“Wait here, okay? I’ll be back in a minute.” Before I can even breathe a response, he’s out of the bathroom, leaving me alone, not knowing what to do. I want to get out of here as quickly as I can. I scan the room but there’s no sign of my purse and I’m too scared to leave this room to go looking for it. Why did he sound so angry? I’m almost positive it will have to do with me and if so, I can’t just stand here and let him take the blame. Especially if I’m right about where his bruises came from.
I creep over to the door and open it as quietly as I can. I can hear a heated conversation in hushed tones. I’m guessing that’s for my benefit. I straighten my shoulders, take a deep breath and head in the direction of the voices. Every instinct I have is screaming for me to turn around and go back into the bathroom like Ethan asked.
It feels like the air in this building has been sucked out and replaced by palpable tension. My heart is pounding against my chest and my hung-over head feels dizzy. Every step I take towards them ramps up my anxiety by tenfold. My whole body is shaking and I’m not sure if it’s because of the alcohol that’s still in my system, or from the adrenaline surging through my veins. I turn the corner and enter the room where Ethan and his father are standing.
They’re standing nose to nose in a standoff, and although Ethan’s eyes are downcast, I can see his fists balled tightly by his sides. The muscles in his arms are flexing with the tension. His dad’s face is pulled into a sneer and I’m struggling to understand what it is that Ethan did to warrant the look of pure hatred in his dad’s eyes. I take another step and his face instantly smoothes when he notices me enter the room. Ethan’s head turns slowly towards me as he tracks his dad’s gaze and there’s such an intense sadness in his eyes that my heart literally aches.
“Make sure she gets home and I want you straight back here, you understand?” His dad says forcing a smile in my direction and then he turns and heads out the door. Before I register I’m even moving I’ve closed the distance between us and stop just a foot away.
“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. Our eyes are locked on each other and I want so desperately to take the extra step and wrap my arms around him tightly. Tell him that the hatred I just witnessed in his dad’s eyes isn’t normal, and that there must be something seriously fucked with him. That’s not how a father should act towards his son.
“He’s stressed with work, there’s talk of him being made to take early retirement,” he offers with a weak smile and my stomach rolls. He’s making excuses for him. I feel like I’m going to be sick.
“Are your bruises from him?” I choke out. I know it’s direct but I want to know the truth. There’s a long silence, minutes feel like hours and neither one of us break our stare. The air between us is charged with so much emotion I feel like I’ll combust if he doesn’t say something soon. My heart is pleading for him to say no, there’s a perfectly good explanation, and it’s all just a misunderstanding. But my head is in disagreement. “Ethan?” I whisper.
“Yes.”
My stomach plummets and I have an overwhelming urge to cry. I swallow the knot in my throat and will my voice not to crack.
“Does he do it a lot?”
“Depends on what your idea of a lot is. It's not every day, sometimes it’s not even every week, but it’s pretty regular.”
“Shit, Ethan that’s not right. Have you told your mom? Does she know this is happening?” I want to comfort him, make him feel better, hell, make myself feel better, but I have absolutely no idea what to do or say to take away the pain I can see in his eyes.
“She knows.”
His voice sounds completely dejected and I can’t take it. I close the gap between us and throw my arms around him, hugging him as hard as I dare. He stands frozen for a second before I feel his arms snake around my back and pull me into his chest tighter. He rests his chin in the crook of my neck and I suddenly get the feeling that he hasn’t been hugged in a long time.