4. Arlo
It’s been months since I let myself cry. There are so few things I can control in my life since my bastard of an uncle came into it, swinging his fucking scythe and hacking my already fucked life to meaty bits I don’t recognize. Crying is one of the few things I can control.
As he barrels toward me with his wide shoulders and punishing fists, I feel stupid. Stupid to have welcomed any sense of relief. Stupid to have allowed myself the weakness of tears. Stupid to have hoped for better.
I should have known.
He spits his hateful words in my direction. They’re nothing new. Nothing special. I ignore them because I can. Instead, I think of the new guy for a split second. I’m thankful I was able to overcome my newfound aversion to touch, if only for a second.
At least, he took the hint and ran.
He’ll be safe.
I stand a little taller. Because his safety is something else I was able to control. My chin goes up, ready for the knuckles I know so well.
“Hey, fuck stick!”
My uncle’s footsteps falter. I blink and search for the source of the voice.
When I find its origin, a brittle piece of my broken heart dislodges and clatters into the pit of my stomach. It sounds tinny like glass.
Hota, the guy who sees too much and says too much, is running. But he’s going in the wrong direction. I almost yell out for him to stop and run away. I bite my tongue until I taste the tang and copper of my blood.
There is one thing I can control. There is one thing I will not relinquish. No matter what, I will not let my uncle hear my voice again. Not until I am ending his cursed life.
“I’m recording this.” Hota holds up a sleek phone. His feet slow, maintaining distance between me, him, and most of all, my uncle.
Smart.
“Make sure and get my good side when I knock his brains out of his skull.” Geoff Parry cracks his thick neck.
“Go ahead,” the guy shouts. “When you touch him, I’ll send it to the headmaster and call the cops. Your ass will end up in the clink. With the bruises already on him, they’ll lock the door and throw away the keys.”
Shut up. Shut up.
What was a delicious protein bar curdles in my stomach.
He’s not smart. He’s stupid. This is stupid.
My entire body quakes, threatening to knock me to the grass.
The fury in my uncle’s gaze doubles. His fists go impossibly tighter. Spittle slips out from between his clenched teeth.
Sure, he’s stopped. Sure, he’s listening to the guy’s reasoning. But this is only going to end poorly. And now, that ending will be for both of us.
My uncle takes a step toward me.
“Yeah!” The young guy yells as though he’s excited for the prospect of me getting my ass beaten. “Go ahead. Save him a lifetime of misery.”
“You.” My uncle points at Hota, and my heart crumbles. A sandcastle at high tide. “I’m going to make your life fucking miserable. Count on it.”
Then my unimaginable nightmare turns and stalks away.
We stand there as he descends the sloping hill, climbs into the back of the car, and is driven away. Neither of us moves, not even after the car glides through the school’s open gates and becomes a speck in the distance.
Even when it’s gone, and I’m sure he’s not coming back, not today anyway, I don’t move. I can’t. Every nerve ending I’ve spent the last two months making numb roars to life.
They’re shaking. They’re blaring sirens. They’re raw with fear.
“Hey, it’s okay.” His hand lands on my shoulder.
I wheel around and shove him with two hands. They meet his hard chest and the top of his abdomen. A look of shock morphs his pretty face before he stumbles several steps, and then falls onto his ass.
“What the hell?” There’s anger in his eyes.
Good.
I bare my teeth and bellow in my broken voice. “You have no idea what you’ve just done.”
Surprise steals the sneer from his features. He blinks twice.
Then he fucking smiles at me.
“I knew you could talk.” His smile lights up his whole face. Hell, it lights up the whole world. Just not mine.
For some reason, it makes it feel dimmer. I’ll never smile like that. After today, I’ll never earn another smile from him. His smiles aren’t safe. They’re a vulnerability I cannot afford.
“Fuck you,” I choke, “and leave me the hell alone.”
“He didn’t hurt you.” His hands go up like he doesn’t get it. So I spell it out.
“Not today, but after this, when I have to go back for the summer, he’ll kill me. And he might fucking kill you too, for good measure.”
“I’d like to see him try.” His sharp chin goes up.
“No, you wouldn’t.” I walk over to him and look down. “You think you’ve got it all figured out. So did I. Life has stripped me of that delusion. Let’s hope it doesn’t do the same to you.”