He was just as smug and ugly as his son, but perched a few feet taller with mirthful eyes that looked down on me.
And I knew it was an attempt to intimidate me, but I had never been intimidated by cowards.
“We aren’t going to have this problem again, are we?” he asks.
I can’t help scoffing only for a fist to cut it right off.
Familiar knuckles land among the mess he and his son had made of my ribs earlier. And he doesn’t stop until I’m curling over, and he’s satisfied with the weakness he sees in me.
I’m cutting my tongue, my breath fumes through my nose as I battle the raw agony his fists leave behind, forcing myself to rise.
My hard eyes don’t meet his, and yet, he finds the space to speak.
“I suggest you head home.”
I don’t move.
I wait, shoving my hands into my pockets.
I knew he wasn’t done yet, assholes like him and my dad never were.
Officer James takes a step forward, temple to mine, voice low.
“Take your freedom as my condolences.”
His words slice the skin from my bones.
The glass is cool when I slam open the front door to the station, the steel cracking against the brick wall.
Officer James shouts behind me, something about having a little respect.
I don’t turn around. Respect only came when it was given. He could take the respect he believed he was owed and shove it up his ass.
I move into the belly of darkness, casting my twitchy eyes around the small and poorly lit parking lot.
It’s the following evening, like I’d thought. Night had fallen fast; the sun had already tucked itself away. I allow the weight of my head to fall to my shoulders and suck in a trembling breath, listening to the thumping of my heart. I can’t find a moon, not even a single star. The sky is a blanket of desolation, a weight that lingers over me and above this fucked up town.
A chesty cough has me shifting my gaze from the sky and to my left, finding both Harlen and Rusty resting on the speckled brick fence. They are passing a smoldering cigarette between themselves, tapping off ash in between, but they haven’t noticed me yet.
I crack my neck, don’t feel it. Numbness from the terror that had followed in the wake of Officer James’ words had consumed me.
Take your freedom as my condolences.
I hear Jade’s laughter, see Laiken’s smile, and fight to not let my mind take me where it tries to.
The glow of the cherry father and son are sharing brightens when Rusty takes a pull, dropping his eyes to the ground and kicking at the red dust beneath his boots.
I throw one leg in front of the other, carrying myself over, only, when I draw closer, I notice how the air thickens, its edges sharpening. I stop. I rub at my throat, then I jerk my chin at Rusty, Harlen’s father—the one I wish I got—when he looks at me, and throws me the pack of cigarettes. Tapping a stick out, I light it and throw the rest back. I don’t look at them again until I’ve smoked it to the bone, and when I do, I notice how they’re both on their feet, pacing, both not looking at me. Their necks are loose, thrust forward, stubbled chins drilled to their cotton covered chests.
I try to breathe but I can’t drag enough air in to fill my lungs.
They look like the definition of stalling.
Harlen stuffs his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, an attempt to hide a tremble I’d already caught.
He drops his head backward and squeezes his eyes closed, forcing a whimpered cough down his throat.
And it’s in the way he contorts—the rigidness that I notice has taken residency in his spine—that confirms to me something isverywrong.
