away. It was obviously Bob’s doing. It was his sadistic psychotic mind working at its peak. Taking away my privacy. He was sick. But I did not let the door situation affect me. I just carried on as usual and tried not to let it upset me. Mum was not impressed with Bob so they argued about it. But of course, it was Bob’s law, and what he said or did, went. So the door stayed off. This was obviously how he gets his kicks. I felt sorry for the prick.

  Besides all the drama at home, school life was pretty good. I guess this is how I stayed sane. It kept me going. I still had my friends. I still did academically well in class and made student films and all. By the time, I knew it, I was in Year Eleven. Subject curriculum choice was getting at a more crucial stage and the students were getting more career focussed. Our naughtiness in class was dissolving as we were more focussed and that was typical of a year eleven student. Nerdiness was a thing of the past. We were all in this together and the future was past approaching. A few of the other kids had already dropped out by year eleven but they never really had much significance to the school anyway. I was also approached by one of the Media studies teachers that were part of the organising group for the National theatrical event called the Rock Eisteddfod. This was a huge deal and the magnitude of school representation and image and monumental.

  They asked me if I wanted to help design the sets and backdrops for their performance act. The Rock Eisteddfod was conducted by secondary schools all around Australia that had to come up with a theatrical style performance dancing and acting to selected songs and there had to be a theme involved. They pretty much asked me to do this as I did that work experience at Channel two working in the special effect department so they saw that as an advantage, and agreed to do it. Later on a couple of the dancers dropped out. They were all girls, and all of them were the popular drama class girls too. So they asked me to participate in a role on stage. Inside I was thrilled but I was very conscious about my image as I would be the only boy involved and it was seen as a bit ‘sissy’ to do it. I don’t think though I was scared of being teased about it I was more afraid of my nerves and shyness. The theme of our performance was ‘The gates of heaven and hell’ and I played one of the angels that turned into a devil. We had to rehearse after school and at lunchtimes for a few weeks but a lot of the other performers were quite tardy and did not seem very committed and saw it as just a glamorous thing. I of course had to sacrifice my film making for a while whilst I was involved in this but it was worth it. I was hoping that my shy character would open up and this also gave me an opportunity to be a part of the Drama classes I always wanted to do. So I opened up my shy character by acting and dancing in front of thousands of other school kids, and the competition was fierce but it was fun and the excitement over took my fear of being shy and really opened up my shell.

  The other boys made fun of me for a while, not in a nasty way though, it didn’t really bothered me. I didn’t even tell my mum or Bob that I was performing in some sort of ‘ditzy’ dance performance thing as I was afraid they would think I was getting a bit on the ‘sissy’ side, so I never invited them to the concert performance which was held at the Melbourne Entertainment centre, quite a large venue. I was just glad to be involved in an event even though it was out of my comfort zone as I preferred to be behind the camera that was my art. But it really makes a mark on the school calendar and still does to this very day.

  The school takes a lot of pride in their contestants that represent their school as its good for the schools image. I should have taken part in the Rock Eisteddfod earlie
r in year nine or ten but I was too shy. It was not until I reached year eleven that I started to stand up for myself and didn’t care what people thought of me. I just wanted to be admired for any talent I might have had. The bad news is that we didn’t win the competition; in fact we never even got a place. But the school was quite proud of us anyway.

  However it was at this stage of our lives that parties outside the school, like on weekends, was a big thing. In fact, the element of coolness was still well and alive and what determined it now was how many and what type of parties you got invited to. Fortunately I got invited to a few parties. But there was one I will never forget. In fact one that my mum, or brother, would never forget.

  It was a Saturday night, the weekend after the Rock Eisteddfod and the party was held for one of the girls named Veronica who was part of the Drama class and asked me to come to the party when we performed at the Rock Eisteddfod. She was a bit of a jock groupie but a fun and popular girl. Being invited to this party meant we knew it was going to be wild. The lead up to the party during the week prior to the party was built up with a lot of excitement and the secretive plan amongst us kids who were invited planned to drink. As like all teenagers did during those days. Apparently the alcohol was going to be available by some of the guys at the party so accessing it, even though we were under age was not going to be a problem. All this was a secret from our parents. The secret of this party made me feel super cool and that’s what I always wanted. To fit in with other cool kids.

  My mum dropped me off at the party, and for some reason I was quite nervous but excited. I felt like I was in one of those teenage Hollywood college party films, kind of like Michael J Fox, who I idolised at the time. The party attire was dress to impress, not costume, but simply cool clothes. A cool attitude and then came the binge drinking. I never ever drank spirits quite like this before. “Skull, skull, skull, skull” as everyone cheered when each of us had our turn in downing as much pure bourbon as possible without vomiting. After about 20 minutes of drinking, I was plastered. As far as I can remember I think my pretentiousness set in, trying to crack onto every girl. Even though in my mind I was only trying to impress everyone. I was still conscious about my ‘homo’ mask. This was the ultimate cover, the ultimate element of retaining a cool image. But I really did make a fool of myself. But I kept on drinking. The music got louder and louder and the party seemed to get fuller and fuller of people, mainly a lot of gate crashers, it got pretty crazy. Then they played the song, “I love rock and roll”, I think that version was by Joan Jett or someone, I can’t recall. It was also one of the songs were performed to in the Rock Eisteddfod performance and in a moment of spontaneous reaction I sang out a different version of the chorus that happened to start as my own signature tune. Instead of singing the chorus, “I love rock and roll, getting on down to the jukebox baby”, I sang something like:

  “ I love sausage rolls , getting on down to the jukebox baby!........”

  Everyone was in hysterical laughter with this, I just thought it was clever. I sang it over and over. As simple as the pointless sounding line was, it meant a lot to me. It was a response of having a good time, like nothing else mattered, like I craved for excitement.

  The next thing I remember I was outside the front garden and from memory I think we were setting fireworks outside, then my mother and brother pulled up in their car. I think Veronica called my mum to come pick me up as I was totally plastered.

  “Get in the car...NOW!” mum yelled.

  Sam dragged me into the back seat whilst I was trying to climb out the other end. Reminiscing about the situation now was a bit foggy but I was told they took about a good fifteen minutes to keep me in the car. Fortunately Bob was on night shift and was not home. Mum promised not to tell him as we would know the circumstances. Thank god. It was punishment enough suffering from a hangover from hell the morning after. But mum was a bit disappointed in me but never told me off, it was like she expected a typical teenager to do some sort of thing like that. She never showed any anger though, she was always understanding, just like a good mum would be. Now I have sworn an oath to never ever touch bourbon again, the thought of it now makes me sick to my stomach! But it was fun though! The things we do........

  It was getting close to the end of the school year and the thought of quitting scouts was always on my mind. But I thought as scouts was finishing soon anyway for the season I might as well just tell mum and Bob that I wanted to give it up. I don’t think they would mind as year 12 was approaching and I would need to dedicate most of my time to school work. So one night at the dinner table I told both mum and Bob. Just straight out and said it; “I want to quit scouts”.

  “Fine” Bob said.

  I was amazed, I mean, was that it? No yelling and screaming. No calling me a loser or no hoper, or perhaps a little poofter? No. He kept said ‘fine’ and kept on eating his dinner. But something was up. I could feel it. Mum questioned me though and asked and I just responded regarding my commitment to year 12. She agreed. Bob was silent. It was deafening and something was brewing. He does not let someone off the hook that easily especially when it was Bob’s law.

  That same night we all went to bed as usual. Except for Bob. He sat in the same spot on the couch from where the excessive sitting every night caused a sunken in dint on the couch, had a can of beer on one hand and cigarette in the other. By the time the three of us went to bed, as tomorrow was a school night, I think he must have been up to his 12th can of beer and probably 2nd packet of those horrible cheap cigarettes he smoked. Then probably about an hour after retiring to bed, I was almost drifting into sleep and I heard my bedroom door open very softly hearing a soft creaking noise as the door crept open. My back was facing the door so I could not see who it was but I could smell him. It was Bob. I began to wonder what he wanted and pretended that I was fast asleep. I didn’t move a muscle. I was scared. Scared stiff. He tried not to make any noise as he did not want me to be awake which I thought was strange. I couldn’t see him but the thought’s in my mind was that he had some sort of instrument to hurt me. Perhaps it was a knife or a gun. But it was a sharp knife with the pointing tip pressing against my temple. My breathing got heavier but I dared not to budge. I was hoping whatever it was he would just get it over with. I felt him carefully lean over me and just froze. The smell of alcohol smelt like mouldy beer, it was disgusting. He then whispered in my left ear just micro centimetres away from me.

  “I hate you....you little bastard!” he whispered but with such intense hatred.

  “I wish you were dead, you arsehole....you little son of a bitch....I want to see you die!” he continued.

  He kept on with the insults and kept repeating himself over and over telling me how much he hated my guts and that he wants to kill me. Then he shocked me and said. “If it wasn’t for your mother, hiding behind her little skirt, I would kill you!” he whispered in a slightly more raised voice. I could feel the spit from his mouth on my ear as he was insulting me. It sounded like pure loathing. It was evident he hated me but I don’t think there was such a thing a beyond hate like what I experienced. He then leaned back off my bed and left my bedroom and closed the door softly. It was like he just wanted to get something off his chest. Like it was the closest thing he would get to killing me. Just getting his opportunity to express his hate for me. I just lied in the same position in bed paralysed with fear yet I felt relieved. Relieved that I know now why he won’t kill me. He was scared my mother would leave him. Now I had the perfect tool. The perfect tool to keep him at bay.

  I had to come up with a plan to get away from him and it’s time my mother knew the monster he really was. But I just couldn’t bear the pain it would cause my mum. It would crush her. I will need to come up with a strategy. To get away. Get away from this hell behind closed doors. So in my mind I planned to set aside tomorrow to think of a plan. Now we’re getting down to business.

  A couple weeks later, and all seemed quite fine at home. Bob some
how resisted the urge to beat me up or even verbally abuse me. I think that night of expressing his hatred to me was a load off his chest. Like it was therapeutic for him. One day he said that he wanted to buy Sam and I a motorbike each to ride around at the ski resort. I thought it was great. But perhaps he was getting superficial again with showing his so called love for his adopted sons by showering them with gifts. I didn’t care, I just wanted the motorbike. My mum was enthusiastic about this too. In fact I think it was mum’s idea to buy us both a motorbike. My mum as a girl used to have a motorbike and I saw photos of my mum riding around on dirt trail bikes when she was a kid. Although some might say, according to my uncles and aunties, that she was a bit of a tomboy. She was a bit of a looker. A very attractive girl. A tomboy but very pretty and feminine. I was proud of having a mum like that. In fact at parent teacher nights, when my friends saw my mum, the next day at school they always used to say