I hear the front door slam shut and my spine straightens. Fear blacks out my vision briefly, and flight kicks in as I book it out of his bedroom. I don’t make it through the threshold before he’s on me. I never heard the car door.
“What are you doing in my room, boy?” He snarls. Ronnie Dickinson reeks of BO and beer, his hair greasy and tangled as it hangs to his shoulders. He’s tall—a bit taller than me—and pretty well built due to the labor at the shop. All in all—he’s fucking terrifying. I cower away, stumbling over a metal pipe on the floor, scratching away at my wrist.
“N-nothing. I just came to say hi to Mom.”
“You can say hi to the dead bitch, but don’t bother to stop in and make sure your own dad is breathing?” He laughs, stepping toward me. “Where have you been? Don’t tell me you’ve been with that little rich boy again. Are you sure you’re not gay, Benny? You’re up that guy’s ass too much for a straight guy. Are you letting him fuck you for room and board?”
My face heats at the accusation. I’ve heard it all before—but after last night it feels a bit too real. I hear him scoff.
“Are you shitting me? Are you serious?” He looks at me in disgust.
“No, I’m not. I’m not doing that.” I say quietly—keeping my eyes on the floor.
“Don’t lie to me, faggot.” He is in front of me in a second. I choke on the smell of his BO as he grabs my throat in a death grip. “I didn’t raise you to take it from the back like some pansy. You need to stay here. Clean this place up. Take careof your old man.” He drops me onto the floor where I choke on air, trying to regain my full vision. “It’s what your mother would have wanted.”
Fuck this guy. Seriously? He doesn’t get to speak on what Mom wanted. He doesn’t deserve it, doesn’t have the right. I glare up at him and as he looks back down at me and notices, a sick, sadistic glee brightens his eyes. No matter how many times we do this dance, I give him what he wants. I can’t seem to stop myself.
“You glaring, boy? Think you’re so tough? Alright then—let’s see if you can take me this time.” He drags me up to my feet and I don’t get time to straighten up before his fist connects with my jaw.
Pain blossoms throughout my face, my mouth filling with the metallic taste of my own blood. His other fist rains down in rapid succession—landing against my temple—and when I blink again, I’m somehow on the floor. Dad kicks me in the stomach. Once, twice, three times. I can feel the air rush out of me—I can feel my ribs curving to the shape of his steel-toe boots. When he takes a second to breathe, I hold up a hand in surrender.
“I’m sorry, Dad. I’m sorry.”
“Too late for that, Benjamin. One of us will be down before this ends—and just like every other unfortunate time I’ve had to see your face—it will be you.”
Kicks and punches rain down on me, and all I can do is cry and plead. The pain doesn’t even register anymore. If I’m honest—the pain isn’t even a problem. It’s the evidence. I’ll have to lie to Felix to go back and it makes me sick. I’ve done so good for so long now.
“Please Dad—please. I’m sorry.” I cry, guarding my face and skull. He laughs loudly.
“I’m sure you are, you fucking whore. I’m sure you are.”
His boot comes down on my head and everything around me disappears.
???
When I wake again it’s dark outside. Dad is nowhere to be seen as I lift my head from the dried blood on the floor. At least I only have to go down once this time. Rushing to the bathroom, I wash away as much of the blood as possible, looking over the damage. Bruises on my jaw—the left side of my face at the temple—and my throat. My bottom lip is busted, as well as my right eyebrow. I check my arms and pull my shirt up to see the scattered bruises littering my body. But nothing is broken and my ribs only feel bruised. Taking that silent win—I throw on a hoodie and some jeans to cover obvious marks. Then, I say a quiet goodbye to Mom and slip out the front door.
It’s a bit cooler out now that the sun is gone and I miss the feeling of its warmth. I have nothing to calm me now, not until I’m looking at Felix. But even then—with an essay that spells out my childhood scattered all over my body—I doubt I’ll be feeling peace around him for a bit. I find myself scratching away at my wrist again, reopening the scabs there.
Which if I’m honest—is the least of my worries.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and finally check it as I approach the Archer residence. 9 P.M. I have several messages from Felix—the last asking me to call him since I disappeared. Sighing, I quietly slip into the front door. I plan on sneaking up to Felix’s room and finding a way out of his questions, then asking for him to help me cover it all up. All of that goes to shit when I pass the den and Greg calls out to me.
“Bear. Come sit, son.”
I take a deep breath and steel myself, willing my hands to stop shaking. I just need to play it off. No biggie. I turn to my right to see Greg and Tina sitting on the couch—Felix on the recliner, Amber sitting on the floor in front of him—and Aaron standing in front of the TV. None of them look happy.
I knew this would happen eventually. I could only insert myself into their family for so long, and they’ve graciously given me eight years. I step down the step that leads into the den and stay standing close to the threshold—as if to leave open a quick escape.
“Listen, Benny Bear—” Tina starts and I see the sadness in Felix’s eyes.
“It’s okay.” I blurt out. I can’t hear it straight up. This kind of rejection from the only people I have in this world—it will crush me. I have to leave on my own terms. “I understand so please don’t say it.” Tina looks around at her party members before tentatively asking—
“You do?”
“Yes.” I swallow thickly. “I really appreciate the space you guys have given me these past years and I’ll never forget that. I’m very grateful. I understand that everything runs its course.” I try my best to smile. “I’ll just grab a few things if you don’t mind.” There’s a silence that lasts one beat, then two. “Or not, I can just go—”
“Button—” Aaron steps toward me, but he gets nothing more out before Felix jumps to his feet.
