“How old are you, Patrick?”
“Ten,” I whispered just as the officer freed me.
“There you go. Are you okay?”
I looked down at my wrists.
“How did you end up tied to the chair, Patrick?”
Sebastian.
“Uh, officer, please don’t talk to him. He’s been a mute until moments before you arrived, and he struggles to process things,” Dad hollered out the screen door.
“Did you just start talking, Patrick?”
I nodded.
“Do you understand me, okay?”
I nodded.
“Can you tell me how you ended up tied to the chair?”
“Stepbrother,” I whispered.
“Did your dad spank you tonight?”
No, not tonight. This morning when he came into my room he did. But not tonight.
I shook my head to answer his question and then looked back inside because an officer in there had asked Dad what happened tonight.
“My stepson was out of control and was doing something dangerous with my son out there. He had him tied to the chair and doing some makeshift waterboarding experiment on the patio. My son doesn’t speak, other than out of fear from tonight.”
“Did your stepson tie him to the chair?” the officer in front of me asked Dad.
“Yes.”
“Can we see your stepson?”
From where I sat, I saw Dad walking toward the stairs where he yelled for Sebastian.
“Do you and your stepbrother get along?” the officer asked me. I shook my head.
When Sebastian came downstairs, the officers talked to him, Raquel, and Dad again. Sebastian wasn’t as mouthy as he usually was. They had Sebastian take off his shirt, and when the officers saw the marks on him, they said they were going to take Dad to the station for a while. Raquel, Sebastian, and Dad all said that the other marks were caused by him fighting with me and his friends at school.
“Think of this as a cooling down period for everyone,” an officer said.
I went inside with the officer after the other officers took Dad outside. Raquel was on the phone with someone, and Sebastian sat quietly on the couch. I went to my room and shut and locked the door. I didn’t trust Sebastian after tonight. Especially since Dad told Sebastian that he hadn’t said he could murder me. I didn’t understand everything about what Sebastian had done, but I knew I never wanted to feel like that again.
Fourteen years old /8th Grade/March
Iwatched three students bring up the attendance folders and set them in the wire basket on the counter. They were probably the good kids in each of their classes. The trustworthy ones. The ones the teachers gave a fuck about and selected them first for everything.
I used to be one of those kids.
But not anymore.
My goals used to include doing well in school so my fucking father would give me an ounce of credit. That goal died a long time ago. Now, I strived to do just enough to land myself detention so I could prolong going home. Sebastian was in high school, and his goal in life was to make my life as miserable as possible. And no one gave a fuck.
