Chapter 15 #2
How do I tell her this? I have to warn her, but I can’t tell her what’s going on.
I don’t want her ever knowing what he does to me.
She’ll think I’m weak for putting up with it, for not fighting back.
She won’t understand that it doesn’t work that way with my father.
You can fight him all you want, but he’ll always find a way to win. Always.
My phone rings. It’s beside me on the bed. I see my mom’s name on the screen and let out a harsh laugh.
“Too late, Mom.”
It continues to ring, and I decide to answer it. Why not add to this shitty day with a lecture from my mom, telling me how great it is that I’m getting all this time with my father?
“Hey, Mom,” I say, my neck hurting with each word.
“Briggs, are you at the office?”
“No. Dad went without me.” I clear my throat. “What do you need?”
“I wanted to check in. See how things are going.”
“Great,” I say, sarcastically.
She doesn’t pick up on my tone. “That’s good to hear! I knew you two would get along better if you just spent some time together. I don’t know if he told you, but the last time I spoke with him, I asked him to ease up on you.”
“Yeah. He told me.”
And then beat the shit out of me. Thanks, Mom.
“Briggs, about what you said, about your father being rough with you, it’s just who he is. He was that way with me too.”
“He was?” I ask, surprised she’d admit that. I assumed he got physical with her too, but I thought she’d try to hide it.
“He limited it to when we were intimate. I didn’t like it, but I put up with it, feeling it was my duty as his wife. Then one day I decided I’d had enough and it was time to leave.”
“That’s why you left? Because he abused you?”
“Your father didn’t abuse me,” she scolds. “He simply has trouble managing his frustrations.”
“And that makes it okay for him to hit me?” I say, letting her hear my anger.
“Briggs, you’re a strong young man. Your father can’t hurt you unless you let him.”
“You’re telling me to fight back?”
“I’m telling you to do what you feel is best. If I were you, I’d let him relieve his frustrations without stirring up even more.”
“What does that mean? Let him hit me and go along with it? Pretend I’m okay with it?”
“I can’t tell you what to do. You need to decide for yourself. But as they always say, pick your battles. Some aren’t worth winning. Now, on to other, more pleasant topics.”
That’s it? That’s her advice? Just let him keep doing it?
I guess if I think about it, that’s what I’m already doing, and what I’d planned to do until I graduated.
But that was before this morning, before he hit me with a fucking metal statue that could’ve killed me.
Before it was a slap, a punch, or shoving me against the wall. Today was different.
“How is school?” my mom asks.
“Good.”
“How about that girl you were seeing? The model?”
“We broke up.”
“Oh, that’s a shame. She’s such a beautiful girl. And you’re still playing rugby?”
“Yes.”
I’m sure she’s annoyed with my short answers, but I really have nothing to say to her. Her questions are just attempts at polite conversation. She doesn’t care about my life. If she did, she’d be here, protecting me from my father. Instead, she’s one of the reasons he hits me.
“Mom, have you been talking to people about dad?”
“I talk to my friends, but what we talk about is none of your concern.”
“I need you to stop doing it. Stop talking about him. It makes Dad . . . frustrated,” I say, using her word to refer to his abuse.
“I see,” she says. “I suppose I could tone it down a bit.”
“You need to stop, not tone it down. Mom, I’m serious. If you saw how angry he got when he—”
“Yes,” she says, sounding irritated. “I understand. Is there anything else, Briggs?”
“No.”
“Then we’ll talk again soon. Goodbye, Briggs.”
I end the call and throw the phone down. Another great talk, Mom. I can always count on you to make me feel better. Your father’s still beating the shit out of you? You’ll be fine. He beat me up in the bedroom for years, and look at me! I’m having the time of my life at some commune in India.
Forcing myself to get up, I slowly walk to the bathroom and find a bottle of pain meds. I down six of them, then go back to bed. The meds make me tired, and I fall asleep.
When I wake up, my phone’s ringing. It’s Ella. I told her we’d meet up this afternoon. I check the clock. It’s after three. Shit. I didn’t think I’d sleep that long.
I answer the call. “Hey, Ella.”
“Hey. Can I come in?”
“What do you mean? You’re here?”
“I’m standing at your door.”
“How’d you get past the gate?”
“I know the code. You gave it to me the first time I came here.”
“What are you doing here?”
“You invited me last night. You texted me from the party. Don’t you remember?”
I have no idea what she’s talking about. I check my phone and see the text, asking her to come over at three. I must’ve been drunk when I sent that because I have no memory of doing it.
“Briggs?”
“Yeah, sorry. Hey, it’s not a good time. Maybe we can see each other tomorrow.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
“Why aren’t you at work?”
“I asked my dad if I could leave early. I didn’t tell him why. Can you open the door? Oh, never mind. Are you in your room?”
“Wait . . . what? You’re in the house?”
“The door was unlocked.”
I hear her coming up the stairs. I race in the bathroom and look in the mirror. There’s a bruise along my cheek and a big one on my neck. I’ll just have to make up a story to explain them.
Ella knocks on my door. “Can I come in?”
“Yeah.” I leave the bathroom and see her standing there, wearing ripped denim shorts and a tight t-shirt, her hair in a ponytail.
She looks hot, and beautiful, and she’s got this huge smile on her face.
That smile’s for me, but I don’t deserve it.
I’ve done nothing but hurt her, and things are about to get worse.
“Oh my God!” Her smile drops as she races up to me, her hand reaching up to my face. “What happened?”
I put my hand over the bruise on my neck. “I kind of got in a fight last night.”
“With who?”
“Some guy from another school. I don’t even know how it started. I was drunk and one of us threw a punch and next thing I know I’m in a fight.”
She moves my hand off my neck. “This is a really bad bruise, and it’s swelling up.”
“It’s fine.” I go around her to the bed. “Ella, I know we had plans today, but I’m not feeling that great. I think I might be getting sick. I would’ve called to let you know, but I fell asleep.”
She comes over to the bed, standing in front of me. “Can I do anything? I could you make you something. Are you hungry?”
It’s sweet that she offered, but it only makes me feel worse about what I’ve done to her.
I’ve ruined her life. Not only did I bully her all those years, but I’m the one who talked her into going with us when her truck broke down.
If she hadn’t, she wouldn’t be part of this secret that will probably land us in jail. And now my father’s going after her.
“I’m not hungry,” I tell her.
She feels my forehead. “You don’t feel hot. But this bruise on your face . . .” Her hand lowers to my cheek. “You need to put ice on this. Is it sore?”
“Not really,” I say, but the truth is it’s throbbing so bad it’s giving me a headache.
“Did you take anything? Any pain medicine?”
“I did this morning.”
“I’ll get you more. Where do you keep it?”
“Ella, you don’t need to do this. I’m good. Just go.”
“I’m not leaving you. You’re sick and some jerk beat you up.”
I smile. “You think this is bad, you should’ve seen him.”
“Where is it? Where’s the medicine?”
I hear a noise. It sounds like the garage door opening. He’s home. Shit! If my father finds Ella here, he’ll lose it.
I thought this morning was bad? This will be a million times worse.