17. BACK THEN – December #2
With the biggest sigh, she retreats into the kitchen, and I numbly scroll through Street Fighter II characters. Every so often, I hear her sniffle like she’s silently crying. I make no effort to comfort my mom, and it’s fucked up.
I realize that, but a sick part of me wants her to feel as terrible as I do. How many times have I shown her bruises from Hunter’s fists and lacrosse stick? How many times has she repeated my father’s phrase, get thicker skin ?
My skin could be superhumanly thick, and I’d still get bruises and broken bones. What then, Mom?
From the kitchen, I hear the sliding glass doors swoosh open and my oldest brother’s voice.
“Mom, what happened?” Davis asks. “Why are you crying?”
Shit.
I quickly pause the game and shut off the television. My brothers must file into the kitchen, one-by-one, because they each say a few consoling words while my mom blubbers something about wanting me to be with the family this Christmas.
“He’s with us, Mom.” Davis comforts her easily.
While I stand, I catch a glimpse of my mom through the archway, dabbing her tear-streaked cheeks with a dishrag.
“We’ll make sure he doesn’t run off to his friends,” Hunter says.
My nose flares, and I find myself waiting—to listen in. I should move. I should go. I know better.
“It’s not like he has many friends left around,” Mitchell says with a short, uneasy laugh. Like he’s not sure if anyone else will love his joke.
Hunter does. “That’s right.” He laughs mockingly. “What does he have, like one friend?”
“You can’t be surprised he lost them all,” Davis says to our mom, I think. “If he’s not on his computer, then he’s on his cellphone or playing video games. The kid is socially inept.”
I clench my teeth so hard that my jaw aches. This is what my family really thinks of me. A socially inept, lazy delinquent. Whatever.
“Mom, don’t cry,” Davis says.
“I’ll get him to play two-on-two basketball with us,” Hunter reassures her. “You can be sure of that.”
I start high-tailing my ass towards the back staircase. I can lock myself in my bedroom or crawl out the window and sit on the roof.
For how big Hunter is, he’s somehow deceivingly fast. Right as my foot touches the first stair, he fists the back of my hoodie and yanks me backwards.
My pulse explodes, and I spin frantically out of his hold. But my movement forces me back into the living room.
“Where are you going?” Hunter sneers.
“To the moon,” I spit back, frozen by the couch. I’m afraid to try and pass his body to reach the stairs.
Davis and Mitchell linger behind me, their irritations bubbling. All three have the same short haircut, and they wear nearly the same clothes: Polo shirts and khakis.
My oldest brother takes a couple steps towards me. “Can you please be cooperative? For once?” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “Mom is in the kitchen crying because you won’t spend time with us. Do you even care?”
I shake my head and blurt out, “I don’t care.” I come across like the biggest punk ass, and where Davis and Hunter grow red, Mitchell sighs like I’m digging my own grave.
“Come on, Garrison,” he says.
I’m not going to be like Mitchell. I’m not going to pretend that Davis and Hunter shit gold. I hate them too much to embrace that illusion.
“Let’s just go play basketball,” Mitchell says and nods towards the backdoor.
I pull my fallen hood over my head. “I’m not going outside.”
Davis rolls his eyes like I’m being unreasonably stubborn.
Hunter pokes my back. “You need the fucking sun.”
I flinch away from him, and Hunter sidles to our other brothers.
Davis scans the living room furniture, the black television screen, and my game console and controllers. “We can play video games then.”
A chill rakes my arms, uneasy and hesitant. “Yeah?” I wonder, watching Mitchell grab an Xbox controller and take a seat on the tufted chair. I was playing on the Sega Genesis console, but I have different ones hooked up to this television.
“Yeah.” Davis raises his brows. “Mom wants us to hang out together.”
Hunter collects the remote and switches on the television. It’s a trick , my brain screams at me.
They seem nice all of a sudden. And they want to play video games. I could suggest N64 and go really classic with Mario Kart.
It sounds almost like fun, which is why I move towards the couch.
“Where are all the football games?” Davis asks, fiddling with a wooden box of Xbox games beneath the coffee table. I’m about to crouch and help him— wrong move.
Hands grab me around the waist and throw me to the couch. Laughter pierces my fucking ears, and weight crushes my back.
Hunter sits on me. I grit my teeth and try to rise, but Hunter is really heavy. He braces a hand on the back of my head, pushing my face into the slit of the cushion. It smells like moldy cheese, and my lip brushes something harry or furry or whatever the hell…
All I hear is laughter.
I try to push him, and he catches my arm with his other hand and stretches my limb hard across my shoulders. Imprisoning me.
“Get off!” My voice is muffled and lost in the cushion.
Hunter pushes my head more forcefully, extending my neck. God, my neck hurts. I try to kick out, and Hunter goads me, “So now you want to fight? Or are you still going to run away like a little bitch?”
“Fuck you!” I yell, my face hot.
“What was that?” he sneers and purposefully sits on my head now. “I can’t hear you, Garrison. Speak up.”
I can’t breathe.
I can’t breathe. I can’t fucking breathe. I choke for air. Stop. Stop.
Stop!
My pulse thrashes off course, and if I can just… not panic , for one second. I try to tame my fear. I’m okay. I’m okay. My heart rate slows a tiny fraction.
I gasp into the cushion. A little air fills my lungs. I think I can breathe.
“Are you playing video games now?” My mom’s voice nears the living room, and Hunter slides off my back. I immediately lift my head and then sit up, gasping for more air.
“Yeah.” Davis squats beside me and rubs my head playfully. Like we’re best friends.
My mom smiles from the archway and gives me a look like see, Garrison, they’d even be willing to play video games with you.
I shut down again, numb inside.
She says that she’ll be visiting Rachel’s mom a few streets over and to call if we need anything.
With that, she leaves.
And Hunter wrenches me onto my stomach again. Shit.
“Get off, dude,” I snap, shoving and kicking him as hard as I can. Hunter curses at me all the while, calling me names, shouting his usual commentary about me needing to grow up. Fight back. Be a man .
I almost roll onto the floor, but Davis grabs me by the neck. So painful that I concede like a wounded animal. Hunter pushes me again, my stomach thudding to the cushions, and then he plops hard on my back.
I wince.
“Move over.” Davis passes Hunter a game controller, and he makes room. Davis sits on my upper back, his controller in hand. Their weight crushes me.
In more ways than one.