My breath catches.
I… What?
I’m standing up for myself.
My expression must have given me away, because his face gentles but when he speaks again, it’s still just as stern.
“Stop, okay? This is done. We need to leave before the cops show up.”
“I just… I was protecting us.”
Silas takes a deep breath and sighs, some unspeakable kind of heartbreak in his eyes.
“I know you think that. Just—stop. Okay? Breathe. Can Tristan let you go now?”
Not knowing what to say, I nod. My limbs are still tense, muscles straining where my shoulders have been jerked backwards, and trying to soften them feels like unrolling cardboard that sat in the sun until it baked itself stiff.
I nod again, taking a conscious breath, and finally the hands on me relax. My muscles scream in protest as my hands fall down to my side, limp because I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with myself. The pain and exhaustion are starting to set in, and I can feel it when my hands begin to shake.
“Fuck me, kid, you really went for it, didn’t you?” Tristan’s voice moves from behind me to in front as he comes into view, stepping between me and Silas to start peering at my face. He’s already in medical mode, I can tell, but I’m distracted by the fact that he’s also covered in blood, and his nose is swollen and bruised.
I reach toward him without thinking, but he flinches away and then bats my hand down.
“Wha—?” I start, but Silas interrupts me.
“You did that.”
His voice is hard, and he’s standing farther away than I want him to.
“Fuck, I’m sorry T, I just—”
“Not now,” he says. “We can rehash all the questionable choices you just made and their consequences when you’re sober. I’ll be fine. Now look at me so I can make sure you don’t have a concussion.”
I’ve only had three fucking beers, and I’m pretty sure this whole ordeal has burned any alcohol right out of my system, but I get the feeling defending myself will not go down well right now.
I focus on being compliant, following Tristan’s directions without question while my brain retreats into itself in an attempt to beat back the tide of shame that’s threatening to drown me.
Silas’s hard gaze is on me the whole time, and I can’t bear it. Tristan uses the flashlight on his phone to do a quick exam, checking my pupils and reactions, before he moves his hands to my throat. I wince, because it’s definitely bruised, but it’s difficult to know how much of that was from what me and Silas were doing, and how much is from Dad hitting me there.
I’m so fucked upis the only concrete thought I can hold onto.
Tristan sighs, finally, apparently satisfied that I’m not about to die.
“I think you should go to the ER just in case, but I already know you won’t. Silas, will you watch him? Rest but don’t go to sleep for a couple hours, make sure he doesn’t start acting weird or having trouble breathing. And call a fucking ambulance if he does.”
“I’m fine,” I say, but my throat is raw and it comes out embarrassingly raspy, I suddenly notice. “I’m sorry.”
My gaze flits between both of them, but I see hard expressions looking back at me. Behind them, I see Krystal walking my dadtoward the other side of the parking lot, hopefully to get in his car and fucking leave.
God, he’s going home to my mom. I hope he doesn’t tell her how bad it was.
I hope he doesn’t take it out on her.
“Shit, Mom, we should—”
“No,” Silas and Tristan say in unison.
Silas sighs again. “I’ll call your mom and let her know what happened, and make sure she’s alright. But I don’t think he’s going to feel like fighting any more by the time he gets home. You’re not going anywhere other than the hospital or our home.”
