Home is Where the Hatred Is .ೀ Jackie. Jackson
synopsis, you have an abusive stepfather and you're tired, so you go to your boyfriend about it ˎˊ˗
somewhat proofread, based off a request!
cw; talk of abuse, drinking, cutting of the face!
(btw Jackie's brothers are all around the same age in this)
Los Angeles October 12, 1974 — 9:43 p.m.
"𝘏𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵,"
"𝘔𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘢 𝘪𝘧 𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯"
ℋate was a strong word, but how you felt towards that man was stronger.
He always looked at you funny, always telling you what to do. His eyes would linger a little too long, making your skin crawl before he'd bark another order at you. You did what he asked, strictly to avoid confrontation. You would run down to the cheap liquor store downtown and pick up some more cigars and alcohol. Jim Beam. Old Crow. Whatever was cheapest that week. You never argued with him. You'd learned a long time ago that talking back only made things worse. He got violent, and you knew better than to test his temper.
You never breathed a word of it to your boyfriend Jackie. Never told him about the small bruises you hid beneath long sleeves and collars, not about the way your stomach twisted every time you heard his truck pull into the driveway.
Jackie would ask you, repeatedly, hearing how much you complained about him, but you never explained it to him.
You'd always find a way around the question. A small smile, a quick "I'm fine," anything to keep him from looking too closely. Because you knew Jackie. He had a good heart, and if he knew what was really happening, all hell would break loose probably.
And the last thing you wanted was for your problems to become his.
One day you were waiting for him, he was about to perform with his brothers, The Jacksons. You leaned against the wall, quietly watching everyone rush around while Jackie finished getting ready. A few moments later, he walked over in his outfit and handed you a cold soda.
His eyes looked over you before he spoke, "You been lookin' tired lately," he said, studying your face. You shrugged, forcing a small smile. "I'm alright, I promise."
Jackie gave you a look, something was on his mind, he wasn't sure if he should ask but he did. He just wanted to know, he got tired of pondering. "Baby can I ask you something?" he asks you quietly leaning against a wall. You nodded to him, taking a small sip from the can, it felt cold against your fingertips.
"…Why you still lettin' him stay there?"
The question caught you off guard, you stopped yourself from taking another sip, based off how much you told Jackie, that question was fair.
Jackie shook his head lightly, "I mean, if he don't work, don't help pay no bills… why not just put him out?"
You laughed quietly at the question, there wasn't anything funny except that you asked yourself that same question, time and time again.
"If only it was that easy," you sighed.
Your fingers played with the tab on your soda can as you stared at the floor, you then told him a bit.
"Mama's been in the hospital for almost three weeks now. The doctors say she should be home soon. They just wanna keep an eye on her a little longer" you said the first part, letting the situation settle. Jackie's expression softened as he leaned in to listen.
"Trust...I thought about putting him out, many times. But if he comes back mad..." You swallowed. "My mama's the one that'll have to deal with him while I'm at work, and I couldn't do that to her."
You then glanced up, "So… I started saving. Every paycheck. Every little extra dollar I had. I figured if I kept working, kept saving… I'd have enough to get me and Mama a little apartment somewhere."
A small smile tugged at your lips, but it didn't last, "Hospital bills ain't cheap, though. It's taking longer than I thought."
Jackie didn't say anything, he was still trying to process everything you'd just told him and for once, you just needed to talk.
"I ain't tell her how bad it's gotten," you admitted quietly. "Every time I go see her, I tell her everything's alright. I don't need her sittin' in that hospital bed worried 'bout me when she need to be gettin' better."
You forced another little smile, "...I just needed a little more time."
Now, you were exhausted. You've just gotten off work at your high school. You graduated a while back, but you still had a love for the school. So naturally, you became a guidance counselor. You spent your mornings and afternoons helping younger students fill out job applications, write résumés, and figure out what came after graduation. Some of them had dreams bigger than the town they grew up in, and you liked being the one to tell them they could make it. It was the one part of your day that made you feel useful.
No matter how bad things were at home, you always greeted those kids and your coworkers with warm smiles. They never knew the truth, that the girl encouraging everyone else to chase a better life dreaded going back to her own.
All in all you had a plan, one thing on your mind, leaving. But leaving wasn't as easy as packing a suitcase and walking out the door. Your mom was still lying in that hospital bed, no matter how much anger you carried toward the man who made your home unbearable, you couldn't bring yourself to leave her behind.
So you stayed, you took it.
By the time you reached the front porch, your warm smile had faded. You eased the front door open, already bracing yourself for the worst. The familiar smell hit you first, cheap cigars, stale whiskey, and a house that hadn't felt like a home in years. You looked over the area, you hardly recognized it. The plant your mamma watered every two days was now a dim brown, it's leaves crinkled from the lack of attention. You walked pass the cross hanging on the decorated wall, but it didn't make the place feel any holier, it just sat there quiet, crooked, and yet you still hoped for better.
Your nose scrunched as a sudden cough caught in your throat.
"Cover your damn mouth," your stepdad snapped walking out from the cut of the hallway.
You glanced up just long enough to see him shuffle into the light. There he was, looking like a drunk old fool. His wrinkled flannel hung half-buttoned, stubble covered his jaw, and the stale smell of whiskey seemed to follow him wherever he went. He looked like he'd been drinking since the sun came up.
You didn't bother greeting him or anything. There wasn't any point. Instead, you set the paper grocery bags on the counter and started putting away canned goods and a loaf of bread.
"Groceries?" he muttered, making his way over. "Where the hell'd you get the money for all this?"
"I have a job," you answered flatly, not even looking at him.
He let out a dry scoff. "How much he pay you for?"
Your jaw tightened, he said it as if the only way you could have money was if somebody had you in an act. You were ready to say something, but you held your tongue. Before you could move the next bag, he shoved past you, nearly knocking your shoulder into the counter as he started digging through it with both hands.
You already knew what he was looking for.
"There ain't no liquor in there," you said, your voice calm despite the knot tightening in your stomach. "I bought food."
His rough hands stopped for a second. Then he looked up at you, disappointment quickly hardening into a burning irritation. "You bout just as helpful as a low down whore."
You took in a deep breath and ignored him. He scoffed as he watched you put up the groceries. You felt his stare, just cold, not even your jacket could shield away his hateful spirit.
"I don't know why you still at that school," he muttered. "You need to get a real job."
Funny, you thought. The fifty something year old man squatting in your home had the nerve to tell you to get a real job. What you did was a real job, Lord knows his ass probaly didn't even know what a homophone was. Yet, he had the nerve to act like he knew everything.
As you put up cans of food you spoke, "It would be nice if you could help," was all you said.
His face twisted up, "I do help. I take care of the home and your mother while you run off with that little boyfriend of yours."
"Jackie has nothing to do with this," you muttered back. Unlike him, Jackie actually cared about your well being, and helped you when you needed it. All your stepdad did was sit in the same spot on that old couch with a bottle in his hand, while you handled everything else. You were the one working. You were the one trying to keep things together. You were the one visiting your mother at the hospital and worrying about bills.
And yet someway, somehow, he always found a way to make you feel like you were the problem.
"Do you even know when the light bill is due?" you tried to keep your irritation to a minimum.
"It's the 15th ain't it? I told Clarissa."
You made a face, 'Clarissa?'
That same name that seemed to come up every few nights when he'd disappear for a little too long or come home smelling more boozes and a cheap perfume. You didn't dig deep into it, he already told on himself.
You just looked at him before letting out a quiet scoff, "No, it's not. It's the 10th," you corrected.
"You'd know that if you actually checked the mail instead of digging through it looking for some new magazine. You better be glad I paid it or else we'd be sitting in the dark," you muttered the last part under your breath, but not quietly enough.
He turned his head slow at you, "What'd you say?" he said, his eye cocked at you.
You felt an argument coming on, but you couldn't hold your tongue any longer. It got to a point where you were tired of being quiet.
"I said if it wasn't for me, we'd be sitting in the damn dark!" Your voice echoed through the room.
"You hear that?" you questioned him.
You then started rounding up all the bags, "You tell me get a real job but you sit your ass in my momma's house all day doing absolutely nothing, letting everything fall on everybody else."
"You don't pay nothing, you don't clean nothin, you don't help with a damn thing," you say angrily as you listed out your frustration on your fingers. "Just lay there on your ass."
"The least you could do is wash some dishes, pick up after yourself, or try to help with these bills. But no, you'd rather sit on that couch with a bottle in your hand, drinking your life away like that's gonna fix something."
You pointed toward the liquor sitting nearby.
"That's all you care about. Your boozes and liquor, you walk around here acting like you're some kind of man, but you ain't done a damn thing to prove it. You're grown as hell, living off my momma and me, and you still have the nerve to talk down to me? Telling me I need a real job when I'm the one keeping this house together? Talking about you help? With what?"
You then laughed bitterly, all the anger you kept inside finally started to pour out. "It's like you don't even care! Just selfish, bitter and an old bastard who does nothing but make everybody around him miserable. I don't know what my momma saw in you, but its nothing but a lie."
You stood there in the kitchen, beyond pissed at his lack of help, his lack of care. You couldn't take this anymore. While you were physically mad and tired, he stood there, and then, he laughed. The sound of his laugh made your flesh crawl, how could he just laugh at something like this?
He stared at you, almost like he couldn't believe you had finally said it. "Look at you," he said quietly. "Got a little job and suddenly you think you're better than me?"
His crooked smile faded as he walked closer, "You be forgetting who you're talking to, after everything I've done for you and your momma, this is how you talk to me? You think because you got some little job at that school, you know what it means to be grown?"
He then stepped closer, his jaw tightening. "I'd oughta bust you in the mouth for speaking to me that way."
"Well go head then!" you shouted at him. "Because nothing you do is going to change the fact that what I said was true. All of it."
The words left your mouth before you could stop them, for a second, everything went quiet. And that's when it happened. His face darkened, his anger on his face wasn't loud anymore, it was colder. The kind of look that made your stomach twist it's own self because you knew you had pushed him past the point of just yelling.
You heard it, the sharp sound of glass shifting. Your eyes moved toward his hand, and your heart dropped.
"Don't—" your voice went quiet. But you were too late.
The room erupted into chaos. Everything happened so fast that your mind struggled to catch up. In that moment, you realized something. You couldn't just continue stay there, saving up on your money, you had to leave now. You held your face as you felt blood slip form your cheek. You felt tears start to rise but you held them back. You couldn't cry, not in front of him.
"You think this makes you ," you say bitterly. You eyes were stinging and your face was hot. The pain hurted, you pressed your hand against the cut.
He scoffed before walking closer, that cracked bottle still in his rugged hand. "I see you still ain't learn to cover your mouth."
Your body went cold as if winter just came around the corner. The bottle, ready to cut across your face again for the second time. Forget the groceries. Forget the bills. Forget everything you had spent months trying to save. None of it mattered if you couldn't even feel safe in your own home.
You ran around to grab your coat and rushed toward the front door, your hands trembling as you fumbled with the handle.
"Where the hell do you think you're going?" his voice shouted behind you. He came marching after you, saying a bunch of swears at you.
You didn't answer to any of it, you didn't even turn back. You just ran out the house. The second your feet hit the porch, you heard him moving behind you.
Your heart pounded as you pushed yourself faster, the cold air burning your lungs. You didn't look back. You couldn't. For once, you weren't worried about upsetting him. You weren't worried about keeping the peace or turning the other cheek, because that same cheek you turned had now been cut. It was now a reminder of what happened when you didn't put yourself first. Now, you just wanted to save yourself. There was one place you could go, it wasn't too far. You had to tell Jackie.
At the Jackson house, you were always welcomed. You rushed up the front steps, your hands shaking as you knocked quickly on the door. Your breathing was heavy, uneven, and your legs felt like they were finally catching up to how far you had pushed yourself.
You could still feel the stinging on your face, the reminder of everything that had just happened. A small amount of blood still stained your cheek, but you didn't care. You just needed someone.
Some footsteps came to the door and it opened. There stood Jackie, calm as ever, but his eyes widened when he saw you. His eyes scanned your face, taking in the blood smeared across your cheek and the way your chest rose and fell with every shaky breath.
He was at your side before you could say a word, wrapping his arms around you like he was afraid you'd fall apart if he let go. "What happened?" His voice shook in panic. "Talk to me. Who did this?"
A few tears finally came rolling down your face, you couldn't speak just yet, all the words you were about to say formed into quiet sobs under your breath. You weren't okay, you finally realized that. You couldn't keep this held in anymore. As you held onto Jackie, you cried more and more.
"Hey… hey, c'mon, baby," Jackie said softly, his arms tightening around you. "You're okay. Come inside."
He gently guided you into the house and shut the door behind you, making sure it was locked before turning back to you.
"Easy… easy," his hands came up to cradle your face, careful not to touch the blood on your cheek. His brows pulled together as he looked you over, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.
"Lord…" He swallowed hard, forcing himself to stay calm, he sat you down on the couch. He wanted to freak out himself, you came almost in the middle of the night with your face cut. He searched your face, his voice barely above a whisper, "Baby… who did this to you?"
Another sob escaped your lips before you could stop it.
"He…" Your voice cracked. You swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself. "He cut me," you finally said.
A breathy cry was let out as you said against Jackie, "Was arguin' with him…couldn't hold my tongue anymore," you shook your head slightly. "He told me, he outa buss me in the mouth and then I yelled at em. Then he,… he just cut that bottle across my face."
"He was gonna do it again.... I couldn't get my stuff...none of it....I..." another small cry left your lips.
You kept your voice quiet, almost too quiet. In a sense, you were embarrassed. The last thing you wanted was to make a scene in the Jackson house. You didn't want everyone rushing in because of you.
"He cut you?" Jackie asked lowly. Jackie heard just small bits and pieces about your step father, but never the whole truth, you've always kept it from him.
"It's all my fault," you mumbled to yourself. "I should have been left, I should've just left him alone..."
"Hey hey," he tells you quietly. "Look at me," he tells you. Your teary eyes gently glance over to him. Jackie looked beyond pissed, but he tried to keep his composure for you.
"You didn't make him do that, he did that on his own because he's a old dirty fool who can't control himself. I don't care what y'all argued about or what was said… nobody has the right to put their hands on you."
His grip softened against your face. "You hear me, baby? You didn't deserve any of this." Your heart hurted when he said that, he was right. You carried so much on yourself.
And you blamed yourself because it was easier than admitting the truth.
The truth was... you had been surviving for so long that you forgot none of this was ever supposed to be your burden to carry. Another tear rolled down your cheek as you looked away, your chest tightening.
You were tired, so damn tired.
Jackie felt more anger bubbling underneath his skin, "Matter a fact," he then said. He got up and called two of his brothers, Randy and Tito. There was a seriousness to it you'd never heard before. He was always so soft spoken around you.
"Jackie..." you called his name quietly.
He looked back at you, the anger in his eyes softening the second he saw your face. "I'll be right back."
He disappeared down the hallway and opened the bathroom cabinet, grabbing a clean washcloth and a bottle of peroxide. His movements were quick, almost rushed, but careful all at once.
A moment later, he was back in front of you. He crouched down, gently unfolding the cloth. "Baby m'so sorry," he said quietly.
He felt his chest tightening. His anger started to turn into a deep hatred sitting inside him, seeing you like this hurt him in a way he couldn't explain. The woman who meant so much to him had been hurt. And he wasn't there to stop it.
That thought alone made his eyes sting. How many times had that man put his hands on you? How many times did you tell him everything was fine even though things weren't? He hated that you had been carrying all of this by yourself, he hated that you felt like you had to hide it from him, like you had to suffer quietly just to keep everyone else from worrying.
He gently kissed your forehead , he felt himself almost about to cry.
As his fingers gently held your face, Randy and Tito came from the hallway. They were happy to see you, but their faces changed as soon as they saw the scene. Randy's eyes moved from Jackie, to you, then to the blood on your face. "The hell happened?" he said coming over. Tito look concerned himself but kept quiet.
Jackie looked up at him, his jaw tightening, "Her stepdad."
Those two words alone were enough. Randy's face hardened as he looked at you. He had heard little things before, but nothing that made him think it was this bad. Jackie stayed focused on you, gently wiping your face with a damp cloth.
"He did that?" Randy asked, clearly mad.
Tito looked at Jackie, then back at you, "You alright?" You nodded at them, even though nobody in the room believed you.
"When did this happen?" Randy asked walking over with Tito.
"She just came here," Jackie replied still cleaning your face and drying your eyes. "After I'm done with her," he said, voice low, "I'm gonna need you two to ride with me somewhere."
They didn't even ask where, they already knew and so did you.
"Jackie," you said protesting. "Please don't go back there."
His eyes met yours, "He hurt you," Jackie said quietly. "Smashed a damn bottle against your face, now you sittin' here bleeding." His jaw tightened as he looked away for a second, like he was trying to calm himself down.
"You really think I shouldn't?"
You didn't answer him yet. He sighed, turning his attention back to you. He carefully applied the bandage softly to your face, his touch gentle despite the storm of emotions running through him.
"I ain't gon' kill him if that's what got you worried," he added, almost like he knew that was what you were afraid of. His thumb brushed gently against your cheek.
"But he needs to know he can't do this to you."
"I know, I know. But I'm worried about you, Jackie" you then say to him. "You don't need to be," he assured you.
"Well I told you no," you say raising your voice at him slightly. You sat up against the couh,
"I don't want you going back there. Please, just stay here with me. I'm tired. I ran all the way down here, I just want you to stay. Please," you quietly begged him. You didn't know what would happen if Jackie, Randy and Tito went down there and didn't return, or got into even more trouble. You didn't want to have any trouble with the Jacksons. You just wanted Jackie to stay with you.
"Please," you uttered quietly.
Underneath all the fear, underneath the anger, Jackie heard what you were really asking. You weren't asking him to ignore what just happened, you were asking him to not leave you alone.
He wanted to go down there so bad.
Every part of him wanted to leave the house, walk right back to where it happened, and make sure that man understood what he had done. The anger sitting in his chest felt heavy, almost unbearable.
But then he looked at you.
The way your eyes were tired and hurt, still glossy from you crying so much. The way you were still holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping you steady. That mattered more. He took in a deep breath, swallowing down everything he wanted to say.
"Alright, baby," he said quietly.
His eyes then went to Randy and Tito, who had been standing there the whole time. Randy didn't say anything. Tito just looked at Jackie and shook his head lightly, almost like he understood what he was thinking. Jackie knew that look, he knew Tito was telling him to calm down.
Taking a deep breath, Jackie looked back over at you. "….At least let me take you to the hospital y/n," he said softly, a plea. "You need to get checked out."
His thumb gently rubbed against your hand. "I know you don't wanna go. I know you don't wanna worry nobody… but I need to know you're alright. Make sure you don't need any stitches or anything."
You thought about it, in all honesty it did seem like a good idea. Hell, you've been cut across the face for crying out loud. But all you could think about was your mom.
"My mom's there…" you muttered, almost like you were embarrassed to even say it.
"Been there for a bit, I don't want her seeing me like this."
Jackie's expression softened, he knew exactly what you meant. You weren't just worried about the hospital, you were worried about your mama looking at you and seeing the truth. What you been going through, seeing what you had been trying so hard to hide from everybody.
"Baby…" Jackie said softly. His hand reached over to yours, gently taking your hand. "Your mama ain't gonna be upset with you, this ain't your fault."
You looked down, "I know. I just don't want her worrying about me Jackie. She's already got enough going on."
Jackie sighed, shaking his head slightly. "You always worried about everybody else." His thumb rubbed against your hand, "But right now, you gotta let somebody worry about you."
"I know," you tell him softly. "Just let me rest right now, then we can go" you mumble.
Jackie nodded, something you both could agree on, "Of course. Come here," he said.
Tito and Randy both gave looks at each other. Their footsteps then faded down the hallway, probably going to let the rest of the family know they had company and that something was wrong.
Jackie brought you up close to his chest and closed his arms around you.
"We'll figure this out..."
His hand gently rubbed your back in small circle motions, slow and comforting. As moments went by, your breathing started to sync with his. Slow and quiet, relaxed. His face rested gently against your forehead, his eyes closing for a moment as he held you. Every now and then, he pressed a small kiss against your hair, his arms never leaving.
authors note; girl pls let jackie take you to the hospital....that wasn't no papercut. anywhos this request seemed very detailed and I'm a lil concerned, if you going through something sis pls ask for help💔. if this just a request and nothin happening then excuse me I'm being dramatic lmfao. i'll edit it later!
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