Chapter 29 #2
Tears well in my eyes, but I blink them away, turning slightly to brush them off my face just in case he’s watching. There’s nothing he hates more than when I cry. He always tells me to take the beatings like a man, but sometimes, I can’t stop my eyes from leaking.
When I get halfway to the house, the door creaks open and my father stands in the doorway wearing a dirty white tank top and jeans covered in filth. One look in his eyes and I know what’s going to happen next, causing my lip to tremble.
It’s almost like my feet are stuck in quicksand, and I need all my strength to force myself to keep walking. Running wouldn’t do anything right now besides make the punishment worse when he got to me. Besides, my mom would pay the price.
When I reach the bottom step, I look down at the broken, chipped wood.
“Get. Inside. Now,” my dad says, his teeth gritted.
I only make it up two broken stairs before he grabs me by my arm and forces me into the house.
“You dumb motherfucker.” He slurs the words in a growl.
He’s high, but he’s probably starting to come down—which is why he’s so mad right now.
Which means, this is going to be bad. Really bad.
“A twenty-fucking-one percent on your test, boy?” He throws me down onto the ground, pushing his foot onto my chest as he towers over me.
“You know why I don’t love you? Why no one will ever love you?
” He’s growling, pulling me by my shirt upward so fast the fabric tears.
“Because you’re fucking stupid, that’s why! ”
He lands a blow to my stomach, and even though it takes every ounce of strength not to fall over—I don’t. Because if I do, he’ll only be more angry that I’m too weak to take it like a man.
At eleven years old, I’m the scrawniest kid in my class by far. And my father is about four of me, but still, I plant my feet, trying to take my punishment as tough as I can.
His fist hits lower on my stomach, and this time, I feel like I’m going to throw up.
I cough a few times, trying to regain my composure and get this done faster, but when he lands another to the same spot, the pain is so intense that my brain grows fuzzy.
I fall back, my vision closing in as he stands over me, reaching for my torn shirt again.
Just before his hand grabs for me, the loudest sound I’ve ever heard assaults my ear drums. I stare up at my father, wondering why he looks so stunned. And that’s when I see it, the gunshot to his chest.
He falls forward, but just before he lands on top of me, I move to my left—making his limp body miss me by a mere inch.
I’m too stunned to look around, but when my mom comes to my side, her lip quivers and her eyes are filled with tears. Her face is always pale, but now, it’s almost white. Her brown hair is a matted mess just like it always is.
“Run, Dallas.” She weeps. “Now.”
I stare in disbelief, not knowing what she’s even asking me to do or why. Her hand rests on my cheek, and a tear streams down her cheek.
“I’m sorry that I wasn’t fit to be a mom,” she whispers sadly. “But you’re free now. So please … run.”
Shaking, I look from my mom to the man on the floor beside me.
Blood pools onto the dirty tan carpet, but suddenly, my mom throws her arms around me, distracting me from how much blood is coming from my father’s body.
She puts her forehead to mine. “I am so sorry.” She cries weakly.
“Now, go. Please. Start running down the road.”
“When … when do I stop?” I choke out, unsure of what she wants from me.
She presses a kiss to my cheek. “You’ll know when.”
When she releases me, I scurry to my feet.
I take off, running down the road, heading back toward the school.
And when I’m almost there … that’s when a police officer stops beside me.
My steps slow, images of my father’s blood on the floor assaulting my mind, and before I can stop myself, I’m puking all over the road. Over and over, my stomach roils, making me dry-heave because there’s not enough food in my stomach to actually throw up.
No matter what I do, I can’t get rid of the image of his body becoming still before he fell onto the floor. And as the cop runs toward me, I scream, just wanting it all to stop.
“Dallas!” the sound of Haven’s voice has me more confused. Why is she here? How is she here?
Abruptly, my eyes pop open and I shoot up in the bed. I’m covered in a layer of sweat, and my heart is pounding in my chest so fast, it thumps in my ears.
Haven is straddling me, her hands on my cheeks.
“Dallas,” she cries, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Are you okay? You were screaming in your sleep.”
I stare up at her, unable to talk or catch my breath after the nightmare that’s actually a flashback more than anything else.
A flashback to the day my parents died. The day I ended up in foster care.
At least I didn’t have to relive the part where I rode in the back of the cop car, and I heard the scanner say murder-suicide, and two people were dead.
When I think back to that day, I know exactly why my mom made me leave.
At the very least—no matter how much she did wrong, she didn’t make me watch both her and my father die.
It’s been so long since I’ve been haunted by that dream. Yet tonight of all nights, it came for me. And as much as I hate to blame Haven, I know the reason why I had it is because once again, I’m reminded that something is wrong with me.
“You’re safe,” she whispers, wrapping her arms around me and holding me tight. “You’re safe now.”
I don’t talk about my past much—if ever. It’s too dark and too fucking sad to let into my present, but Haven has an idea of what I’ve gone through. So right now, I’m sure she knows why I was screaming.
I don’t say anything to her. And luckily, she doesn’t make me talk either. Instead, she just holds me while my body continues to tremble.
For once in my life, I don’t pull away. I can’t. Because in this moment, she’s saving me.
Even though this was all her fault.