“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.”
“Are you sure it's the scars?” I asked. “I don't really notice them any more. I mean, they look like they hurt, but...”
His eyes softened as he glanced at me before looking back at the road.
“You know, I was tall and worked out before I got the scars. People teased me, asked me how the weather was up there, all of that. After the scars... you're one of the only people who will talk to me without pity or disgust. Did you know that? I hate it.”
I was too busy feeling pity for myself to spend it on other people. That wasn't a good trait. That wasn't something he should be grateful for. It was just another reason to hate me.
I didn't have the heart to tell him that, though.
“I'm lonely,” he said, so very softly. “I'm really, really lonely, Tabitha. You talk to me, you see me for who I am underneath the scars, and I don't want to lose you.”
I didn't know what to say to that, so I said nothing.
“Besides, I like you. You're smart and funny, you play video games with me, you're a good cook... if I could, I'd be asking you out on a date. I really like you.”
He liked me?
That was a terrifying thought. If he liked me, he might want to touch me, besides the casual brushes of his hand against mine. He might want to fuck me. I couldn't stop him if he did.
I think, years before, if I had found out that he liked me, I would have been so fucking happy. If I were honest, his broad shoulders, bright eyes, and strong jaw were handsome. To have a good-looking nice guy like me would have been the epitome of delight.
Unfortunately, years happened.
“Oh,” I said, again.
“I'm not asking you on a date,” he said, quickly. “and if you move in with me, I wouldn't ever expect – well, you know what I mean. I would never expect sex. I'm not going to hurt you, okay? I couldn't.”
I snorted. ”You could.”
When I saw the hurt on his face, I wish that I could take back my words, my entire reaction.
I wasn't trying to comment on him as a person, just his size, his gender. He shared a lot in common with people I knew for a fact could hurt me. Had hurt me.
I didn't know that I could hurt him.
After the rest of our drive to his house was silent and sad, I assumed the idea of me moving in with him was totally dropped. What kind of man would still want that?
That night, though, as I headed for bed, he called out to me.
“Tabitha?”
For a moment, I wasn't sure what he was going to ask, and then I remembered our nightly ritual.
“Will you testify against your father?”
“No, Beast.”
He let it drop, and I walked away.
Two weeks later, two long weekends without seeing the girls, my father showed up late one night. I was in the brightly-lit kitchen of his house. He glanced at me and then looked at the stove, the dishwasher. Making sure all the appliances were clean and functional. I tried not to let my feelings show on my face.
He was high as a kite, but not angry, more... thoughtful. That was terrifying, if only because I had hardly ever seen it.
“That boy wants you to go live with him, full-time,” he said.
I didn't say anything.
“You must be treating him right,” he said.
I shrugged, trying to keep my face blank.
“Aren't you going to answer me?”
“I'm sorry, sir. I don't know what to say. I didn't know he was going to ask you that.”
My father came over to the sink where I was scraping dishes before they went int the dishwasher, and eyed my hands. They never stopped moving, never stopped working.
“You do a lot around here, and I don't want to lose that,” he said. “Doesn't seem right. You're my daughter, not his.”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
I was his daughter. That much we could agree on.
“Goddamnit, I need to think about this,” he said. “Do you want to go live there? With him?”
“I don't know, sir,” I said.
“You don't know shit, you never do,” he said. “I don't know why I even fucking ask.”
What I didn't know, of course, was whether my father would be more or less likely to let me leave him if I said I wanted to.
“He even had a lot of questions about your sisters, about if they could visit up there.” he said. “You didn't tell him about our deal, did you? You remember what happened you were that fucking stupid, right? You didn't enjoy that, but Officer Pearson did.”
Ah.
This was what I expected.
His hand on my arm, nails digging in painfully as I gasped and trembled. The threat and reality of pain.
“No, sir,” I said.
“Are you sure?” he asked, giving me a shake.
“Yes, sir,” I said. “I talk about them a lot because I love them. Maybe he just noticed that?”
“Has he fucked you?” my father asked, words abrupt and cutting.
I shook my head.
He dug his nails harder into the soft skin of my arm and shook me again. “Answer me right.”
“No, sir,” I said. My voice was shaking as I tried not to cry.
“Huh,” he said. “And he still wants you to move in with him? And he's really concerned about your sisters? I bet I know why.”
I felt sick.
That hadn't occurred to me. I didn't know how it couldn't have. Maybe Beast wanted my sisters instead of me and he was just being nice to me to get to them.
“Did you tell him about them, sir?” I asked.
“Nah, you did,” he said. “I don't tell people about them, because I honor our fucking deal, got it?”
“Yes, sir, thank you, sir,” I said.
That was... something. Beast was nice before I told him about them. I didn't remember exactly when I did, but it wasn't the first few weeks. That was a good sign, right? It meant that he was just a nice guy?
Just a nice guy.
Right.
I hadn't met any of those before. Why would he be one?
“I still don't know,” my father said out loud. “I think his plan sucks. You driving back into town whenever Kandy drops the girls off? He'd have to give you a car and let you drive it and shit. That's fucking stupid, you could go anywhere. I told him that, and he said he didn't think you would. Huh! Maybe he's going to make you his own deal.”
“Maybe, sir.”
If my father seemed to think that I would be miserable, maybe he'd be more likely to let me go. Of course, he clearly didn't want me to have the car.
It wasn't looking good.
I hadn't realized until I saw how unlikely it was how desperately I wanted to live with Beast – not just get away from my father, I saw, clearly, I wanted to spend more time with Beast. He was kind to me, and I liked talking to him, cooking with him, playing silly video games with him.
Maybe I even loved him.
“Okay, I have an idea,” my father said, suddenly.
He let go of my arm and was smiling.
That was bad.
He'd figured out another way to hurt me.
“Do you like Beast?”
“Yes, sir,” I admitted.
“I'll let you live with him for a while, but... you can only come over every other time the girls do. You know you can trust me to take care of them if I feel like it, and I do, so you have to decide for yourself... is more time with your friend Beast worth giving up time with your sisters?”
I opened my mouth to say “No, sir,” or “No, way,” but I couldn't quite make the words leave my lips.
I swallowed.
“You need to choose,” he said, a huge grin on his face.
He pulled a bag of the pink meth out of his pocket and started looking for his lighter.
“Right now?” I asked.
“Right now.”
“And you promise you'll tell me whenever they're going to come over?”
I asked. Maybe it was stupid, but I trusted his promises. He had only ever broken one, and that one, even I couldn't blame him for. After that, he got way more careful about making them.
“I do solemnly swear,” he said, hand over his heart, smirk firmly in place.
“I'll go with Beast.” I said. “Thank you, sir.”
I wasn't expecting the blow. He hit me across the face so hard that my ears rang.
“Go pack your shit, you have ten minutes to get out of my house, you ungrateful whore.”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
I ran up the stairs and threw things in my duffle bag. After I'd grabbed a few treasures, I focused on quantity. As many clothes as possible. As many books and notebooks as possible.
I thought about running up to the attic to rescue some things from there, but I knew I didn't have time – and, besides, I didn't know Beast that well. Maybe they'd disappear or be broken there, too. No point in revealing my hiding space now. After all, I'd be coming back to visit my sisters.
Wouldn't I?
Nine minutes and thirty seconds later, I was sitting on the curb outside my father's house. I texted Beast that my father had kicked me out, and he said that he'd be there in fifteen minutes. It took a little longer than that to get to the cabin from town, so he must have been nearby.
I wondered why.
He pulled up and hopped out of the car without turning the engine off, picking up my heavy duffle bag in one hand and offering me the other.
I took it.
It felt warm and clean against my skin, and sent a happy shiver down my spine.
Beast looked over my face and scowled. I wondered if he saw the mark where my father had struck me, or was just disappointed to have me nearby. Maybe he was having second thoughts about challenging a man like my father for me.
He put the bag in the backseat, carefully, and I ran around the car to sit shotgun.
“Let's get out of here before he's high as a kite and thinks to shoot out my tires,” Beast said, pulling away from the house so quickly that his tires screamed a protest.
“Good plan,” I said. “He probably wouldn't do that here, but he'd follow us.”
“Shit,” Beast swore. “Let's not go to the cabin quite yet, then, okay? Let's just kill some time. Have you had dinner?”
“No, sir.”
“You do NOT need to call me sir,” he said. “Not ever.”
“Okay, Beast.”
“Have you had dinner?”
“No,” I said.
“Let's go out. I have some cash. What do you want to get?”
“Mexican? Maybe?"
“Sure, is there a place you usually go with your father?” he asked. “If so, we've gotta steer clear.”
I laughed out loud.
“Do you really think he takes me anywhere? I used to get Mexican with my mother, and in high school I went with friends a few times.”
“Okay, so nowhere he would think of you being. That's good. He'll calm down eventually, and remember that I'm goddamn paying him and he doesn't want that to stop, and if he doesn't, I'll handle it, okay?”
“Okay,” I said, not believing him for a moment.
No one would do that sort of thing for me.
That was simply not an option.
Not something that would happen.
I didn’t normally think of Beast as paranoid, but we drove past two Mexican places that all looked fine to me, and hopped on route 221 to get to a different town instead.
If he was that afraid of my father, maybe this was a huge mistake.
“Beast, you want to just go back to your place?” I asked as we pulled into the next town,
“There’s a good little restaurant right up here,” he said. “Mexican still okay?”
I nodded, slowly. I wasn’t quite sure what was going on.
I hadn’t been out to a restaurant in years, except for a few times my father let me come along when he took out Kandy and the girls. He always took us somewhere like Chili’s or Ruby Tuesday’s.
Never anywhere local or anywhere that looked like it had been a McDonald’s several restaurants ago.
Sat at our table, Beast saw the way I was looking around, and grinned at me. “It’s better than it looks, I promise. Just because they can’t decorate doesn’t mean that they can’t cook. Promise.”
His rare smile was infectious, and I found myself smiling shyly back at him.
“I’d love to try it.”
“Eat up,” he said. “Order whatever you want. No problem. My treat.”
“Everything sounds great, you pick,” I hedged.
“Tabitha? What’s up?”
I could feel the blush take over my face as I avoided his eyes.
“I, uh, haven’t been anywhere more authentic than Taco Bell. They stick to burritos, you know? I don’t know what half of these things are,” I said, holding up the menu and shrugging. The menu was mostly in Spanish, with a few poorly-written English phrases that still meant almost nothing to me. ‘Chilli Rellenos, spicy treat grandmother try it today.’
His face lit up. “Oh, man, that’s no big deal. I can teach you, okay? Here, take a look at this page with me.”
He talked me through what my basic options were, and I finally decided on a mushroom Quesadilla, with guacamole and rice and beans on the side.
Slightly more interesting than things I’d gotten at Taco Bell, but not as intimidating as the Fajitas or Chilli Rellenos.
Beast got a dinner dish that he said translated to ‘old clothes’ but was apparently delicious slow-cooked beef, and something called ceviche for an appetizer for both of us. I mouthed the words after the waitress left, trying to learn how to say them like he did.
When it arrived with two spoons, Beast handed one to me with a grin.
“It’s fish soup,” he said, “Except that it’s not cooked with fire. It’s soaked in lime juice. It’s so acidic that it’s just as safe as cooking, but ridiculously tender and delicious.”
“Huh,” I said, eying the bowl. The spoon was in my hand, but I made no move to eat the fish. Chemical process or no, that looked a lot like a pile of raw fish in a bowl.
He took a bite and closed his eyes, making almost obscene noises of appreciation.
“Oh, God, it’s so good,” he said. “You sure you don’t want to try some?”
“I’m not a big fan of fish,” I admitted. “I mean, I don’t mind it when it’s cooked, but… Sushi? Ceviche? All that just seems nuts.”
“Ah, fine. More for me.”
He took everything so cheerfully, so casually. Never seemed to worry about me costing him money or wasting his time.
If I was going to live with him, maybe I could ask...
“How do you have money? Do you work?” I asked.
“Uh, a couple things,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “My father died overseas, you know? So I got the veteran's pension thing going on, and my mother used hers to pay off the cabin. Then, when I was in... the accident, I was on disability for a few years. It's not that much, but when you don't have rent or a car payment, it's okay. My mother wouldn't let me spend the pension, she put it all in investments. I work for a buddy occasionally, fixing cars. I don't have a lot, but I have enough. For now.”
“Sounds...” I hesitated.
As much as all that money would be everything I needed out of life, to get it, he had to have his father killed and his whole body burned.
I couldn't quite say that it was lucky.
“It's a mixed blessing,” he said. “I mean, crappy things happened, but I was lucky to get some good out of them, not everybody does, you know?”
“Where's your mother?” I asked.
“She died too, when I was nineteen,” he said. “So, five, six years ago now.”
“I didn't know you were...”
“Twenty-five,” he said. “Although I've spent the last few years hiding in the woods, so I don't really feel that old, you know?”
I shrugged
.
“I did a lot of dumb things when I was younger,” he said. “That's how I know shitty people like your father. I was a shitty person.”
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