by Drew Sera
I nodded. I’d never see any of those teachers again, or Connor. Or my few friends. Everything was going to be new.
As we took the tram to the parking garage, I was catching glimpses of the Bay Area. There were green hills but gray sky.
"Is your side bothering you?"
"No."
"You've been holding your hand over it since we got off the plane."
I pulled my hand away from my shirt. I hadn't realized I was doing it.
It was cold and damp as we walked through the parking garage toward my dad’s car. I didn’t know what his car looked like; I was just happy to be away from Bruce, my mom, and Connor.
“Right here, Anthony.”
My dad stopped by the trunk of a silver Mercedes sedan. Damn. I keep forgetting that my dad is a doctor, so I guess he did pretty well. After he put his bag in the trunk, he reached for my backpack.
“I can hold it in the car.”
“There’s plenty of room in the trunk for it.”
I nodded and set it in the trunk. I kept my arms folded after I got my seatbelt on. I wished I had my backpack to shield me. It was a long drive to my dad’s place, and when we got there, he gave me some more Advil and some food.
He sat with me at the table while I quickly ate the sandwich and chips he gave me.
“Slow down, Anthony. It’s not going anywhere.”
I nodded and tried slowing down. I knew my dad was looking at me. What was he thinking?
“We need to make sure you’re eating enough. Did you eat breakfast before school?”
“No,” I said.
“What did you eat for lunch at school?”
I shrugged, not committing to anything.
“Did you take a lunch or have lunch money?”
I shook my head.
“There wasn’t much in the house. I mean, not for me, anyhow.” My dad’s forehead wrinkled. “Mom and Bruce put a padlock on the cupboards. I ate what I was given.”
“Anthony,”
“It’s ok. Some of my friends brought stuff from home, and if they didn’t want something, they gave it to me.”
“The fridge and pantry are for you to utilize, Anthony. If you’re hungry, I don’t want you waiting for dinner or until I announce that it’s time to eat. You are allowed to help yourself, understand?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
His house was huge and what was going to be my room, was larger than my mom’s and Bruce’s room had been. A chill washed over me.
“Dad, what’s going to happen to mom and Bruce?”
“They were arrested yesterday, Anthony.”
They were going to jail. I wondered briefly if my mom even worried where I was at or if she had noticed that I had been missing. I felt an ache deep in my stomach. All those times I tried helping her and sticking my neck out to take the wrath of Bruce so she wouldn’t…and she didn’t even care one bit about me.
That afternoon I met the women from my dad’s medical office and couldn’t believe my new clothes. I had stuff that fits!
I took a shower before bed and put on some of the softest pajamas I had ever felt. Who knew they made stuff like this? I was all smiles when I went to bed; my stomach was full, I was warm and in soft clothes.
The middle of the night brought a terrible incident. I woke up from a bad dream and discovered that I had had an accident. My new pajamas were wet now, as were my new soft sheets.
I bolted out of bed in a panic. I had to get this cleaned up before my dad saw. He’d be furious. He’d think I was a fucking baby or something. I quickly raced to the bathroom to get a towel and bumped into my dad on the way back to my room.
Fuck.
I quickly lowered the towel to cover as much of the wet spot on my pajama pants as possible. He looked down though and tugged the towel out of my hands. I looked away. I had to think fast and try to make this right. Otherwise, he might send me away, and I don’t want to go back.
“I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad, I will clean it up. This doesn’t happen often. Um…”
“Anthony.”
I panicked trying to figure out how to make it better. Anything so he didn’t hurt me back there. When I’d have accidents at home, Bruce would spank my dick or worse. In desperation, I felt that was the only thing I could offer up to avoid from being hurt the other way.
“Here,” I pushed my pajama pants and underwear down and leaned back against the bathroom counter. “Please don’t use a belt.”
“Anthony! Jesus!”
He pulled my pants up and pulled me into a hug.
“God, Anthony. What did those people do to you?”
I sat on the floor in the bathroom, locked up in my dad’s arms. It felt good there, but I didn’t deserve it. I couldn’t look at him.
“You’re not in trouble, son.”
“I should be. Look at what I did. Babies do that.”
“Anthony, what happened is an effect of everything you’ve been through. You’re not in trouble. Wait here, ok?”
I nodded and leaned against the cabinets to the counter. I could feel my body shaking. Was he going to get a belt?
My dad came back with another pair of pajamas and underwear and set them on the counter behind me. He didn’t have a belt.
“Stand up, son.” I cautiously stood and watched as he soaked a washcloth in warm water and pressed out the excess water. “I’m going to change your sheets while you clean yourself up and change, ok?”
“I don’t have to sleep on it?”
“No, Anthony, of course not.”
He was looking at me in a weird way. Bruce and my mom always made me sleep on the wet sheets.
I nodded and apologized again as he left me alone in the bathroom. That was really nice of him not to whip me. I cleaned myself up, changed and waited for him. I put my other clothes in the hamper that was in the bathroom while I waited. When I saw him coming down the hall, I stood up straighter and looked at his hands for a belt.
“It’s all changed. We’ll get your new soft sheets washed in the morning. There’s a spare set on your bed now. It’s not as soft, but it’ll be ok.”
I got back into bed, feeling guilty. He must think I’m a fucking mess. I didn’t go back to sleep, but rested in bed.
I heard my dad in the kitchen a few hours later and decided I needed to get dressed and handle washing my sheets. I put on a new pair of jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt. It was soft against my wounds and wasn’t irritating any of them so far.
I carried my sheets downstairs and stood in the living room with them. My dad was on the phone murmuring about me to someone. I knew the laundry room was near the garage and headed that way. After I started the laundry, I sat down on the floor and would wait it out. I felt awkward going into the kitchen when he was on the phone. And I didn’t want to overhear what he was saying about his fucked up son.
“Hey, there you are. What are you doing?”
“I was just waiting for the sheets. I wasn’t doing anything else. I just have been sitting here.”
“Anthony, I wasn’t accusing you of anything. You don’t have to sit in here and wait for the sheets. Come on, let’s get you some food.”
I followed my dad to the kitchen and sat down when he made a gesture toward the table. He put some cereal boxes in front of me along with a bowl. I poured the one that looked good while he retrieved the milk. Before he sat down, he made me some toast and gave me a banana too. I scarfed it down while he sat across from me with his coffee.
“Anthony, we’re going to go see a doctor friend of mine today.”
I stopped eating and began to feel myself shake. I lost my appetite when he said we were going to see a psychologist. I pushed my plate with the toast away.
“Anthony, you need to talk to a professional.”
“I don't need anything.”
He sighed and took his empty plate to the dishwasher and announced that he was going to go get ready for the appointment.
I wasn't going.
/>
I sat firmly in my chair for minutes after he disappeared to his room. While I dipped the spoon in the milk excess, a terrible thought filled my head. What if he didn't think that I wanted to be here and took me back?
I can't go back there. They probably made bail. Bruce and Connor would kill me.
I needed to go where my dad wanted me to go and not give him a hard time. After all, he hadn’t whipped me after last night.
I got up from the table and moved quickly with the plate and bowl toward the dishwasher. Pain in my side snuck up on me and caused me to double over and reach for the area that hurt. I dropped the plate and bowl and they landed on the kitchen floor, breaking into large pieces.
Fuck!
I sat on the floor holding my side with one hand and gathered the pieces of the plate with the other hand. I clutched my side, and when I realized how hard my heart was pounding, I leaned against the cabinets and tried to calm down.
“Anthony, what happened?”
My dad was hurrying down the steps and could see me holding the broken plate. I've been in this position many times before, with Bruce yelling my name and hurrying toward me with a belt. I panicked when my dad did it and reacted the only way I thought might help. If I owned up to it, it always made it better.
“I'm sorry,” I said and quickly stood, holding my side.
I knew the belt was coming and moved to the table. I bent over the table and shut my eyes, waiting for the first blow. My dad took hold of my arms and pulled me away from the table and into a hug.
I didn't understand.
“Slowly tell me what happened.”
“I was trying to hurry so I could go get ready for the appointment. I moved too fast, and my side started to hurt and I dropped the plate to grab my side.”
He squeezed me in his arms as I stood there afraid to move. Fuck, my heart was racing again. I reached up and held my hand over my chest to calm down.
“Why did you bend over the table?”
“So you could whip me. If I went to the table myself, you wouldn't grab me. If you grabbed me, I was afraid my side would hurt more.”
He said my name a few times and squeezed my shoulders. I kind of liked the hugs. He knew my back caused me a lot of pain and when he hugged me, he wrapped his hands around my shoulders or upper arms.
“I'm never going to whip you, Anthony.”
He was never going to whip me?
“I broke the plate, and I was giving you a hard time about the doctors. I'm sorry. I'll do whatever you want, just please don't make me go back.”
“Son, you're never going back, I promise. You have to believe me.”
I wanted to. I really did. But still, the fear was there that he'd get pissed and send me away. I needed to steel myself and not give him a reason to get rid of me.
“Relax, Anthony. You’re safe here. We’re just going to talk.”
I looked up at my dad as he spoke and then returned my gaze to the floor. I worried about what they’d ask me. I didn’t want my dad to hear any of it. A guy appeared and made friendly conversation with my dad and then introduced me.
“Anthony, this is a good friend of mine, Dr. David Josten. David, this is my son.”
The doctor held his hand out for me to shake. I politely shook it and then shoved my hands into my pockets.
“Good to meet you, Anthony. Come on back, guys.”
Fuck.
That night while my dad was in the shower, I went to the garage and found a black trash bag and took it to my room. When it was time for me to go to bed, I spread it out on the sheets. That way, if I had another issue, I could quickly throw the bag away and change. He'd never know.
He told David about it today and I felt like shit. I know he said it was ok and for me not to worry about it, but I’m almost eighteen and need to grow the fuck up. David said it was a common response to trauma. Fuck that.
We went and saw David again today and I found the visit far more personal and agonizing than yesterday. They talked about an anti-anxiety medication to help me sleep and relax.
“Just a low dose, David. Please,” my dad said to him.
They discussed names of medications and described side effects. Each time a medication name was brought up, my dad seemed as though he had something bad to say about it. He was very adamant that David just gave me the lowest dose possible.
After we left that office, he took me to see another friend of his who was a regular medical doctor.
“Didn’t we just see medical doctors a few days ago, Dad?”
“Anthony, you’re going to need a regular doctor here. And while the emergency room did a good job of taking care of you, you need a little more care.”
I leaned my head back until it hit the headrest and I sighed. I wanted to bolt when I found out that they were going to do a full physical. The doctor asked about nearly every fucking injury or wound, and finally, I just stopped looking at my dad. The look on his face was killing me.
When we got home, I took the little pill David prescribed and went to my room to take a nap. I just wanted to hide and be out from under my dad looking at me. When I woke up, there was a note next to my bed.
Anthony,
I ran out to the store for a few things. I’ll be back in a little while and I’ll bring dinner home.
Dad
I stayed in my room but sat up when I heard the garage door. I felt really groggy and out of it. A few minutes later my dad came in.
“Hey, heads up,” he said, and I looked over at him as he tossed something at me.
It was a plush football. I was eyeing it and turning it over in my hands when he sat down on the chair in the room.
“I think you could use this. Did you ever have something to hold onto at night? Like a bear or a blanket?”
“I had the bear you sent me.”
“That was it?” he asked.
I nodded my head. He looked sad over that for some reason. I wasn’t a baby. Was he giving me this because he thought I was a baby because I had an accident? I set it on the bed beside me.
“I apologized for the accident. It won’t happen again. But I’m not a baby. It just happened, I guess in my dream. I had a bad dream.”
“Anthony, you’re not in trouble.”
“Then why are you giving me a baby’s stuffed toy?”
I felt bad about my outburst, but I wasn’t a baby. He picked up the football and sat down next to me.
“Anthony, there are a lot of things you’re reacting to, physically and emotionally. All of these feelings are normal and expected.”
“Good, then since they’re so goddamn normal, you can stop treating me like a two-year-old.”
“I’m trying to help you, Anthony.”
“I don’t need help. I just want to be this normal person you say I am.”
“You’ve had some very unhealthy things happen to you. Many years’ worth.”
He wrapped his arm around my shoulders, and my stomach started to hurt. I had a love/hate thing going on with hugs right now. I loved them, but the second he let go of me, I hated how I felt.
The plush football, which was nearly the size of a basketball, was pressed against my stomach. My dad held it against my abdomen, and I found my hands gravitate towards it.
“I’ve watched you closely Anthony over the past few days. You’d cling to that backpack for security and comfort at the hotel and when we got here. With it stuffed full of your clothes, it was soft and something you could cuddle up to. You don’t realize it, son, but you’re aching for it. I’m not giving you the football for any reason other than I want you to have something soft and comforting to hold onto at night. It will help you sleep and relax.”
“Isn’t that what the medicine David gave me is for?”
My dad was quiet for a moment before answering me.
“This is different, Anthony. The football is comforting. Medicine can’t replace the feeling of something soft in your arms or against your body.”
&nb
sp; I knew this. I learned a long time ago that something against my stomach made me feel better. I often slept face down so that my stomach was safe and protected, among other things. My dad knew this too.
“I’m sorry. Thank you for the football.”
“Ready to scream?” Connor asked as he hovered over me.
I felt pain in my side and cried out.
Fuck! I woke up from another bad dream. I moved to reach for my football and felt two horrible sensations; pain in my side and dampness. I threw back the sheet and stared in disbelief at the evidence that I peed. I set my hand on my side and felt something damp against my skin.
“No!”
My side was bleeding! I lifted my shirt and saw the bloody, smeared mess. I couldn’t move even though I knew that I needed to. I heard movement out in the hallway, and I clamped a hand over my mouth to stay quiet. Seconds later, my dad appeared in the doorway. He rushed in when he saw I was sitting up.
“Anthony, I heard you making noise, are you ok?”
I quickly tried pulling the blanket up to hide my accident on the black trash bag, but it was too late.
“Oh, son. It’s ok.”
I lowered my head so he wouldn’t see me cry like an infant. He helped me off the bed and lifted my shirt to see the bloody mess.
“I think I might have been rubbing it in my dream. I was dreaming of the night they cut me.”
“Yeah, looks like you rubbed it. The stitches are still intact. We’ll clean it. Come on.”
My dad grabbed some dry clothes for me and led me to the bathroom. He cleaned my side and applied some ointment to it and covered the wound with a bandage. He left a warm washcloth on the counter for me to clean myself up with before I changed into my clean clothes and went back to bed.
My back was on fire. My arms were wrapped around the beam in our garage by bungee cords and then attached to a nail that had been curved into a hook on the other side and high above my head. My legs were tied to the sides of the beam. I was naked and completely exposed.
Bruce and Connor were both high again.
I could hear them laughing behind me as they rummaged around the workbench. Since I couldn't see them, I tried to listen hard to see if I could figure out what they were doing.