“No.” He smiled and patted the spot beside him on the mattress. “Come here, Cookie.”
He called all his girlfriends Cookie. I wondered if stupid Sammy realized that. By the little giggle she gave and the eager way she hopped over to the bed, I’d assumed that would be a no.
“You like my new Cookie, Willy?” he asked, squeezing her close and making her giggle even more. “Isn’t she sweet?”
No. I hated her. She looked like an old whore off the street. They all did. She was probably addicted to meth or crack or whatever the fuck they liked to do and he was feeding her habit. He liked meth and crack and all that other shit, too. Sometimes. Other times he’d clean up his act and look good. My dad was a great-looking guy when he took a shower, brushed his hair, shaved his face, and dressed like a normal human being.
But right now was not one of those times. He’d slipped and fallen into that dark mental pit of his. I could tell. I knew what he wanted me to do. He’d made me do it before, when I was younger and felt too weak and scared to protest.
No more. I was stronger now. Playing sports, getting my ass clobbered out on the field, out on the court, toughened me up. I could take his ass if I wanted to. We were the same height. I hoped I’d gain a few inches on the asshole. Then what would he do?
I wanted him scared of me like I was once scared of him.
“Sit in the chair over there, Willy.” He waved a hand at the worn, pale green chair that sat in the corner of his bedroom. The chair supposedly once belonged to my mother.
The only evidence that remained in our house proving she existed. There aren’t any photos of her. He’d torn them all, burned them. Destroyed them, destroying her and my memories of her completely.
“Don’t call me that,” I said through clenched teeth, hating the nickname. Hating the name in general. It was his name. Aaron William. William Aaron was mine. Fucking sucked, being his namesake, even though our names were swapped.
I planned on changing it someday. Giving myself a name that belonged only to me, never to him.
“Willy,” Sammy called, tilting her head back like she was howling at the moon. Dad laughed and rolled her over so she was on her back, his hand on her tit, his mouth on hers for a brief moment before he lifted up and stared at me.
“Get in the chair.”
“Fuck you,” I told him.
“Get. In. The. Chair,” he commanded, his voice low and threatening.
“Come on, Willy. He just wants you to watch. He told me you like to watch,” Sammy said, giggling when he pinched her nipple to shut her up. But she wouldn’t shut up. She started cackling like a witch and he squeezed her hard, rolling over on top of her, his hand on her mouth. She started to scream beneath his hand, the sound muffled, and I took my opportunity.
“Fuck you,” I growled again before I turned and fled, running into my room across the narrow hall and slamming the door behind me. I turned the lock and threw myself onto the narrow bed, my heart pounding, the roaring in my ears making it so I heard nothing else.
I stared at my door handle for a long time, waiting for it to start to shake, for him to pound on my door and demand I let him in. He’d done it before. Countless times. When I was smaller he’d grab me by the neck and lead me back into the room, forcing me into the chair.
Forcing me to watch.
Everything inside of me burned and I grabbed my pillow, clutching it tight. I hated him. I hated my mother for leaving me with him. Why didn’t she take me? Tears stung the corners of my eyes and I blinked them away, refusing to cry. I’d cried enough. It was finally time to toughen up. I was too old for the crybaby shit.
Three more years. I had three more years of school and then I’d graduate and run. If I couldn’t get into college, I’d go straight into the military. The navy. Something like that. Anything to escape. I wasn’t scared of anything out there.
I was too damn scared of what could become of me if I stayed in here.
I lay on my bed clutching the pillow to me for a long time, my body tense, my muscles so rigid they ached when I tried to move. Finally I closed my eyes, letting the exhaustion slowly take me over.
He never came to my door.
That was the last time he asked me to watch.
Are you going to watch?
I stare at the text message from my sister, my fingers hesitating above the keys. How should I answer? If she tries to invite herself over, I’m going to have to turn her down. I don’t want her with me tonight. I don’t want anyone with me.
Are you?