Caring (A Shadow of Doubt Part 4)

Brent woke up. He was in his bedroom. Today was another usual day, a Wednesday to be exact. He was unsure what he was suppose to be doing, but, with the quick blink and rub of his eyes, his schedule fell into place. Study, study and more study. He began to think there was nothing more to life. He took one leg from underneath his blanket, then another. He imagined the carpet to be tickling his feet, but he couldn't feel it. Stupidly he went to stand up, only to immediately fall straight down, like an imploding building. Due to poor circulation, Brent would usually wake up with his legs below his knees being completely numb. Instead of picking himself up, he just led there and looked to the ceiling. He was miserable and depressed, but it was very deep down.
No one would know. No one could know.
After a few exercises and a new set of clothes, Brent was ready for breakfast. Donning his casual shirt, bow-tie and jumper combo, he served himself his favorite, bran flakes. Basic to some, a small scoop of sugar would make the bowl come alive for Brent. He was an odd person, but in his world, he was king. Picking up the bowl, he went in search for his satchel. He never really needed his satchel nor the cereal for a library day. Usually it would be a simple piece of buttered bread and a cup of coffee, then out the door before his mother had awoken. It was in the living room. This was a problem. After a night in front of the blazing bright TV, his mother would drink until she passed out. She would then wake up late in the morning, ready to cash out her welfare check, or in the case of every other-other day, out to buy more booze and abuse the neighbors on the walk home. She was out cold this time, but the satchel was in the corner of the living room, near the TV. Brent was usually more careful that this. He didn't know what had gotten into him. He quietly put down the bowl and made his way into the living room. He tried his best not to walk past the scary woman. She still hadn't forgiven him for attempting to empty her bourbon bottles to “help” her. He felt her anger that night and would never go back that way again. Slightly tripping on the TV remote, Brent balanced himself out, tip-toed quickly and grabbed his satchel. She began to groan and wake up. Brent was in trouble. He knew he had to get out and get out soon. He attempted to walk back to the kitchen, but her eyes were opening. He immediately dropped that thought and ran back through the living room, toward the door. She noticed and picked herself up, screaming.
“You little bastard, what have you done now?!”
She made an attempt to grab his satchel, but narrowly missed. She chased him to the door. Brent had never been so frightened in his life. He hit the wall and swung the front door open, diving straight out of it. He had to run at least five hundred meters past the stop sign before she stopped chasing him. He didn't stop running though. Just another day in hell.