by Hart, Rebel
Allison gasped. “Rae!”
Michael threw his head back, laughing. “She’s got a point.”
And as our food got handed to us, I debated whether or not to save half of my sandwich. After all, it would make a very good breakfast.
If Mom didn’t steal it from the refrigerator first.
6
Clinton
I smashed the buttons. “Come on, you can’t go faster than that? He’s getting away!”
Roy tilted to the side. “You’re the one who decided to modify your car at the last second. I would’ve been fine had you not pulled some shady shit.”
“Shady shit! It’s not shady when I’m making last minute tweaks to my car. The fuck’s wrong with you?”
“Well, how about we agree to disagree and smoke the asswipes?”
Our cars raced around the track on the projection screen television. I’d decided to have Roy over instead of going to detention. Playing Forza 4 sounded a hell of a lot better than sitting in some smelly, nasty, stinky room with Rae fucking Cleaver. And we had a good race going, too. I shot up from my chair, walking closer to the projector screen as we came upon our competition.
I pointed. “Go off the track. See that ditch? Fly over it and meet me on the other side.”
Roy snickered. “The fuck? Are you trying to get me thrown—”
“Just do it, dickweed! I’m trying not to cost us our rank in this damn game!”
I kept pressing buttons and fiddling with the modifications I’d made to my car. This damn thing was my pride and joy. I’d been grinding until the early hours of the morning over the summer, winning races and getting enough in-game cash to buy what I wanted to for it. Its speed was unmatched. The engine horsepower was out of this world. The car fucking screamed around the track, smoking these newbies like it was a fish fry.
Then the front door slammed out.
“What the—?”
My eyes peeled away from the screen, and I watched in shock as my father walked through the front doors. He was followed by my stepmother, who looked like her head was about to explode with fury. The horrific sound of my car crashing into a tree caused Roy to groan.
Roy stood up quickly. “Mr. Clarke. Mrs. Clarke. How was the safari?”
My father leveled his eyes with me. “Roy. Go home.”
“Right away, sir. See you tomorrow, Clint.”
Pussy.
I tossed my controller onto the couch as the race came to a close. We almost had it. We almost had those idiots! And now our ranking would fall. We wouldn't have the money we needed to fix our cars. And I’d have to deal with my parents ranting and screaming for a while so they could make themselves feel like decent people.
It wasn’t until Roy closed the front door behind him that my father spoke.
“What’s this I hear about you getting into it with your teacher and a female student on Monday?”
My stepmother came and stood beside my father, trying to present some sort of bullshit united front, even though the two of us never talked. I wanted nothing to do with her—or my real mother, for that matter. I was glad that bitch came in and ruined my father’s marriage. I was glad to be rid of my drug-addicted mother who wanted to do nothing more than spend my father’s money until we were out on the fucking street.
But that didn’t mean I had to be all buddy-buddy with his new, hot piece of ass.
I sighed. “They pissed me off. The hell was I supposed to do?”
Dad narrowed his eyes. “First of all, you watch that language in this house. And second of all, you man up. A man never allows his emotions to rage out of control like that. You need to learn how to keep it on a leash.”
“Like you do Cecilia over there?”
“What did you say?”
Her eyes stayed pinned on me, but she didn’t move. She didn’t say a word, and she sure as hell didn’t come to my defense. Figures, since she’d always been far removed from the situation. Just another plastic-surgery woman who simply knew how to take her place next to Dad. As my father came into the living room, I prepared myself to buck against it. It wouldn't be the first time I’d physically fought him. It would just be the first time he had the balls to start a fist fight like that in front of someone.
Dad gripped my leather jacket. “You’d do well to remember your manners and mind them in the presence of adults.”
I grinned. “Do adults manhandle their children in their own home?”
“Take it easy, Howard. You’re toeing a line.”
My eyebrows rose at hearing Cecilia’s voice. But it did nothing to harness my father’s rage. His anger. It did nothing but remind me exactly where I got my anger issues from. Exactly why I’d always felt like a burden. Exactly why I’d always hated my fucking father, no matter what he felt he’d done for me.
Dad shoved me against a wall. “How many times am I going to have to bail your pathetic ass out of these situations?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. How much money you got on you nowadays?”
He growled. “I’m sick and tired of that school calling us, Clinton. Don’t you know we have better things to do than worry about our fully-grown son who seems incapable of doing anything right? How the fuck do you expect to have any future?”
“Howard.”
Hearing Cecilia’s voice was so foreign to me. And yet, it was nice. Actually having someone step up to my defense.
Sort of.
I licked my lips. “Fully grown because I just turned eighteen? Or fully grown because you started your first business at eighteen?”
Dad scoffed. “You’re a fucking joke.”
Cecilia cleared her throat. “Howard. That’s enough.”
I smiled at my father, wondering if he’d actually listen to the tits with a voice. My father didn’t give a shit about anything but himself. And his new hot wife. He didn't give a damn when my mother first got addicted to painkillers because of her cesarean with me. He didn’t give a shit when she slipped into postpartum depression and threw herself off the roof. He certainly didn’t give a shit when she stopped taking care of the house and started spending all his money. Leaving me home alone to stew in my own waste and starve.
Oh, no. He only gave a shit when he couldn't keep up with the credit cards she kept taking out in his name. He only gave a shit when it impacted his finances. Not me, or my well-being. So it didn’t shock me one bit when I felt his hand tighten against my leather jacket instead of releasing it.
Because my father never gave a shit about me for a fucking day in his pathetic life.
“You get your shit together, you hear me? Or you’re out on your ass. Plain and simple.”
I scoffed. “You gonna throw me out while you’re in Bora Bora? Or before you two jet off to Australia for Christmas?”
Dad chuckled. “You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that.”
“Howard. Cut it out!”
“Shut up, Cecilia!”
I chuckled. “Wow. You really know how to treat the ladies.”
Dad shoved my chest. “You’ve got one last chance to keep your ass out of trouble until I can stick you somewhere after you graduate. One chance, you hear me?”
I glared at him. “Or what?”
Dad smiled. “Or you’re really not going to like our next conversation.”
I watched my stepmother stride over with her thin legs and her high heels. She grabbed my father’s arm, yanking it away from my leather coat. I dusted off his touch as she forcefully pulled him away from me, giving me some space to slip away from the wall. I wasn’t staying here another fucking second. Not with that asshole in the house. I walked into the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge, sticking it in the inside pocket of my jacket.
“And don’t you dare think about going anywhere tonight!” Dad roared.
I shrugged. “Too late.”
I slipped into the garage and stormed for my bike. I jammed my fist into the garage door button on the wall, watching it roll up. I threw my
leg over my motorcycle as Dad appeared in the doorway. I cranked the engine up too quickly to hear whatever the hell it was he was screaming at me.
“What was that? I can’t hear you!”
I pointed to my ears, watching as my father’s face reddened with frustration. Cecilia appeared behind him, rubbing his back and trying to calm him down. Fucking hell, that woman was too good for him. They were all too good for him, including my mother. I knew, deep down, my father was the reason why my mother got ruined. Putting up with his bullshit and always bending to his ways and dealing with his anger all the fucking time. It made me sick. And soon enough, he’d destroy Cecilia, too. Cast her out into the backyard like a piece of used furniture to burn before finding another trophy wife to stand at his side.
Another woman to burn with the rest of them.
I backed my bike out of the garage and swung it around. I heard my father rushing after me, but I took off down the driveway. I looked in my rearview mirror, watching him run until he had to bend over to catch his breath. That’s what he got, with all the traveling and car riding and not enough time spent in the gym.
“Fat ass,” I murmured.
I drove into town, setting my sights on the park. It was the one place where I could always go, get cheap food, and sit. Possibly write. I always kept my notebooks and pens in the back compartment of my bike, just in case inspiration hit me.
I also kept it hidden as much as I could. I never wrote when people were around. Because holy fuck, if my friends knew I wrote poetry and short stories as a hobby? My reputation would be shot. I’d be just like every other asshole I gave swirlies to on a regular basis.
And the idea of Roy stepping into my position practically made me cackle.
Because he’d only ever be half the man I was.
7
Raelynn
I shoved some things into a backpack on Friday morning, readying myself for this fun little weekend. I was ready to get out of here. Especially since I wasn’t working. Ready to get through the last hour of detention so I could be on my way to my best friend’s house for another wonderful sleepover. But, for once, I came downstairs to my mother already down there. I walked into the living room, skirting their makeout session while I waited in the wings. The lip-smacking made my stomach turn, and I breathed a sigh of relief when D.J. finally left. The smell of coffee filled the foyer as I tried to erase those sights and sounds from my mind, silently feeling sorry for the asshole she was cheating on.
Then again, there was a big chance he knew it. Why he continued to pay some of her bills and keep her around if she was, I’d never understand.
Then again, I also didn’t want to understand.
With my clothes and my phone charger in a bag, I made my way into the kitchen. I heard D.J. race out of our driveway, peeling out like he thought he was hot shit. I knew announcing to my mother I was going away for the weekend could go one of two ways. She’d either wave me out the door while she nursed her hangover with another beer, or she’d chew me out until I got fed up enough to slip out the door myself.
But after an entire week of detention, I didn't care if the woman tried strapping me down to keep me home. I was fucking going to this sleepover.
I peeked around the corner. “I’m going to spend the weekend at Allison’s.”
Mom sighed. “That’s fine, honey. You’ll be home Sunday?”
“Yep.”
“All right. Well, maybe next week you and I can have an old-fashioned girls’ night? Like how we used to?”
I studied my mother and how rough she looked. The hickeys on her neck. Her knotted, disheveled hair. The way her shoulders slouched as she sat at the kitchen table, pouring beer into her fucking coffee. I came around the corner and went to sit beside her. Something was off. Something didn’t feel right. And while I wanted to turn down the invite to her version of a girls’ night, I also didn’t want to leave her like this.
“Mom?”
She slowly looked over at me and I saw how tired she looked. The bags underneath her eyes. The pallor of her skin. Her trembling hand brought her mug of coffee to her lips, where she chugged a little too hard and a little too long. I placed my hand on her shoulder and she flinched, which told me everything I needed to know.
And when she finally faced me, I saw the blackened expanse of her right eye.
I sighed. “Oh, Mom.”
She patted my hand. “Yeah, an old-fashioned girls’ night soon. Okay?”
“Promise you won’t invite D.J.?”
And even though she nodded, I knew she was lying. It didn’t matter how many times her boyfriend smacked her around. Or made her cry. Or made her feel worthless. Whenever she wanted to spend time with me, he inevitably showed up. She always broke down and called him back. Begged for him to come over so she could ‘make things right.’
Which was the reason I always kept earplugs on my bedside table.
I stood up, kissing her cheek as a shudder left her lips. She was holding back tears, and it broke my heart. Because no matter what kind of shit my mother got herself into, she was still my mother. And she’d been through hell all her life. Starting with her own parents, who’d routinely slapped her around. Followed by my father, who proposed when they got pregnant with me, only to jump ship when I was only three years old. The string of boyfriends she’d had over the years were varying degrees of the same. A cokehead that got her addicted before she finally let him go. A rehab facility coordinator who ended up being the reason she got clean. And who ended up being married. A string of one-night stands that introduced me to so many sexual things a teenager should never have been exposed to.
And now? D.J.
The man who paid some of our bills in exchange for my mother’s soul.
“Please take care of yourself,” I whispered against her ear.
She nodded. “You know I always do. No matter what, I’ll always do my best to take care of you.”
“You’re important too, Mom. Always remember that.”
“I miss you, you know.”
“Well, then maybe we’ll have that girls’ night soon.”
Mom smiled softly. “You know, D.J.’s not really that bad.”
I sighed. “I’m sure he isn’t, Mom.”
“And he takes care of us. He’s the reason why we only have to choose one bill to ignore a month. Not the multiple ones, like we used to do.”
I nodded. “I know, Mom. I know. And I miss you, too. But I have to go. I’m going to be late for school.”
I rubbed her back as I tried to process everything. I never could tell my mother how much I missed her without getting angry with her. And I felt myself growing very upset very quickly. Without trying to hold her accountable for her actions throughout the years. While the rational part of me knew she kept trying her hardest, the other part of me wondered why the fuck she always had to try it with guys. Why not get a job on her own? It wasn’t like I couldn't fend for myself. Why not take out some loans? Get a technical degree? Make something of herself instead of hopping from man to man, hoping he’d swoop in and free us from this bondage?
I mean, I was familiar with the books my mother read. Books that were passed down to her through trash cans and bags dropped all around our street. Our neighborhood was practically a rich person’s dump, and I’d caught my mother many times opening up trash bags to dig around and see what was inside.
Mom cleared her throat. “You need any lunch money, beautiful?”
I shook my head. “Nope. I’ve got my own.”
“Good girl. Make sure to always do that. Provide for yourself.”
I bit my tongue on what I wanted to say. Because no matter what I wanted to do, I’d never kick a person when they were down.
Unlike D.J.
Even though my heart didn’t want to, my gut told me to leave. So I did. I left my mother to chug back her beer-laced coffee and I headed straight for school. With every step I took, I grew infuriated with D.J. With every step I took, comics unfo
lded in my mind. Graphic novels with curt colors, dripping with blood from D.J.’s veins. I shook with fury as I walked out of the neighborhood, trying to focus on where I was going.
Why the hell did men like D.J. and Clint have to exist in this world?
That was exactly who my mother’s boyfriend reminded me of, too. Clinton fucking Clarke. The two of them were cocky. Arrogant. Angry. Entitled. Rude.
Flat-out mean.
As the mouth of my neighborhood dumped me onto the curb, I made my way for Allison and Michael. They flagged me down with their arms, and I gave them both a thumbs-up, letting them know I was cleared to come over this weekend. The two of them high-fived as I picked up the pace, letting my dark, dank neighborhood fall into the background as the green grass and rolling white picket fences of our quaint area in Riverbend fill my view.
Then something whooshed by me.
The roaring of the motorcycle engine caught me off-guard, and I flinched. I knew it was Clint, and my only hope was that he hadn’t seen me. I picked up the pace, jogging down the sidewalk to try and get to Allison and Michael. But when I saw his brake lights flash, I grumbled to myself.
Especially when it pulled over to the curb. Blocking my path to my friends.
Great. Just great.
He pulled off his helmet. “Well, well, well. Good morning, detention rat.”
I ignored him and kept walking, watching as Michael bolted for me. Allison trailed behind him, trying to get to me before Clint could do any sort of damage to my morning.
Then I heard him whistle. “Nice ass, Cleaver.”
Michael linked his arm with mine. “Put a sock in it, Clinton.”
Allison snickered. “Yeah. Go terrorize someone your own size.”
Clint chuckled. “Trust me, that ass is big enough for me.”
Allison scoffed. “Disgusting pig.”
“I like watching you walk away, Cleaver! You should wear skinny jeans more often!”
I went to swirl around, but Michael tightened his grip on me. Allison’s hand fell to the small of my back as the two of them escorted me across the street. I wanted to smack that fucking grin right off Clint’s face. I wanted to ball-stomp him into the curb until he was crying out for his drug-addled mommy. Yes, Clint was D.J. The younger, more pompous version. What I wouldn't give to put the two of them in a room and give Clint the rude awakening that was coming to him.