The Perfection Paradox (20 page)

One night
he’d showered, pulled on a crisp white shirt and neatly pressed
trousers, kissed his daughter on the cheek while he tucked her into
bed, and never came back.

For a long
time, Emily’s mother had despised him. Every waking minute was
filled with obscene curses about her no good husband. Emily
wondered how many different ways her mother could find to hate
him.

Cheater.
Liar. Coward. Pig. Selfish. Pathetic. Delusional.
Narcissistic.

The list went
on.

“
He
never
really
loved you Em” her mother would whisper to her as she tucked
her into bed at night, “I’m the only one who loves you…” she would
say, patting her daughter’s head softly, brushing her long fringe
out of her eyes.

Those words
didn’t help.

The only
person who loved her in the entire world hardly knew she existed,
too consumed with hatred and rage and bitterness, too focused on
herself and her ex-husband and her broken marriage and all the
mistakes he’d ever made. How he was a fool to leave her. Emily was
only evident to her mother when she served as a tool to hurt her
father. Emily wished she could leave. The only time she’d ever
prayed was then, for that. She wished he’d taken her with
him.

That had all
happened a long time ago though. Emily’s mother had settled into a
comfortable routine of delusion and sleeping pills. Once upon a
time, Emily had objected, but she’d learnt by now that these things
were best left alone. It was not her job to care for anyone,
especially not the person who was supposed to care for her. Her
mother became easier to handle, and as long as Emily nodded and
shook her head obediently, everything would be okay. But now it was
her mother’s turn to nod and pretend everything was fine, and she
wasn’t doing it, she wasn’t being what Emily needed, and Emily
hater her so much for that.

25.

Hunter was
sprawled out on the couch, a videogame controller in his hands,
watching the flashing screen intently.

He’d been
called into Principal Andrews’s office earlier that day for
‘bullying’ and was in a crap mood. The principal had already called
his mother by the time he slunk in from school and he’d never seen
her so angry.

“
Why can’t
you just be quiet and moody like all the other kids your age?”
She’d shouted, wiping frustrated tears from her eyes, “Why can’t
you just silently resent people you hate like a normal
teenager!”

Dusk was
falling outside his open bay window and a cool breeze snuck
through.

He was
yawning extravagantly when suddenly the bedroom door smashed open
and his father stormed into the room.

He ripped the
TV plug out of the socket so the screen shot to darkness and stood
in front of his son, a large beast of a man, staring down at
him.

He was still
wearing his grey suit and red tie; he must’ve just gotten in from
work.

“
Dad…” Hunter
began apprehensively, throwing the controller to one side “I can
explain…”

His father’s
temples and neck were throbbing violently and he seemed unable to
blink.

“
What
the
fuck
is wrong
with you? You ungrateful jackass!” His father yelled, his face grew
red and glistened with sweat. “How
fucking
stupid are you? One more
trip to Principal Andrews’s and it’ll go on your school record.
You’ll
never
play
college football. Is that what you want?” He paused for breath, “Me
and your mom won’t be paying for you! You can wait tables for the
rest of your life!”

Hunter
thought his father was being
slightly
over dramatic, Rosewell
High had been bending the rules for him since he got there, why
would they stop now?

He rolled his
eyes and crossed his arms, “chill the fuck out, it’s not a big
deal” he replied, filling the statement with as much condescendence
and contempt as he thought he could get away with. His dad was
being
such
a
girl.

His father’s
face seemed to spasm strangely, and for a second Hunter thought he
was having a heart attack. Then his father raised his arm and
punched him hard in the face.

Hunter didn’t
feel any pain. He just felt shock.

He clutched
the left side of his face, staring up at his father in
disbelief.

He didn’t
dare say another word in case he hit him again.

“
If you get
sent to Principal Andrews one more time Hunter, I swear to god, I
will beat the shit out of you.” He uttered under his breath, but
somehow it felt more threatening than if he had screamed it at him.
“I won’t have you shaming my name or my family”

He turned on
his heel and wrenched open the door, glancing over his shoulder at
his teenage son with a look of pure contempt and, even worse,
disappointment.

A worn copy
of ‘Lord of the Flies’ fell loudly from the top shelf as his father
slammed the door shut. Hunter had never really liked reading, but
something about that book had drawn him in…

And then his
father was gone, and Hunter just sat there like a scared little
boy, cradling his swelling face in his hands. 

He barely
slept that night, he tossed and turned and sat up in a cold sweat
every few hours.

Something had
changed. He’d always felt protected; he’d always felt like his
actions bore no consequence, but something was different
now.

The sun was
high in the sky as the Varsity Football team gathered for practice
the following afternoon.

“
Okay guys,
give me five laps stat!” Hunter yelled out to the group of
footballers gathered around him.

He glanced
towards the entrance of the training ground, but their coach was
nowhere to be seen.

Hunter
started towards the locker rooms where the spare footballs were
kept; they’d have to use them for the time being until the coach
arrived with the usual practice balls.

“
Guys, RUN!”
he shouted impatiently at a group of players who had decided to
walk instead of jog as the hot sun bore down on them. Schmidt was
amongst them.

His black
hair and bright emerald eyes differentiated him from most of the
other boys at Rosewell.

Hunter had
heard many a freshman swoon over his ‘dreamy’ eyes and brooding
manner.

He was
narrower in build than most of the football team, an unexpected
talent with his slim ‘artsy tortured soul’ physique, but maybe that
was what gave him an edge. He was regarded at Rosewell as some sort
of existentialist poet. His pale complexion made him look a bit
sickly in Hunter’s opinion and there wasn’t a hint of philosopher
in him, he was too stuffed with ‘total douchebag’. That didn’t stop
the girls from clinging to him, like drunken moths drawn to the
intoxicating light that shone from him.

Hunter pulled
out his phone and tried calling Coach again, but the same annoying
voicemail greeting followed. He shoved his phone back into his
pocket, frustrated.

As he left
the locker rooms he spotted the same five boys walking lazily
around the pitch, shouting jokes and distracting the rest of the
team, whose jogging had slowed.

“
Lancer,
McEnley, Schmidt, Russell, Thompson, give me 50 pushups. I
said
run
not
walk.” Hunter demanded angrily.

Schmidt shook
his head, “it’s too hot to do pushups…”

Hunter was
losing his patience fast.

“
Well you
should’ve thought of that before you decided to be a pussy and walk
instead of run.”

Schmidt
turned to face Hunter.

“
You’re not
our coach, you can’t tell us what to do,” he challenged.

“
I’m your
captain, you little
bitch
.” Hunter spat back
truculently.

“
I don’t give
a fuck. I’m not doing any push ups.”

Hunter shoved
him hard and Schmidt hadn’t seen it coming. He tumbled to the floor
but it wasn’t long before he was back on his feet and charging at
Hunter, forcing him to the ground, punching him in the
stomach.

Hunter,
however, was stronger. Maybe he’d subconsciously picked up tactics
from his father, or perhaps it was due to all the nerds he’d beaten
up.

Within
seconds, Hunter had pushed Schmidt off him and scrambled on top of
him. He wasn’t hitting him in the stomach; he was punching him hard
in the face, again and again. Schmidt released the same painful
grunt with each smack and though some of the team tried half
heartedly to pull Hunter off, most were too scared Hunter would
turn on them.

By the time
Coach’s whistle sounded out over the pitch, Schmidt’s face was
covered in dirt and blood. Cuts covered his face, his eyebrow was
bleeding profusely, his lip was cracked and a vein in his eye had
popped.

As Coach
pulled Hunter off of him, Schmidt turned on his side, spewing
mouthfuls of blood on to the grass, as well as the odd tooth. An
amalgamation of snot and blood poured from his broken
nose.

“
What the
hell is going on here
?” Coach yelled at
the team, “Get out of my sight Campbell… GO! I want you in
Principal Andrews’s office first thing tomorrow morning.” He turned
back to Schmidt, huddled on the floor, broken. “Lancer, call an
ambulance.”

Hunter felt
like he was in a dream.

He got up and
walked, not thinking about where he was going at all, but still
knowing exactly where he would end up. He got to the locker room
and stood in front of the sink, rinsing Schmidt’s blood off of his
annihilated knuckles. He looked up at his own face in the mirror;
it was clean except for a glazing of sweat and a few smudges of
Schmidt’s blood.

What had he
just done
?

Already it
felt like another person had beaten the shit out of Schmidt. A
feeling of dread crept into the back of his head.

His father
was going to kill him. He felt his hands shake at the
prospect.

He wasn’t
going to college. He’d get suspended, if not expelled. This is
where his hubris had led him. Everything was spiralling out of his
control so fast. Suddenly he felt helpless and this made him angry.
Overwhelmed.
Scared
.

His head
drooped and he held it in his hands for a couple of seconds, his
elbows leaning on the chilled porcelain sink, before looking up at
himself again, tearful, disgusting, out of control.

He felt his
body shake with rage and he punched the mirror apoplectically,
again and again, like he’d punched Schmidt.

The mirror
shattered into a thousand pieces and the shrill shriek of breaking
glass seemed to resonate horrifically loudly for what felt like
hours.

The tiny
shards of glass caught in Hunter’s open wounds started to sting
viciously and he washed his hands again, as if it would fix the
mess he’d made.

Finally, he
slumped to the ground, feeling empty and pathetic.

He heard the
door creak open and raised his head wearily to see Ryan come in,
checking the changing room for his friend.

When he
spotted Hunter he approached him slowly, a downcast look on his
handsome face. Ryan dropped to the floor next to him, watching him
sadly.

“
What
happened out there?” He asked, his deep voice breaking the gloomy
silence. Hunter shrugged, realizing the explanation for his actions
would take up more energy than he was willing to spend on it at the
present time.

“
Why did you
do that?” Ryan whispered, his voice sounded almost afraid. His best
friend of nearly eighteen years was scared of him, just when he
didn’t think he could feel any worse.

After a long
pause Hunter answered him.

“
I don’t
know
”

Every
syllable uttered seemed hideously loud, like the mirror smashing
all over again.

“
What’s
happened to you man? You’ve changed.” Ryan proclaimed, pulling away
from Hunter slightly, like he was once again expecting him to
resort to violence when he heard something he didn’t
like.

Instead
Hunter dropped his head into his hands,

“
I know,” he
muttered into his palms, “
I
know
”.

Ryan edged
closer again, as he realized Hunter wasn’t going to hurt
him,

“
I miss the
old you, we could have fun together, it wasn’t always so tense, and
you weren’t always so on edge about everything. The guys are scared
to say anything in case you disagree and punch one of them… That’s
not what friends do.”

Hunter shook
his head in his hands “I know I’ve been different. I’ve been so
unhappy lately, I don’t even know why, I just feel so unsatisfied,
like nothing is going my way. I guess I took it out on everyone
else without really realizing… or without really
caring
” he corrected
himself. “I just feel like I need to be invincible all the time,
like I always need to be the best or I’ll be a laughing
stock.”