20

Chapter 20 Henry was standing over Victorz and watching him nervously as he lay motionlessly in bed. It had been two nights since they had found his broken arm. Since then he hadn't said much. He hadn't spoken to Henry either. He wasn't really interested in talking at all, but at least that gave him something else to focus on. At least this way he wouldn't have to think about all of the horrible things that had happened to him that day. He had taken three painkillers when his mother woke him up this morning, but it didn't seem to have helped in any way. On top of everything else that was happening, Victorz was starting to get extremely sick of the constant smell of antiseptic that filled his apartment. After the third attempt at eating had ended in failure, he'd taken another two sleeping pills to try and stop vomiting. By midday, he was completely exhausted. He was lying in his bed staring up at the ceiling and fighting off drowsiness as best he could. He kept thinking about the dream he had had a few hours before, when he had awoken. It was the only thing which allowed him to stay awake for longer periods of time. Whenever he thought about it, he remembered it differently: it wasn't just a nightmare, although that part still remained blurry in his mind, it was more like a memory. Or maybe just a memory that he imagined. He couldn't be sure. Either way, that part was what kept his thoughts away from dwelling too deeply into the fact that his father had punched him, or that he was in a mental institution, and that he would probably never see Harry Potter ever again. Not that he would ever want to anyway. He'd rather watch a film that his parents hadn't seen than that old musical. He must have fallen asleep at some point because he could see the sun slowly sinking behind the horizon through the window. A few seconds later he could hear a car pulling into the garage and the sound of footsteps climbing the stairs leading to the bedroom. That was odd. Usually his father didn't come home till late at night. Maybe he was just tired. He wouldn't be too surprised. But even still, he didn't come in and start ranting about how bad a job Victor was doing, or how badly Victor fucked up. He didn't come in to yell and curse him, which he usually would have when he found out what had happened. Instead, he walked over to where he was laying, reached down, grabbed him by his arms, and forced him upwards so that he could stand. Then he walked straight over to the bathroom mirror and began to brush his teeth. Suddenly Victor felt scared. He didn't remember what his father was planning to do next. He hoped whatever it was that he was planning would work; if it didn't, then things might get worse for both of them. He looked around and saw that his father had gone over to his desk and pulled out a letter opener and a bunch of different colored plastic pens. Victor suddenly understood what he was going to do next. Victor watched as his father began to carve letters and numbers into the side of the bathtub until it was full. Once he had finished with that he placed the paper towels aside, picked up one of the pen tubes that were sitting on the table beside the sink, and began to draw a big circle next to his initials. When he was done, he wrote a few words in blocky letters underneath his name in red ink. Then he used one of the pens that he had previously been using to draw a heart above his own initials. That made it clear exactly what he was supposed to do; his father wanted him to write his name next to his name. He quickly wrote down the words that were written across the surface and then pushed the tub closer to the wall and stepped back to admire his work. He was quite proud of himself and decided that it was a very good idea, but he still wasn't certain whether or not it would work. The problem was that he didn't know how his father would react to his new handwriting. He had a feeling that his reaction would differ from one person to another, and he honestly couldn't predict the reaction that his father would have. But if this worked, at least it would prove something. He'd be proven wrong, once again. He would still have no proof that his father hadn't actually intended to kill him; after all, that was what people did in real life, they killed each other. But in the end, this was what he wanted to happen. No matter how much this may hurt him, he would rather suffer than continue living like this. Victorz was so lost in his own thoughts that he jumped when he heard the keys jingle in the lock. He turned around, ready to face his inevitable demise, but was instead greeted by the sight of Harry Potter walking out of the elevator. What a great thing it would be if he was dead, he thought. "Good evening Mr Potter," greeted Henry. "Hello Henry." "So, are you going somewhere?" asked Henry curiously. "Going out?" "Well yeah I guess," said Harry nonchalantly. "It's Friday night. Wherever I am is fine with me." He glanced at the clock hanging on the wall. "It's already half past eight.