I knew I had to hide the damage from people at the school, so despite the ninety-degree weather, I pulled a long sleeve shirt from the back of my closet and buttoned it up all the way. I had a lot of experience with covering bruises at that point, so I had broken out this cover up makeup I’d ordered on the internet. It was designed to cover tattoos, but it worked just as well on bruises. I haltingly moved through the rest of my morning routine, barely getting dressed and to the first floor in time to make my bus.
He had been sitting at his normal spot at the kitchen table, dry toast and orange juice in front of him. His badge shone in the morning sunlight, the reflected light dancing over the kitchen as he ate and read his paper.
He looked up at me, his eyes narrowing as he watched me limp around the kitchen as I packed my lunch. I was desperate to get out of there before something set him off, but I didn’t have any money. If I didn’t pack my lunch, I knew I’d go hungry all day.
“You are a worthless piece of shit,” he said, his voice deep and rumbling, a hint of a southern accent in it that he’d picked up since we moved to Florida. “If you weren’t such a miserable excuse for a son, you wouldn’t make me angry like that.”
I froze as he spoke. After a few months of his attacks, I knew better than to answer or try to defend myself. After a moment of silence, I threw the last of my lunch items in a paper bag and stuffed it in my backpack. I’d rather starve than stay another minute in that room.
I made my way to the door that led out the back of the house, but stopped as he growled, “How did you hurt yourself?”
“What?” I asked in surprise, looking at him. What the fuck? He knew I didn’t hurt myself.
He stood slowly, adjusting his belt over the paunch that had been growing larger and larger since Mom left, causing his gun and other items to shift at his waist. I swallowed as I saw his riot baton sway against his thigh in its holder. A wave of nausea shot through me as he walked calmly over next to me and set his dishes in the sink. I desperately wanted to shrink away from him, but that was a surefire way to draw his ire.
“Are you deaf now, too?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.
“No, sir,” I said, voice low and eyes downcast. “I… I just don’t… understand the—the question,” I stammered.
“How didyouhurtyourself?” he repeated, his voice strangely calm as he emphasized the words.
Realization dawned on me, and I felt the blood rush to my face. Of course, I had to have a story for the bruises Ihadn’tbeen able to cover.
“Oh. Um, I was, uh… putting some boxes in the… the attic and the ladder—” I stopped quickly as I saw his hand tighten slightly around his belt. I was going to say the ladder broke, but that might indicate some kind of negligence on his part. Can’t have that… “—I mean, I slipped on the ladder, and, um, fell.”
He nodded and stepped away.
“You need to be more careful, boy,” he said
I bit my tongue and escaped out the door just barely making it to the bus stop in time. I managed to make it to school that day, and the next. On the third day when I got my fourth tardy of the day for being late to a class, I got sent to the Principal’s office.
Mr. Lartner was a decent enough guy, but he had five hundred students and not enough staff. I was a kid with good grades from a “good” family. My being late because of an injured ankle was low on his priority list.
I’d given him my story about falling down the ladder and he’d sent me to the school nurse. She’d been certain enough that I had a broken ankle that she’d taken me to the hospital herself, which was where I met Dr. Dunwoody.
Vivian and I had been acquaintances for a while. When Dr. Dunwoody heard my father wouldn’t be able to pick me up, he had called his daughter. When her dad realized we knew each other, he had called her from the hospital. She had picked me up from the emergency room and agreed to hide my crutches for me so my dad wouldn’t see them. Of course, I hadn’t counted on the fact that the hospital would have billed his insurance. But by the time the charges came through, I had healed enough that a few new bruises hadn’t mattered.
“I tried to convince Dad this was a project for school, but he didn’t buy it,” Vivian said, her voice bringing me back to the present.
“You never were good at lying,” Dr. Dunwoody said, smiling affectionately at his daughter. “We used to tell her when she was lying the devil jumped up and down in her eyes. It was pretty easy to tell when she was fibbing, because she wouldn’t look at us.”
She smiled up at her father, and I was so jealous in that moment, and I hated myself for it. Why couldn’t my father have been like Dr. Dunwoody? Why couldn’t he love me, unconditionally, instead of hating me for something that wasn’t even my fault?
I squashed the green-eyed monster back in its closet.
“I—I don’t even know what to say,” I murmured, looking at these wonderful people.
“You don’t need to say anything,” Mrs. Dunwoody interjected. “You just need to take this opportunity to make a life for yourself, somewhere safe from that man.”
Before I could comment, or allow more tears to overwhelm me, Dr. Dunwoody spoke. “There are antibiotics and pain medication in there, too,” he said, nodding at the box. “You are always welcome to call me, though. I know you are a responsible young man, but you make sure you follow the directions on the packaging, you hear me?”
I just nodded as I clutched the box in my hands, unable to comprehend how I had ended up with friends like Vivian and her parents.
Vivian reached out and wrapped her arm around my shoulders as my vision blurred with happy tears.
“Vivian, this is so much. Too much. My god,” I set the box down and shook my head, scrubbing at my face as the tears overflowed. “You are the most amazing fucking woman in the world,” I said, wrapping both my arms around her and pulling her close.
“Nah, I just love you way too much to let that bastard put his hands on you ever again,” she said.
