Chapter 17 Gio
GIO
“Ithought I warned you to stay away from that girl, boy.” I stiffen the second my father’s voice hits my ears. My hands ball into fists and I resist the urge to spin around and deck the fucker.
Eighteen years I’ve been under his roof. Eighteen years I’ve been his ‘boy’. I’ve watched him spout nonsense about how to be a real man then come home and slap Mama across the face for burning dinner. If that’s what a man is, I’ll never be one. But I’m certainly no fucking ‘boy’ either.
Slowly, with precise movements, I turn to face him.
My father sits on the couch, his shirt unbuttoned all the way and spread to reveal the white wifebeater beneath.
The irony leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
My gaze falls to the beer can as he tightens his fist and the aluminum shrinks under his strength.
“Get me another,” he says, tossing it to the floor. “And clean this up.” He nods to the fallen can.
For a moment, I contemplate just ignoring him and walking past to my room.
I even picture it in my head, one foot in front of the other, down the hallway, through my door, and into my closet.
There’s a duffle in there that I could use to fill up enough clothes to last me a few days. I could go back to Lex’s place.
There’s also a bat in there. Old. Metal. Rusted. From when I was a kid. I bet it still hits just as well as it used to.
“Are ya stupid?” Darrio’s barked question pulls me from my reverie, reminding me the truth of why I haven’t killed this bastard yet. Consequences. Not just for me, but for Mama. For the guys. Now, for Juliet.
Without a word, I bend and pick up the discarded can and walk towards the kitchen.
Tossing it into the open trash, I grab another of the same brand from the fridge.
I stomp back into the living room, practically tossing it at the man sitting there, in front of a television playing reruns of some old show on mute.
“Sit,” Darrio orders as he pops the tab.
Once again, I’m left with a choice. Sit or go. Stay or run. I’m tired of fucking running. I sit to the side in a sagging, threadbare recliner that has seen better days. Leaning forward, I settle my elbows on my knees and eye my father.
“What do you want?” I demand.
Darrio takes a long drink from his fresh beer and then reaches for the remote at his side. The TV clicks off in the next instance, casting the room into dark shadows. Light spills in from the kitchen and the front windows, still allowing me to make out most things.
The sudden silence is the most disturbing change.
All at once, my muscles bunch. I half expect him to come exploding out of his seat, smashing his fist into my face like he used to when I was a kid.
Don’t know if he figured out that Nolan wasn’t the only one to put his father down like a dog, but it sure is a curious coincidence since the last time he ever tried to beat the shit out of me was right before that.
He doesn’t try it now, much to my almost disappointment. Maybe if he did, I could finally do something about him and claim it was in self-defense. No. Instead, he looks me over, eyes moving from my face to my hands and legs and back up again. Then, he takes another long draw from his can.
“You never listen to me, do ya?” Darrio shakes his head, not waiting for an answer. “No, course ya don’t. Too much like your mama.” He scowls and spits the word “Soft” in my direction.
Once, that kind of insult would’ve been like a punch to the gut. But the thing about insults is that you have to give a shit about what the other person who’s tossing them out thinks. I stopped caring about Darrio’s opinion long ago.
“Get to the point, old man,” I snap. “Or I’m leaving.”
He narrows his watery gaze on me, his pupils dilated. That could be because of the lack of light or it could be because that’s not his second beer. After a moment of tense quiet, he snorts.
“Leave?” His snort turns into a chuckle. “You’re gonna leave?”
I realize that he’s mistaken my words for something else. Not just leaving the room, but him—this—my fucking life. Silverwood.
“You’re no better than the rest of us in this fucking place,” he tells me.
“Ain’t nothing special about you ’cept maybe that cock o’ yours.
” I bare my teeth at him and he laughs in my face.
“Oh, strike a nerve? You think I don’t hear ’bout all those girls you pick up?
You think I don’t know why that cunt is really with you? ”
“Don’t you dare talk about her like that.” Cold slithers through my veins. Violence simmers just beneath the surface of my skin.
Darrio lifts his beer to his mouth, still chuckling and grinning as he downs another mouthful. When he pops off, he huffs a smile my way. I want to kill him. “Never thought I’d be proud of my boy for anything,” he says. “And at least you ain’t stupid enough to get any of ’em pregnant.”
“You piece of shit.” I’m practically vibrating with rage, barely repressing the urge to launch myself at him with each word he utters.
It’s as if he doesn’t hear me. Those glassy eyes of his fix on me and he tips his beer in my direction.
“Mark my words, boy,” he says. “She’ll dump your ass as soon as she gets back to where she came from.
Girl like that is used to the nice shit.
When she realizes you ain’t nothing and you ain’t come from nothing, she’ll wise up.
She ain’t nothing but a whore—they all are. ”
His chuckling turns into laughter. Light, but there, and his words echo in my head. They blend together, overlapping with another voice.
You’re always such a good boy, mijo. Te amo.
Good boy…
Good. Boy.
Mark my words, boy.
I thought I told you… boy…
The thin thread of civility that I’m holding on to snaps. I launch myself up from the chair and barrel towards him. The movement is so sudden that he rears back in his seat, but it’s too late. I grab him up by the front of his stained white shirt and jerk him off the couch and around to the side.
Beer sprays into the air as he drops the can. His back slams against the wall with a loud crack, but my father is nothing if not a fighter. I duck the swift right hook that comes sailing for my face and respond with one of my own.
My control is gone. All I am is angry. Rage.
Fueled by the memories of his constant abuse.
Words. Fists. Quiet footsteps on old, creaky floors to not wake him.
Holding my breath so maybe, just maybe, he won’t remember he has a son that lives with him.
If I pretend I’m nothing, maybe he’ll leave me alone.
Then, blood spreads over my vision. My head snaps back. There’s a ringing in my ears that sounds like a woman’s screams. I don’t think. I just react.
Right hook. Left. Right. Left. Kick. Duck. Again and again, I drive my fist into Darrio’s face. Not my father. Not a man. An abuser. A drug lord. Piece of shit. Disgusting.
“Stop! Mijo! Por favor! Mijo, no más.”
I blink, the world coming back to me. Bits of broken wood are scattered around the living room. My side hurts and my head feels full of cotton. I sway as I glance down. Darrio is splayed out on his back, blood coating his face, his nose obviously broken.
He’s out cold.
“No más. Por favor, mijo. Por favor…” Turning my head, it takes a moment for me to realize the pressure on my arm is my mother. She’s sobbing as she stands there in her nightgown, tugging on my arm.
The red dots of blood staining parts of the fabric tell me that she must have been trying to get my attention for a while now. Tears rain down her cheeks. Her eyes are swollen and her skin pale. I look back at Darrio.
The smell of beer and mold invade my nostrils, making them burn. I want to look away, but I don’t. Instead, I stare down at my handiwork. Darrio’s face is a mottled mess. Blood slipping down over his lip and chin and down the sides of his cheeks from how he’s lying.
Drip. I blink again. Drip. I shake my head.
Drip. I reach up and my hand comes away sticky with my own blood.
Bastard must have gotten me good. Of course, he did.
He hasn’t been able to make others fear him by being bad at fighting.
No doubt, the only reason I got the jump on him like this is because he was never expecting it.
Not from me—the boy he thought he’d broken.
Mama’s sobs continue and they pull at my insides.
I expect a bubble of shame to surface, but there’s nothing.
No shame. No guilt. No fear. I know Darrio won’t ever call the cops on me.
He couldn’t afford them looking into him, but more than that—he won’t want anyone knowing his own son could fucking beat his ass.
“It’s okay, Mama,” I tell her.
She tugs on me again, rambling in Spanish so fast that it’s hard to keep up. My head throbs and when I get up and move away from Darrio, I stumble. Looking down, I realize that there’s a fucking sliver of wood—a piece of one of the legs—stabbed into my side.
With a grunt, I reach down and yank it out. Fire burns over my skin and into my muscles.
Fuck! That fucking hurt.
More blood leaks from the wound, but I ignore it. There’s still a ringing in my ears, but it’s lessening with each passing second. I shake my head, trying to get rid of it.
“Lo siento, Mama.” I reach for her as she stoops to Darrio. “Come on, let me get you—” She spins and jerks, flinching away from me as I hold my hand out to help her up. I go still. “Mama?”
Fresh tears well up as she looks up at me. Eyes wide. Face pale. I’ve seen the look before. Many times. I’ve just never seen it directed at me.
Fear. She’s afraid of me. She’s looking at me the same way she’s always looked at my father when he raised his voice too loud. I try again, keeping my voice low and telling myself that it’s just because of the blood and violence.
“Mama…” I slowly lower myself to my knees, wincing at the burn in my side. “Come here… let me get you off this floor and I’ll take care of this.”
“No.” She shakes her head back and forth. “No, no, no.” Shaking so hard, I swear I hear her teeth chatter, she backs away from me as I try to come closer. I freeze again, my chest tightening.
“Mama, I’m not him,” I tell her. “I would never hurt you. He deserved it.”
A rushed sob escapes her throat and she turns, throwing herself atop Darrio. Arms out, body carefully placed so that she’s protecting him from further harm… from me.
For a moment, I don’t do anything. I just stare at her trembling back, racked by her muffled wails.
“He’s not a good man,” I whisper.
She doesn’t respond.
“He beats you.”
Still nothing.
“He beat me."
A hiccup.
So many excuses pile up in my head. She doesn’t know anything else. She’s afraid that if she tries to protect us or leave, he’ll kill her. It’s statistically probable. Other excuses rise up, blocking out my own.
Things will get better, mijo…
We should be grateful. Your papa takes care of us…
It was my own fault, mijo…
He didn’t mean it…
Slowly, I rise to my feet. Her only reaction is more fat tears rolling down her face and a hiccupping sob.
My limbs feel numb as I start to move. Little pinpricks of pain racing up my spine and down my arms. I walk towards the hallway and then down to my bedroom.
It’s like I’ve slipped out of my body and left it behind—just skin and limbs moved by invisible strings.
I’m nothing but a shadow dragging itself through the wreckage.
My hands are shaking as I grab the duffel from the closet, shoving in clothes, shoes, and cash.
The bag grows heavier with every item, with every breath.
The hallway stretches too long. Each step echoes in my bones.
Mama’s on the floor, kneeling beside Darrio’s unconscious form. Her fingers tremble as they ghost over his face as she tries to wake him. Her shoulders jerk when the floorboard under my foot betrays me, the creak like a gunshot between us.
She turns.
Her eyes lock on to mine—wide, wet, terrified. But not of him. Not this time.
Of me.
A lamb clinging to her butcher, bleeding and loyal.
“Te amo, Mama.” The words scrape past the lump in my throat, too quiet, too broken. I wish she’d say them back. I wish she’d do something—run to me, cry, scream. But she just stares.
Like she doesn’t recognize the man standing in the ruins.
Like she’s wondering if I’ll hurt her too.
I tear my gaze from her face—soaked in tears and still stupid with love—and push through the front door.
Each step down the porch rips me further from the daze I’ve been floating in.
Reality claws its way back in. My side is on fire.
My head drums with every heartbeat. My mouth is cotton. Blood and pain coat my tongue.
I should’ve known better.
She won’t leave him.
She can’t.
And I was never her savior.