C … o … n … t…
Con-tin-ent, I slowly sounded out in my head.
C … o … n … t … i … n…
I opened my eyes when I heard the crinkle of a package being opened. Chad had taken my Skittles and torn the package open.
“Give them back!” I hissed at him while Mom and Dad argued.
“They don’t have your name on them.”
“Don’t be stupid. You know they’re mine. Hand them over.”
Chad poured the small bag of Skittles into his mouth and flicked the wrapper at me. He sat there grinning at me while he chewed my candy. I hated him. Mom’s scream pulled my attention away from Chad. Dad was still slapping her on the side of the head as she struggled to stand.
“Dad.” I stood up. “It’s my fault. The pants, I mean. I fell at school on the playground.” I swallowed hard and put my hand over my stomach.
“You fell at school?” Dad asked as he stalked toward me.
“Yes, sir.”
“How did you fall?”
With the back of his hand, he wiped some blood from his cheek where Mom had scratched him.
“Huh?”
His hand connected with my face and forced me to turn my head. The empty Skittles wrapper lay close to my feet and was quickly becoming blurry. His huge hands wrapped around my upper arms, and he shook me until I answered.
“Are you a dummy?”
“No, sir.”
“Then how are you falling at school? You letting a kid push you? Huh?”
“No, sir.”
“Then answer me, Ryan! I want to know how the little athlete of the house is a clumsy little shit.”
“I was playing kickball. I dodged a throw and slipped because the ground was wet. It was an accident,” I explained.
“You think I work all day with a terrible commute just for you to wreck the clothes I pay for?”
“No, sir.”
“You discipline him!” Mom yelled as she pushed herself off the ground.
“Get your ass into the kitchen. Soak two dishtowels and take them into my den. Bend over the desk and wait for me.”
He let go of me roughly, causing me to stumble. I trudged to the kitchen with tears running down my face. I threw two dishtowels into the sink and held my stomach as I watched the water saturate the fabric. I made sure that I squeezed out the excess water and headed to Dad’s den with the dishtowels. I folded my arms on his desk that reeked of spilled whiskey and rested my forehead on my arms.
I waited.
And waited.
Continent. C … o … n … t … i … n…
I jumped when I heard the door slam shut, but I didn’t dare raise my head.
