You come from somewhere normal like the Carson’s, where the only worry is whether Sierra did her fucking homework, to this.
Shitsville.
The door opens, and Mom appears, sporting a dark-red gash on her cheek.
I stiffen, my eyes bulging as she glances anxiously at my dad—the fucking pig.
“What the fuck did he do now?” I growl, my fists clenching at my sides. “When will you learn, Mom? He’s a fucking monster.”
Mom forces a smile, waving my words away like they’ve never been said, her watery blue eyes locking onto mine.
“I fell; it wasn’t your father.”
I close my eyes, knowing if she is lying to me, it’s worse than before.
I follow her into the house, the smell of bleach and disinfectant filling my nose.
She always does this when he hurts her. She cleans.
“You fell?” I repeat, turning her chin in my hand. “Down what, an iceberg?”
Her face looks like it’s been burned or scratched. I can’t make it out, but she’s refusing to let me look.
“Crane. Stop this; I’ve missed you. How’s Kai?”
I swallow my anger, knowing if Dad and I go at it again, Mom will end up getting hurt in the crossfire.
She rubs a hand through her hair, once long and dark, now cropped short for “easier management.”
More like Dad didn’t like the attention she got, so he made her stop wearing makeup and cut her hair short.
She’s still beautiful, though, so fuck him.
“Where the fuck haveyoubeen?”
I grimace at the sneer that comes from behind me, my mom's eyes widening with panic as she darts a look around the kitchen.
“Hey, baby, let me get you a coffee,” she mumbles, turning to fuss over the dickhead that is my father.
“I don’t wantcoffee. I’m drinking beer,” Dad snaps, tugging open the fridge door. “I asked you a question, Crane. Fucking answer me.”
Mom pleads with me with her eyes, but my jaw gives away my reaction. Jabbing a finger into my chest, Dad sneers at me.
“Think you’re the big guy, huh?”
I lock eyes with Mom, her tongue wetting her lips as he follows my gaze with glossy eyes.
“Why the fuck did I get stuck with such fucking losers?” Dad shoves past me, the stench of stale beer making me gag.
“Coffee?” Mom whispers, her teeth sinking into her lip.
“You’re too good for this. Let’s leave him, go somewhere?—”
“Crane!” Mom hisses, slamming her hands on the counter. “He’s suffering. This isn’t him!”
My nostrils flare as I stare at her cheek, her thin frame, and her puffy eyes.
Mom had me at seventeen, so she’s still young, despite what she thinks.
