“Get me another beer,” Dad commands, his tone gruff even though there’s a slight slur. An empty beer can is shoved unceremoniously into my chest, and I wrap a clumsy hand around the aluminum.
Ido as he says, knowing if I refuse, it will only make things worse for me. My legs shake as I throw the empty can away and march over to the nearby cooler, some of the ice beginning to melt as I plunge my hand inside and fish around. My fingers are trembling as they wrap around a can, but I manage to pull one out. Keeping my head down, I begin making my way back to his spot near the campfire. He’s talking to himself—loudly enough for everyone to hear—about how slow I am, saying that everyone at this trailer park is a pussy and it’s rubbing off on me. People are murmuring, their angry voices making me want to cry.
God, I hope he blacks out soon.
There’s not much I can do when he gets like this.
Nothing but endure it.
“Urgh!” My worn-out sneakers collide with a rock, the blunt edges catching on the soles and making me stumble. The beer can goes flying into the air as I pitch forward, arms braced to catch myself, but it’s too late. I land on the ground with a hard thud, the palms of my hands smarting from the impact. The wayward beer can lands nearby, the amber-colored liquid soaking into the grass.
Everything inside me goes cold, my stomach catapulting straight off a cliff.
“You clumsy, worthless fuck!” Dad roars. When I glance up, he’s stomping toward me, his face turning a crimson red.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to!” I quickly scramble to my feet, knowing he has no problem kicking me while I’m already down. If you’ve never taken a boot to the ribs, I don’t recommend it.
“Come on, Michael. It was an accident. The boy will get you another one,” a male voice says nearby.
“I think he’s had too much. He’s out of control,” an older female voice whispers, her voice nasally.
But I don’t pay them any attention. Instead, I brace myself for the inevitable pain. I try to ignore the swirling panic in my gut, that voice inside my head saying I’ll never be strong enough to fight back.
I’ve tried to be good. I always do what he says, but he still hits me. Why can’t I make him stop?
My panicked cry is cut off when he launches himself at me, his hand wrapping around my throat. Alarmed protests sound all around me, hands grabbing at his shoulders. My mouth falls open, pain spasming in my throat and lungs when my airflow is blocked. My fingers claw at his hands, my feet kicking at his shins as he curses.
“Come on, man!” someone yells.
Just as he’s pulled off me, just as air returns to my lungs, sweet relief filling my body, something sinister passes through his eyes. I’m fucked. I don’t know what that look means, but there’s nothing I can do to protect myself.
Nothing, nothing, nothing—
He surges forward, managing to dislodge himself from the hands yanking him back. Then his palms are on my chest, shoving me roughly, making me stumble back, my arms flailing when I realize how close I am to the roaring fire, then I’m falling, and—
Searing pain.
Burning skin.
The smell of burning flesh.
Myburning flesh.
I scream, and scream, and scream.
My cheeks are damp by the time I finish my story. But what surprises me even more are the tears trailing down Luke’s cheeks. The emotions on his face are nearly a mirror image of my own, like he’s feeling it with me. Almost as if hearing about my pain is causing him pain. Absently, I wonder if he’s always felt hisemotions so strongly.
“I honestly don’t remember how long I was in the hospital.” I shrug. “Weeks, months maybe. It’s all a blur now.” All I have left of my hospital stay are hazy memories of pain and hurt.
“Did somebody take you away after that?” he asks.
When I remain silent, Luke bolts upright in bed. He curses softly, the muscles of his jaw feathering. “Please tell me the system we live in doesn’t suck that much. Tell me you didn’t have to go back to the home of your abuser.”
Wrapping an arm around his waist, I tug him back down. He comes willingly, although his body is tense as he waits for my response. “Child services came to investigate, but I told them it was an accident. Told them he didn’t push me, and I tripped.”
“But why?”
I shrug. “I was thirteen and scared of being taken away from the only environment I knew. Figured it could always be worse somewhere else, and I think part of me thought I must have done something to deserve it. Parents only punish their children when they’re bad, right?”
