And when I go to eat the food, it’s exactly what I would have ordered: broccoli beef and orange chicken with fried rice. I can’t believe she remembered.
The food’s still warm-ish, so I guess I wasn’t in there for that long. I finish every last bit of it, and after seriously contemplating licking the sauce from the container, I toss it and reach for the fortune cookie.
It reads: “There is no shame in asking for help.” Stupid fortune cookie.
“Thanks for this,” I mutter. “What do I owe you?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
I start to protest, but then I spot that freaking fortune staring up at me and instead I thank her again.
Then I turn my chair, about to ask if there’s another photo I can work on, but she turns to face me at the same time.
She speaks first. “Are you okay?”
For some reason, her tone makes me feel like answering. “Honestly, I don’t know.”
She’s quiet for a sec, like she’s deciding whether or not to push it. “You know, Tyler, you don’t fool me with this ‘screw the world’ thing you’ve developed. I know the boy I used to be friends with is still in there somewhere.”
I’m not so sure.
SIXTEEN
I should have gone for a run after work.
This is what I think as I pull into the driveway. Next to Dad’s car. On a Saturday. Perfect.
Captain greets me with his usual smile. I pat him and listen for any signs of Dad. The TV’s off. There’s nothing coming from the bedroom. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he wasn’t home. But I can still feel him here. Maybe he’s taking a nap or hasn’t woken from last night’s binge.
I tiptoe to the kitchen to get a glass of water before I lock myself in my room. I run the water till it gets cold and hold the glass under the stream. Out of nowhere a punch lands against my lower back and the glass falls into the sink, shattering.
“I got a call from your coach today. Said you were fighting. How stupid do you have to be?”
I don’t know how he does it, but somehow I’m smaller than him when he’s like this. I cower against the counter, water still running behind me and I stare at the floor waiting for the next blow.
“Fucking look at me!” He smacks my head as hard as he can. The hollow thunk rings in my ears.
When I look up, he kicks my knee and I have to grip the counter so I don’t fall. Shit, it hurts.
“The fuck are you thinking? Fighting?” He’s right up in my face, breath ripe with alcohol. I feel my adrenaline spike, my fingers curl. I’m afraid that if I throw a punch, I won’t be able to stop until he’s dead.
“I learned from the best,” I say under my breath as I turn to shut off the water.
I feel his reaction behind me—a flare of heat like from a fire that’s just been doused in fuel. I brace myself, but he remains silent and still. Every hair on my body is on end, waiting. But there’s nothing. What’s he waiting for?
I take a breath and prepare myself to walk past him to my room. But when I turn, he slams his whole body into me, pinning me into the corner of the counter. He takes my head in his hands and slams it into the cabinet. The sound comes first, then the pain. I feel heat spread through my hair. I must be a bit stunned, because he gets in several punches to my stomach and one to my face—reopening my lip wound—before I even understand what’s happening. When he goes to grab my head to bash it into the cabinet again, I react without thinking—I shove him as hard as I can. His back hits the fridge. He starts laughing even though I know it had to hurt. Then he rushes me again.
This time I clock him right in the stomach as hard as I can. He doubles over, gasping. “Ungrateful little shit,” he breathes. “Shoulda been you who died.”
I punch him in the side. “It should have been you! You’re the reason she’s dead, don’t you know that? She couldn’t take your neglect and abuse and she didn’t know another way out! The wrong parent died!” I scream, and then I deliver another blow to his back.
I’m about to hit him again, but Captain barks, snapping me out of my rage. I spit at Dad doubled over against the fridge. Blood spatters across the back of his tan shirt. Then I head toward my room.
Just as I’m halfway down the stairs, Dad says, “You know? The note she left didn’t say anything about me.”
I stop dead in my tracks. “There was no note,” I say, still facing away from him.
I hear him shuffle behind me. “Wasn’t there?”
I turn to face him and I’m met with a full beer bottle to the eye. It knocks me back into the wall and I lose my balance and fall the rest of the way down the stairs. Damn if he doesn’t have good aim. I guess I know where my athletic abilities came from.