Page 19 of Claiming What's Mine
There was no thumping of feet, or the patter of my little sister as she ran from room to room. I didn't hear any muffled voices or my father as he yelled down for me to get up off my ass and open the door. Just silence.
Looking at the clock, it was already eleven in the morning.He's gone,I thought to myself as I pushed up onto my elbows and pressed my feet into the floor. My father had already left, probably headed into town after dropping my sister off with the neighbor, and outside the bar waiting for it to open.
Scratching my fingers through my hair, I rubbed my face, trying to wake up. I heard the knocking again, this time louder and more demanding. “Alright, alright, I'm coming!” I called out, slowly standing on my sore legs, with tender muscles from the night before.
That had been one of the worst beatings I had ever gotten. My father didn't stop, and I don't even think he could have if he wanted to. His eyes were empty, nothing but cold dead orbs were filling the sockets.
I didn't see my father, I didn't see a man, or a person, nothing. He just looked soulless.
My legs cracked and popped at the joints as I crept through the living room like a frail old man. Shuffling my feet over the tiles, I rubbed my back to ease the soreness.
Bang Bang Bang
“I'm coming, jeez, give me a sec.” My voice was hoarse and scratchy as I did my best to make myself heard. Grabbing the handle, I cracked the door slowly.
“Jay?”
It's Blue. . . Shit, I was supposed to meet her this morning.
Keeping the door cracked, I tried to hide my face the best I could. “Hey, Blue.”
“You were supposed to be at my house for ten, what happened? Why didn't you come?”
It was easy to see the worry on her face as her eyes darted around the darkness I was hiding in. Panic filled her voice with a sliver of annoyance.
She wasn't sure if she should be mad that I stood her up, or happy to see I was still alive. I might not have been prompt one hundred percent of the time, but I would always show up.
“You shouldn't be here,” I said, keeping most of my face behind the door.
“Neither should you.” Pursing her lips, she veered her stare. “But here we are.”
Hanging my head, I nodded. “I know, I'm sorry, I just don't feel good today.”
And my face looks like I was in a bar room brawl.
How was I going to explain this to her?
A bruise here or there, a black eye once in awhile, those could be explained away as boys will be boys. But not this, not today. There was too much damage to write off as tripping or wrestling or getting into a fight with some ass from school.
“Don't feel good, huh?” Tilting her head, she squinted in disbelief. “Don't lie to me, you know it never works.”
“You used to believe everything I told you,” I said chuckling.
“Well, I'm not naive anymore, I know you too well to fall for it. Besides, you're a bad liar, your lip twitches at the corner when you're full of it.” Placing her hand on the door, she attempted to push it open wider. “So, let me in already.”
“No, Blue, really, I don't feel good. Why don't we just hang out another day later this week? I don't want to get you sick.”
“Jayden, I'm coming in whether you like it or not. Now, you can either let me in or I'll force my way in.” Sliding her hand up the door, her expression was stern and unforgiving. “I'm coming in one way or another, I don't care what you got.”
Clutching the door, I held it right where it was. “Blue, please, not today. I'm asking nicely, I'm not trying to be a jerk, so just let me be.” I was hoping she could hear it in my voice, the sound of desperation, the verbal plea to just leave me alone.
I don't want you to see me like this. . . Not like this.
We never really talked about my life at home. Not once had I offered her an explanation as to why I stayed out as often as I did, or why I wouldn't let her around my father.
And Blue never asked, but, she knew. I could see it in her eyes, in the way she looked at me, and how her eyes were drawn to the bruises and marks on my body.
She wasn't one to pry, and I was grateful for that. Why would I want to talk about what I hated? Why would I want to relive my pain with words, when I had to see it in my reflection and feel it under my skin?
