32. Pez #2
I give her a weak smile. My story gets worse here and I hate having to tell her. I don’t want my past to darken her eyes with pity or disgust. I don’t want to let it taint who she is. I know I don’t have a choice, but fuck, I wish I did.
“I could hear the screaming from the driveway as I walked past the mailbox.Mom’s voice was hoarse, Dad was slurring his words, and there was so much anger and venom spewing out of him.
I stopped there, found myself leaning on that rusty old mailbox.
It felt like my shoes were stuck in cement.
I couldn’t breathe. The screaming echoed around me, but it was like I was stuck on a runaway carousel, where all the pretty horses and benches blurred, going faster and faster, but all I could do was hold on. ”
“Panic attack,” she murmurs. I squeeze her hand which had somehow found its way to mine.
I don’t deny what she’s saying, because I’ve had numerous therapists tell me that same thing.
It didn’t take away the guilt or the pain that I deal with.
So, to me, what it was didn’t matter to me.
It was just one more thing to add to the night that I did wrong.
“Keep going. After his you never have to mention it again. We’ll bury the ghosts and build our lives looking toward the future.
A life full of our children and years of love and laughter,” she promises and fuck, this woman has no idea how bad I want that. How bad I need it.
“I don’t know how long I stood like that.
The next thing I truly remember was this loud sound.
A gunshot echoed all around me. I heard my mother scream.
I took off running. I couldn’t catch my breath.
I ripped open the front door to find a scene out of a horror movie.
My mother was lying in a pool of blood, her eyes vacant.
I dropped down on my knees, wanting to help her, but it was already too late. ”
“Oh, Eli,” she whispers, her fingers brushing against my cheek. I didn’t realize I was crying, until she gathered the evidence on her fingertips.
“I started screaming at my father. Over and over, I just shrieked that he killed her. Dad yelled back telling me to shut up, but I didn’t listen.
I just kept on, over and over. Dad launched himself at me.
He began hitting me. I tried to push him off of me.
I was strong, but Dad was an underground cage fighter.
He was older than me, but he had years of experience on how to neutralize and destroy an opponent.
He wouldn’t stop. He kept saying I was the reason she was dead.
That it was all my fault. He slapped me across the face, and somehow that hurt more than all of his hits he made with his fist and by kicking me.
Then, he spit on my face and called me worthless.
He turned to walk away, and I don’t know.
It’s kind of a blur, but something broke inside of me.
I charged at him and began hitting him one right after the other—wanting him to feel all of the pain he had inflicted on me and Mom through the years.
I finally forced myself to pull away from him, but he was swaying.
I gave him one final push, needing to see him crash onto the floor.
Except when I shoved him, it must have been harder than I realized.
He didn’t just crumple to the floor. He fell back with the force of my shove and his head hit the corner of the coffee table.
It hit his temple. The neighbors had called the police, but by the time they got there, both my parents were dead. ”
“Eli …”
“I was seventeen. Old enough to be tried as an adult. They kept me in the system for a year in Tennessee, while I awaited my trial. I think the judge and my public defender were just stalling. I was guilty according to the law, but public sentiment supported the kid whose mother had been killed. I underwent a lot of therapy and testing. In the end the prosecutor opted to offer me a deal. Time served, probation for a year longer, something called an Alford Plea. Which was basically me saying I was innocent but realizing they may have enough evidence to convict me if I kept pushing it. I didn’t really care by that point.
I just wanted it done. My record was to be expunged after a year, if I stayed out of trouble.
Yet, it always turned up in my history. Getting a job was next to impossible.
I finally decided to try for the military.
Someone told me there was a good chance I could get a waiver, there and they’d accept me.
” I take a breath—having almost told the story as a robot, just trying to get it out, while avoiding Daphne’s eyes.
“It worked,” I finally end with a shrug.
“Eli, look at me,” Daphne pleads.
I close my eyes, knowing this is the moment. I know my woman, she’ll be there for me, but seeing the pity on her face is going to kill me. Still, I force myself to look at her. My breath stalls in my chest. When my gaze locks with hers, I’m shocked. It’s not pity—nothing like it at all.
It’s pride.
“I love you, Eli. I’m so proud to belong to you.”
I couldn’t speak if I tried. So, I do the only thing I can. I pull her to me and kiss her, showing her without words how much I love her.