Crawling towards her, I retched again, the smell of puke, bacon, and smokeabusedmy senses; as did the fact that my mother was now so still.
“Youdid this,” Callum rumbled, echoing my thoughts from minutes ago. Bending towards me, he pointed the rim of the vodka bottle at my face.
My entire frame was shaking. I closed my eyes; the terror of the thought of him slicing me made me weak.
Moving my head away from the rankness of his breath, I jerked as Callum spat in my face.
“You’ll never be anything but a failure, kid,justlike me.”
Bracing myself for a hit, I inhaled as much air as possible, waiting for it to end. A perverse sense of satisfaction thrummed through me. If this were it, surely the pain would stop?
And. Nothing. Fucking. Happened.
Slowly opening my good eye, I watched as my father walked over to the kitchen table and took a seat. His face twisted, but no remorse was visible at that point. He placedthe bottle of spirits on the table, followed by his elbows and dropped his head into his hands. And then his entire body started to shake.
Was the fucker crying? Aftereverythinghe’d done. The noise he omitted sounded like a wounded animal, but I didn’t care. Mom said Callum had found out he was sick; yeah, sick in the head. I hadn’t asked for details as I didn’t care.
I couldn’t stand, my legs were shaking, and weakness had infected my entire body. The ringing of the smoke alarm was suddenly met with the sound of sirens.
Cops? Ifuckinghated them. They wereuseless,but they were better than nothing.
“Mom,” I whispered, rubbing my face, trying to open both eyes wider as I positioned myself over her.
That background noise became louder, and then there was banging and rattling. It sounded in time with the hammerthuddingagainst my skull, like the drum of death.
Shouts and voices and then more hammering.
As I braced my aching body over my mother's still, lifeless one, I noticed her eyes were wide open. If they were open, she had to be OK. Didn’t she?
Hope swept through my chest like one of those tsunamis you saw on the news, and I pushed a clump of sticky black hair away from her face.
“It’s over now, Mom, help is here,” I whispered into her face as I leaned over her, unsure whether that was the case.
My tears were like acid as they poured down my cheeks, their saltinessstingingevery wound they touched.
A scuffle was happening behind me, but all I saw were my mom’s eyes, like pools of nothingness.
“Did you hear me? Mom?”
Nothing prepared me for what happened when the light from a torch hit her face. Every mark my father had put there was highlighted in all its gruesome glory. And then I noticed her pupils. They remained wide, allowing the light in.
And then I knew.
That knowledge that my mother was dead was like a fist punching in through my chest andrippingmyfuckingheart out.
“No, please, fuck no!” I yelled, the vibration causing more pain to shoot through my battered torso.
And then I was helpless as I felt myself being dragged backwards, hard hands on my shoulders, and I waited for Callum to finish me for real this time.
And Iwantedhim to, begged for it to end.
My arms were yanked roughly behind my back, but no blow came. The only thing I felt after that realisation that my father had murdered my mother was the cold, hard steel snapping around my wrists.
It was a familiar feeling. It wasn’t my first rodeo as I’d been cuffed before. Under usual circumstances, they made me feel safe; and gave me some reprieve from Callum and his mad shit. But right then, they made me feel anything but.
As I was led away in those heavy, cold metal restraints, safe was the furthest thing from my mind. Being marched out of my house like a fucking criminal in front of all our neighbors didn’t bother me. The haunting awareness that I would never see my mother’s face again is what broke me that day.
ONE
