Yeah. Not even close, babe. There’s a special corner of hell where the devil keeps my father.
He shrugged. “Anyway, I came home from school early and heard Dad going at her…”
“Donny, please!” Bran’s mother screamed as he climbed the steps of the porch. The bright winter afternoon was ruined by the crash of something inside the house. “It’s not what you think! I love you!”
Bran dropped his backpack on the porch, his hands clenched into fists, blood on fire.
I warned him! Iwarnedhim!
He wasn’t thinking when he wrenched open the screen door and ran inside to see his mother cringing on the floor by the coffee table, a fresh black eye swelling on her pretty face, a cut near her left temple oozing blood over her ear and shoulder. His father stood above her, face contorted in an evil sneer, ham hock of a fist raised and ready to fly.
“No!” Bran screamed, dismayed when his vocal cords cracked. “You bastard! I told you I’d kill you!” He flew at his father with all the rage inside him.
“Bran, no!” his mother yelled. “Oh, please, God! No, Bran!”
Bran barely heard her over the roar of his fury. He landed the first punch and, to his delight, it whipped his father’s head back.
“How does that feel?” he screeched, his mind numb and at the same time bubbling over with hatred. “How does your own medicine taste?”
Pow!He hit the sonofabitch again, this time in the stomach, and watched with vicious glee as his father wheezed and doubled over.
Finally! His old man was getting his due! And Bran was giving it to him! The ache in his knuckles felt wonderful when he landed another blow on his father’s ear. Blood exploded near his dad’s temple from the keys Bran hadn’t realized he’d still been holding. He reveled in the sight, wished he could drink it in and spit it back into his father’s face.
Red had eased into Bran’s vision upon hearing his mother’s scream. And now he was seeing the world through a crimson film. His heart beat with a terrible rhythm. His lungs burned with vengeance until every breath he took was a hot wind that whipped the fire of his wrath ever higher.
He lost himself. Stopped being Bran and became a thing that punched and kicked, that bit and clawed, that rejoiced in every drop of blood and every grunt of agony. He wanted to hurt. He wanted to maim. He wanted tokill.
His father caught him with a punch below his left eye, and it felt like his entire face exploded. Pain radiated up into his head and scrambled his brains. Another blow landed on his jaw, knocking him off his feet. He fell onto the wood floor with enough force to make his tailbone cry out in misery.
“You little bastard!” his father yelled, spittle flying from his sneering mouth. Bran saw it then. The monster that was wearing his father’s flesh like a skin suit. The ugly, evil thing whose eyes glowed with fury and the ravenous need to hurt.
Bran recognized it because the same thing was inside him, staring out, wanting to smash his father’s face over and over and over again until there was nothing left.
“Fuck you!” he yelled, kicking his father’s knee and grinning when his father howled. The grin slipped from his face when his dad booted him in the mouth. His lips split. Blood gushed over his tongue and down his throat.
“No, Donny! Don’t you dare!” his mother yelled, and Bran looked up to see her launch herself onto his father’s back, clawing at his face.
Through the haze of misery, Bran’s macabre grin returned. It was the first time his mother had fought back. The first time she’d dared raise a hand to big Donny Pallidino.
He wanted to yell, “Good for you, Mom! Good for you!” But his mouth was a mess. And then his father reared back with one of his steel-toed kickers and booted Bran in the head near his right temple.
That was it.
Lights out.
Bran emerged from the memory like he always did. The anger boiling inside him until his skin bubbled. But when he looked at Maddy, at the wetness making her big eyes appear even larger, the monster immediately pulled back until it left no trace of its passing. Not even a shadow.
“So there you have it.” He shuddered, not surprised to hear his voice had gone hoarse. He’d relived that day a million times in his mind. But speaking the words aloud… That was different. “That’s my wreckage.”
“Oh, Bran.” Maddy choked on his name, her nose red and shiny. She seemed to hesitate, unsure of what to do or say next. Then she leapt at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and going up on tiptoe to press her head against his shoulder.
His initial reaction was to shove her away. Shove away the temptation she represented. But for the first time in their history together, her touch didn’t awaken his libido. Instead, it awakened the boy in him. The boy who hadn’t been held in a woman’s arms for any reason other than sex since the last time his mother had hugged him. The boy who, until this very moment, hadn’t realized how much he’dmissedthe affection, the soothing feel of a sympathetic touch, the sweet peace that came from caring for someone and knowing they cared for him too.
Thiswas why he couldn’t ruin their friendship. Becausethiswas sweet and innocent.Thiswas good. And he hadn’t had much of that in his life.
His arms went around her. He buried his nose in her short hair, squeezing his eyes shut. When he breathed deep, he took her scent into him. Maddy. Wonderful Maddy. His friend. His…confidante.
“I w-wish there w-was somethin’ I could say to make it b-better.” A hot tear escaped her eye and seared his bare skin, but he welcomed the burn. Maybe because he had no more tears to shed himself, and it felt good she was sharing hers in some small way.
