Respect. Ha. To think I could have any respect left for that man. Good fucking riddance, once and for all.
“You better be fucking joking, boy, or I’ll beat it out of you.”
“No!” My mom yells, trying to diffuse this situation, but it’s not working.
“Mom, it’s okay. Why don’t you finish your puzzle? Or read your book?”
She doesn’t have a chance to leave before my father rises to his feet. He stands so hard the chair falls back behind him, clattering off the ground.
“What?” I snap, standing up to him. “Are you going to hit me again? You going to hit me because I’m not going to bring home who you want? Well, come fucking do it then, pussy!” I yell, holding my arms wide open.
He stands there, seething and grinding his teeth. Fingers clenching and unclenching. The vein at the side of his neck beating and protruding. He doesn’t move though.
It’s a shame that I’m an instigator, though. Especially with my father. It’s all I’ve ever known. Maxwell Levine, instigator of Randall Levine.
“What? Too much of a pussy?” I provoke.
“Max!” Mom yells. “Don’t!”
I step around the table going toe to toe with my father. His breath is hot against my face. He is the same height as me, the only difference is he is bulkier. He looks so tired this close.
I shove him. It’s not even because he doesn’t like what sexuality I am. It’s all the pent up rage I have because of him.
My childhood. Being invisible. Him not loving me when he was supposed to. Everything he has ever done wrong pushed to the front of my brain. I knew I shouldn’t have come here, but I did it anyway.
He turns away. “I can’t even look at you,” he growls.
“Why not? Because I’m a disappointment? I’m every kid you hated all rolled into one big piece of shit!” I shove at his shoulders and his fingers twitch, his eye twitches.
My mom stands beside us, watching, chewing on the side of her finger.
“Don’t do this, guys, please!” She begs, but I can’t seem to understand her through the rage coursing through my veins.
“Fuck you, Randall.” I shove his shoulders again and again and again like a girl pissed off at her boyfriend. “Fucking come on! Do something!”
There he fucking is.Randall’s fist flies at me, but I was ready and expecting. Ducking out of the way, he growls, and I send a fist to his side. Groaning at the hit, he grabs me by my neck and shoves me backward. I stumbled, tripping and landing in the wall. A photo hanging falls and there is now a Max sized dent from my body slamming into it.
Looking down at the photo, it’s one of the three of us.
Pointing at it, I laugh. “Remember when we could pretend to be a happy family? Too bad you’re such a miserable prick,” I goaded.
Not ready this time, his fist meets my face. “You fucking asked for this, kid. Don’t be pissed when you lose,” he mocks like a schoolboy.
Shaking out of the hit, his fist comes at me again. And again. And again. Never dulling for a moment, never letting me have a moment of breath.
No one to blame but myself.
It stops. My eyes flutter open to see my mom standing right in front of him.
“Randall, that’s enough! He is your son!”
“Like fuck he is. You know I never wanted him!” Randall roars.
I use my hand to wipe the blood off my face before dragging my palm across my jeans.
My father goes to step around her, but she steps with him. “You will not hit him again,” she snaps. Tone sharper than I think I’ve ever heard it. Mom turns around to look at me, pointing a finger. “And you. Stop being a fucking instigator!”
I blink at her, shocked that she swore. It’s not that she hasn’t ever before, but it’s almost never that she does.
