Chapter 18 - Marcus
MARCUS
Twenty-Seven Years Ago
“Marcus, get in the car, sweety. It’s time to go home,” Marcus’s mother called from the open window of her broken-down, piece-of-shit car that was crawling around on its last life.
Marcus ignored his mother. “It’s your turn, Billy.”
He didn’t want to go home. The streetlights weren’t even on, and he was just about to beat his best friend at knives.
Holding his hand flat against the concrete, Marcus waited for his buddy to pick up the knife and begin stabbing between his spread fingers. Marcus had already beaten his other two friends, who chickened out and cried “Mercy” when Marcus brought the blade down between their third or fourth fingers.
Marcus decided to be nice and let his best friend start off as the stabber. His friend just had to stab between his fingers until the song playing finished or Marcus said the word “mercy.”
“It’s your turn, Billy. Or are you too chicken to try?”
His best friend swallowed hard, and he stared at Marcus’s spread-out hand.
“But… what if I…” Billy began before being cut off by one more of Marcus’s mother’s bellows from the car.
“Get yo stinkin’ assss in tha car, right now… you piece of fuckin’ shit!”
His mother’s words were slurred once again. Not that her words weren’t on most days.
Marcus was used to it. It was just the way his mother always sounded.
“Argh! Fine!” Marcus shouted, jumping up from the ground and snatching up his blade in the process. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” Marcus said as he turned to walk down Billy’s long driveway and hopped inside his mother’s car.
Well, technically, it was Daddy’s, but Mama always liked to use the car when she was heading out to buy some more alcohol.
“It’s abou—fuckin’ time you got in da fuckin’ car,” his mama snapped, not even waiting for Marcus to get fully seated in the car before peeling away from Billy’s house.
Marcus huffed and folded his arms across his chest.
“Why did you come pick me up? It’s not even dark yet. I’m twelve years old. I can walk home by myself.”
“Mama needs to stop at the store real quick,” his mother stated as she blew through a stop sign, narrowly missing a car turning right.
“To buy more booze, I bet.”
Her head snapped in his direction.
“You watch that mouth of yours, you little shit.”
A horn blared from somewhere behind them.
His mother made a right onto Maple Drive, then pressed down hard on the gas as she rushed toward the liquor store. She was in a rush because the store closed at eight, and it was already ten minutes until closing.
“Is Pops home?” Marcus asked, clicking his seat belt into place as he stared out the front windshield.
“How the fuck should I know? He’s probably off fuckin’ one of his whores or getting shit-faced down in the bar.”
Marcus shrugged. He really didn’t give two shits about either of his parents. They were both mega pieces of shit, and Marcus couldn’t wait until he was old enough to move out on his own.
He couldn’t stand the constant fighting and arguing or the broken beer bottles that lay smashed on the kitchen floor.
His mother took another hard right, this time almost hitting an elderly woman who was trying to cross the road.
“Mom, you need to slow down, you’re driving like a crazy person,” Marcus said, reaching for the stereo to turn up the music.
His mother turned and slapped him across the cheek.
“Don’t you talk to me like that!”
The car swerved as Marcus raised his arm to defend himself.
“Well, you’re drivin’ like a psycho bitch, you fuckin’ drunk!”
His mother screamed at him as she took her hands off the wheel and reached across the seat, slapping him with both hands.
“Mama! Don’t—”
The world went black around him.
The next thing Marcus remembered was waking up to the sound of hundreds of machines beeping. Some people were crying. Others were shouting and arguing.
The throbbing pain in his head was the only thing that Marcus could focus on.
“I think he’s awake,” someone said.
“Son? Can you hear me?” a male voice spoke as a hand dropped down on his shoulder.
“Ye-yeah?” Marcus managed to get out.
His eyes slowly opened to the sight of two police officers standing next to his bed.
He was in the hospital.
“Wh-where’s my mom?”
The two police officers looked at each other as a nurse came rushing to his bed.
“Try not to move, sweety. You were in an accident and have a broken arm. Your dad is on his way,” the nurse with the bright red hair said as she checked out his monitors and wrote something down on a clipboard.
“Where’s my mom?” Marcus asked once again. She was probably off at the liquor store buying another bottle before they closed.
More silence.
Marcus turned his head to the bed next to him.
There, hooked up to all these machines and tubes, was his mother. Her eyes were closed, and she wasn’t moving.
“Mom?” Marcus called. “Mom?”
“Your mom is in bad shape, kid,” one of the police officers said, giving him one of those sympathetic looks that most adults gave him when they saw him standing next to his mother.
It was sympathy. A look that said they were sorry, but there was nothing that they could do.
Marcus fucking hated them. He hated them all. Every fucking piece of shit who saw his parents and didn’t do a goddamn thing. Fucking useless. They all were.
“Is she dead?”
No one said a word.
“Try and get some sleep, son,” the other office said, giving him one of those looks as well. “You’ll need your rest to heal.”
His mother died sometime during the night. Marcus never knew whether his father made it to the hospital in time to see his wife one last time before she died. It wasn’t until the morning, when Marcus woke up next to an empty bed, that he found out that his mother had passed away.
Marcus was never sure how he really felt about his mother’s passing. Yes, she was his mother and gave birth to him. But she was also a mean alcoholic who never seemed to give a shit about him or his bastard of a father.
It was shortly after his mother’s death that Marcus made a promise to himself. If he ever got married and had a family of his own, he would be there for them. Protecting them and always doing what was best for his family.
He hoped that one day he would be able to keep that promise to himself.