Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
Callum
Eighteen Years Old
I’m in the kitchen, pouring myself a cup of coffee, when I hear the front door creak open.
I freeze in place, listening closely to make sure I’m not just imagining things. That’s when I hear voices.
My parents are out of town, so I know it’s not them. Birdie left first thing this morning to work a shift at the coffee shop. And even if it were her, she couldn't get in without a key or the door code. I also know I locked the door after I kissed her goodbye.
I furrow my brows and leave my mug on the counter before walking out of the kitchen and into the foyer. Maybe it’s one of Mom’s weekly deliveries. She always has people coming in and out of our house to deliver furniture, art, or God knows what. The door code constantly changes due to the number of people in and out of the house.
My heart rate accelerates, and my steps come to a halt when I see my father’s long fingers wrapped around the doorknob. His dark head of hair comes into view as he stumbles into the house.
My eyes flick to the strange woman standing beside him, who looks like she’s closer to my age than his. He shuts the door while keeping a possessive hand wrapped around her lower back. He dips his head to kiss her but stops midway when he notices her staring straight ahead.
Staring directly at me.
Her eyes widen in fear as a spine-chilling silence takes over the room.
I look down at the pair of boxers that I threw on to come downstairs. Birdie and I slept skin-to-skin last night, rotating between dozing off for short periods of time and waking up to get lost in one another. I lost track of how many times I slipped inside of her last night, in complete awe of how incredible it felt to finally be as close to her as physically and emotionally possible.
God, I’m so thankful she left early to help out at her parents’ coffee shop. My gut churns at how bad this could have been if she were still here. As unforgettable as last night was, I should have never invited her to my house in the first place. I make a promise to myself to never bring her here again. It’s too risky.
I would die if my father ever got his hands on Birdie. I don’t even want him laying an eye on her. Especially now that I see the woman he’s having an affair with looks to be around Birdie’s age.
“Sara,” my father says to the young woman beside him. “Can you go outside for a minute? I need to speak with my son. You can wait in the car.”
He hands her his keys before flashing her a challenging stare. A demanding look that communicates, do what I say, or we’re going to have a problem.
She nods, panic and embarrassment filling her hollow eyes. Her gaze darts back to me one last time as her brows pinch together with emotion.
“I’m so sorry,” she mouths before opening the door. I swear I hear a whimper of despair slip past her throat as she closes the door behind her and disappears outside.
Christ, she looks so young…
I doubt that my father told her about me and my mom. For I all know, this could be the first time she’s learning that he has a family to come home to.
“What are you doing home, Callum?” My father’s tone is stern as he crosses his arms over his chest.
It’s obvious what he came here to do by the way the top buttons of his dress shirt are ripped open. And by the furious look on his face, he’s fucking pissed that I interrupted his little affair.
He doesn't have an ounce of remorse that his son just caught him cheating. He’s just riled up because he’s not about to get his dick wet.
To make this situation worse, he’s standing a good ten feet away from me, and I can still smell the reek of alcohol.
When my dad is sober, he scares the shit out of me. But when he’s shit-faced like he is now, he fucking terrifies me. It’s as if his brain shuts off all sense of logic, and he no longer has control of his emotions. He becomes animalistic.
When things would get really bad, I thought he was going to kill me before my mom could somehow get him off of me. He’s a scary motherfucker when he’s like this.
“Answer me,” he demands, pulling me from my thoughts.
A knot forms in my throat as my pulse pounds in my ears.
“What do you mean? This is where I live. ”
His nostrils flare as he takes a step toward me.
“Don’t get fuckin’ smart with me,” he grits out. “What are you doing at home? You’re supposed to be with your mom in Charleston.”
“No, I’m not,” I shake my head. “Mom said she was going to visit Sharon, but she didn’t ask me to go with her.”
He narrows his eyes into angry slits before running a hand through his greasy hair.
“Fucking hell,” he slurs under his breath.
God forbid his own son be at home on a Saturday morning.
“Mom said you wouldn't be back until Monday?”
“I had a work emergency that I needed to come home and take care of,” he grumbles.
I feel my body temperature rise as my blood starts to boil. I know I should control my temper around my father, especially when he’s belligerent. But he’s standing here—completely unapologetic—like I didn’t just catch him cheating on my mom. His wife.
“I thought the whole reason you went out of town was for work?”
He cocks his head to the side, dawning an evil glare while continuing to stalk toward me. I stand my ground because I’m not about to cower to this motherfucker. I’m done playing his game of intimidation.
“Are you questioning me, boy?”
Boy.
I’m sick of him calling me that. I’m not a fucking boy. I’m eighteen years old, big enough to kick his ass now.
“Hmm?” he pushes, halting his steps when he’s a few inches away from me.
“Yeah, I am,” I clip. “Because Mom could barely get out of bed on Friday after you left for your work trip . You’re cheating on her, and you’re doing a shit job of hiding it. As a matter of fact, you're dangling it right in front of her damn face.”
His face turns the shade of a blood orange.
Before I can blink, my father’s palms connect with my shoulders, violently shoving me back against the wall. All the air knocks from my lungs at the impact. A choking noise catches in my throat as I try to reel in a breath.
“Shut your goddamn mouth,” he seethes, the tip of his nose almost touching mine. “You’re lucky that I have company with me, or you would be paying for that smartass remark.”
I scoff right back in his face.
“And who’s your company? I’m guessing not a work colleague because she looks young enough to be in high school.”
His jaw flexes.
“It’s none of your damn business,” he says through clenched teeth. “And if you're smart, you’ll stop running your fuckin’ mouth and get the hell out of my house.”
His house?
HIS house?
As if I haven't lived here for eighteen years.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m going to take Sara out to lunch. She’s staying here for the remainder of the weekend,” he replies. “That will give you enough time to pack a bag and leave. I don’t want to see you until Monday.”
Is he fucking kidding me right now?
What a pathetic, piece of shit, sorry excuse for a father.
“Pack a bag and leave?” I repeat, disbelief lacing my tone. “Where am I supposed to go? This is my home.”
A crooked smile curves his lips.
“I don’t know,” he shrugs, like he didn’t just kick his own son out. “Go stay with that little slut you’re always running around with. The one with the blonde hair.”
Any grip I had on my temper flies out the window. My anger morphs into pure rage.
Go stay with that little slut you’re always running around with.
That little slut.
Slut.
My vision blurs and all I see is red at the derogatory, four-letter word that he used to describe Birdie.
Over the years, my father has said a lot of hurtful shit. Unforgivable words that caused my veins to fill with hatred.
But this—referring to Birdie as a slut—has me ready to strangle him. He can degrade and belittle me all he wants. I’ve learned how to take it. But I won’t stand here and let him speak about Birdie like that. Over my dead fucking body.
I bare my teeth, snarling as my limbs shake with fury. Just as he did to me, I lift my hands and shove him back. Almost bumping heads with him as I get up in his face.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
His lips turn up in a smug smirk before he lets out a wicked chuckle.
“You gonna fight me, son?” he taunts. “You think you’re big and bad now that you’re eighteen, huh?”
All the anger I’ve kept pent up over the years boils to the top and finally unleashes.
“Fuck you!” I shout.
I grit my teeth, trying to hold back hot tears as I push him back another foot.
I know I shouldn't feel an ounce of remorse, especially after all of the abuse I’ve taken from this man. But it fucking wrecks me that this is the relationship I have with my father. This is the relationship I have with the man who is supposed to be my number one protector.
I’ll never know what it’s like to have a father who teaches their son how to throw a baseball, takes them camping, or talks to them about girls. Instead, I’ll remember every hit and every bruise. I’ll remember the hatred in his eyes right before he strikes me.
“Don’t you ever talk about her like that again!” I yell as an angry tear slides down my cheek.
In the next breath, he reaches around my neck and painfully tangles his fingers in the curls at the back of my head. My neck cracks as he pulls my head back until he’s staring down at me. His nostrils flare as his shoulders rise and fall with furious breaths.
I can tell by the irate look in his eyes that he’s past the point of no return. He’s about to lose control, and for once in my life, I don’t fucking care.
For years, I hated the thought of laying a hand on my father. The thought of treating any human with the same resentment he shows me.
But now, I just feel numb. Like he could die tomorrow, and I wouldn't shed a single tear.
“I just call it like I see it,” he replies in a low, lethal tone. “And she’s nothing but a whore, following you around like a pathetic puppy dog–”
Before he can get another word out, my fist swings for his face. With his anchoring grip on my head, he has complete control and dodges my punch.
“You worthless motherfucker!” I scream as hot tears stream down my face. I swing at him again and again, punching the air as he dodges my fist.
“You’re supposed to be my father!” I cry out, my voice hoarse with emotion. “You’re supposed to take care of me! But all you’ve ever done is hurt me. You fucking piece of shit!”
My throat burns from how loud I’m yelling. My vision blurs as I let out words I’ve been keeping in for so long.
I lose all sense of direction when my father yanks me around by the back of my head, his fingers painfully pulling at the hair on my scalp. I’m facing the wall now with him at my back.
“I told you to stop running your fuckin’ mouth.”
And those are the last words he says to me before he pulls my head back and rams it into the wall.
Pain like I’ve never experienced before rushes from my head all the way down to my toes.
A loud popping noise echoes through the foyer as my forehead crashes into the drywall. My head vibrates in agony as a loud ringing fills my ears. I think the room is spinning, but I’m not sure because he pulls my head back before pounding it into the wall again. The white paint cracks, creating an indent as he repeatedly beats my head in.
I try to turn around and fight back, but I can’t see past the overwhelming amount of blood dripping from my forehead down into my eyes. I try to inhale, but breathing is getting more difficult by the second.
I start to blackout as my father shouts a slew of angry words I can’t make out before shoving my limp body down to the marble floor. My shoulders hit the hard ground before my head, barely softening the blow to the back of my skull.
Blood bubbles from my nostrils as I gasp, trying to catch my breath.
My father may be a drunk, but he’s not dumb. He’s been a lawyer for twenty years and knows how to get around the law, which is why he’s refusing to hit me with his hands. He knows he’s hurting me badly; he’s trying to beat the shit out of me without incriminating himself.
When I finally draw in a solid breath, I use all the strength I have left to try and sit up. I barely get my head off the floor before my father’s shoe connects with the side of my ribcage, knocking me back down.
He pulls back his foot and kicks me again. I hear a cracking noise as an unbearable pain shoots through my side. It feels like one of my ribs is stabbing my insides.
“S–stop,” I croak, my voice weak. “Please,” I wheeze as my vision starts to fill with dark spots.
“Someone…help me…” I pant in broken breaths as his shoe continuously drives into me.
I’ve never been scared like this before.
It’s never been this bad.
He’s not stopping.
His kicks are only getting harder.
Blood starts to spurt from my mouth at the same time my heart rate seems to slow.
And it’s then that I realize I might die.
After years of trying to survive my own father, this might really be the end. I’m so close to graduation. So close to being out of this house for good and creating a new life for myself… But he might actually kill me first.
I start to dissociate, refusing to give my last moments of life to my father.
I close my eyes and try my best to block out the pain.
I think of my happy place: Birdie Wren .
I think of her beautiful, silver eyes that remind me of moonlight against the water. I think of her laugh and how it’s the sweetest song I’ve ever heard. I think of how her cheeks turn pink each time I tell her that I love her.
I think about how stunning she would look wearing a white dress and walking down the aisle to me. I remember her telling me that she wanted to get married on the beach one day.
I think about what our babies would look like. Would they have black hair like me or golden strands like Birdie?
The first time Birdie spoke to me, she told me that I had messy hair. All I could think about was how her hair reminded me of the sun.
I think about last night and how I held her in my arms as she slept. Skin to skin.
I think about how I kissed the tears from her cheeks as I slowly sunk inside of her for the last time before sunrise. How she whispered she loved me with each thrust.
“I love you, baby. So much,” I said back. Over and over as we came together.
I think about how I still have her dried sweat and sweet tears on my skin. How I’ll die with Birdie Wren not just etched into my heart but marked on my flesh.
If soulmates are real, then Birdie Wren is mine. If I meet an early grave, she’ll forever be carrying around my heart. Instead of heaven or hell, I’ll be with her. The keeper of my soul.
Through the agonizing pain of my ribs snapping and breaking, a bloody smile tilts my lips knowing that my last thoughts will be of Birdie Wren Ambrose. Not my father.
“Oh my God! Stop! You have to stop! You’re going to kill him!”
Those are the last words I hear before everything goes black.