Chapter 1 #3
We both lower our fists, and Henry looks at the floor, where his blood drips down onto the white tiles.
I make eye contact with Shaw, unashamed of my actions. “He’s talking shit about my mom before the dirt’s even settled.”
But I know as soon as the words leave my lips that it’s no excuse for fighting in a household where my position isn’t secure.
“So walk away, boy. Don’t engage in this nonsense. Dogs fight to establish social standing. You’re both better than that. And as for you, my son, perhaps the funeral was triggering. But don’t take it out on your brother, for Christ’s sake.”
I see Henry’s reaction to the word “brother.” A slight furrowing of the brow, a cringe that registers in his jaw.
He’d just as soon renounce his Shaw name than accept me as part of his family.
Henry’s blood runs blue, and he’s disgusted by the very idea of having to share a title with a plebe who hasn’t got something material to offer.
Henry doesn’t waste his time with people who can’t help him get ahead.
We are fundamentally different. To him, life is an opportunity to seize. To me, it’s a gift.
“Go on upstairs, Henry, and check on your sister. I’ll try to find a punishment suitable for Heath,” Shaw muses.
“Send him back to where he came from,” Henry glowers.
He’s got a hand towel to his lip which is progressively growing fatter. I want to growl that distancing myself from him would be a pleasure and not a punishment, but I’m already afraid that’s coming, so decide to say nothing.
“Son, I cannot have the two of you fighting,” Shaw says. He shakes his head in dismay.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” I say.
“I used to take a belt to Henry when he was young. That was the only recourse I had to keep him in line.”
“I know how to take a beating, if you must,” I tell him bravely.
I’ve been hit in the face plenty of times, but I’ve never had a spanking. There’s a first time for everything, and no reason why that first time shouldn’t be the day you bury your mother.
Maybe the physical pain will release some of my torment. My adrenaline rushes as Mr. Shaw reaches for his belt with a buckle that bears the family insignia.
I lean into the kitchen island in preparation. If I’m a Shaw, it means one hundred percent, and I’ve got to accept whatever they dole out. Beggars can’t be choosers or expect to escape punishment.
“I’m not going to beat you on the day we laid your mother to rest,” Shaw tells me.
“I deserve it. I was out of line. It’ll make us both feel better,” I encourage him.
I tear my t-shirt over my head to show him my submission. Mr. Shaw sighs and then undoes his belt.
I close my eyes and see Mom’s smiling face leaning over the tub when I was a toddler. She’d bop my nose with her finger, grab my chin, and gaze into my face before landing a kiss on my lips. Her hair was auburn and curly, her eyes a deep cerulean that looked like the sea on a rainy day.
“Fuck!” I moan, and spittle flies out of my mouth with the force of the blow.
I wipe my lips and brace myself for the next. Getting hit with a belt is no fucking joke. Shaw grunts with his work like he’s under duress from the sheer physical labor of beating my ass. No wonder Henry is stubborn and hateful. I count four blows and hold my breath, hoping his end goal is five.
Each strike hurts progressively more, building on the tender and torn flesh.
Five! Shaw tosses the belt to the imported tile, where it skids across the floor. It takes everything in me not to turn and knock my benefactor out with a blow straight to the nose.
“Lesson learned,” I choke. “It won’t happen again.”
Shaw is so red in the face he looks purple, and his chest heaves in exertion. I want to ask him if he’s okay, but he waves me away because the moment is too awkward.
I wander upstairs like a blind man through the many halls that are at once familiar and completely foreign at this moment. I’ve lived in this house as a servant for endless days, and now I am supposedly an equal.
Sweat mixed with blood streams down my back as I make my way to Kat’s room. I stumble across the threshold and see her in her large four-poster bed nestled into a book.
“Oh, my God, Heath! What happened?” she asks, dropping her hard cover.
She grabs me as I crash into her mattress, feet still on the floor, arms flung out over her.
She pushes my hair from my temple and kisses my forehead.
Tears stream down my face unabated as I feel utterly gutted and empty over the loss of Mom.
She was the only one I ever had, Mom and me against the world, but now she’s gone and I’ve got to fight this battle on my own.
I belong to no one. I’m not truly a Shaw. I am utterly alone.
“I don’t even know who I am anymore, now that she’s gone,” I sob.
Kat holds me steadfast and I feel her strong heartbeat through the fabric of her nightgown. Her tiny kisses flutter across my face and her sweet breath fills my nostrils.
“You’re Heath Clifton, my best friend. You’re family to me, and I’ll never leave you. I promise,” Kat swears.
Her eyes fill with tears and spill over, mixing with mine as she kisses my cheeks and brow.
“You have me, Heath, and nothing will ever tear us apart.”