My stomach bottoms out and I pause with the water at my lips.
“Yeah, he told me about the little stunt you pulled—leaving in the middle of a set on Friday.” Shit. I draw the bottle away from my mouth and place it on the counter without taking a drink. Mom’s shooting me a look with her eyes that’s pleading with me silently, ‘please don’t make him angry’, but what the hell am I supposed to do? He’s always fucking angry.
“I can explain, I—” I manage to stammer out before he interrupts.
“Damn right you’d better explain. You know what else Sam mentioned? He told me all about the audition he’s set up for the band to go play in front of some supposedly big shot music execs. The guy’s delusional, and so are you if you think it will lead to anything. What the hell is that all about, huh? You have a music scholarship you need to secure; you can’t be fucking around with this band, Ethan. It’s already gonna cost your mamma and me a fortune to send you to Eastman since you couldn’t pull your lazy ass finger out and get a full scholarship. You have to bleed us dry because you couldn’t be bothered to study hard enough.” I tense as his words hit their mark and he continues.
“You're such a screw up, Ethan, Now instead of saving for our retirement, we have to put you through fucking college. I managed to get a scholarship and support myself through school. But then again, I’m not a lazy little fucker who expects everything handed to him on a goddamn plate, am I?”
Mom scrapes her chair back against the hardwood and walks over to my father, placing her hand on his shoulder.
“Calm down Frank, let him explain,” she says in a weak timid voice, but her attempt at calming the situation falls on deaf ears.
He shrugs her hand from his shoulder and comes to a stand himself. He looks twice as pissed now, the anger practically rolling off him.
“Don’t try to turn this on me, Moira.” he bites out, taking four large strides and stopping inches from my face.
“I’m sorry, sir. I won’t let the band interfere with Eastman,” I mutter, trying to diffuse his mood as quickly as possible.
“Sorry doesn’t fucking cut it!” he screams in my face, pushing me back so I slam into the refrigerator. I chance a quick look over to my mom but she’s in the doorway with her head held low.
“Don’t be fucking looking at her for help, you little son of a bitch. Act like a man.”
I’m about to speak when he delivers a swift blow to my stomach; the force of the impact knocks the air from my lungs and I slump forward gasping for a breath. My chest is on fire and I can’t get any oxygen as I try to straighten.
His rage is palpable as he pounds his fists into my side. I want to shout out in pain, but there’s no fucking way on earth I would give him that satisfaction, so I do as I always do—I stand unmoving and just take it. Punch after punch into the same agonizing spot on my ribs, and all the while he’s telling me I’m a sorry little shit that’s nothing but a noose around his neck.
I switch off and go into a daze; my body is here in the kitchen yet my mind’s with Blair. I’m picturing her pretty face and those beautiful big green eyes hidden under her glasses. I suddenly realize that the blows don’t seem to be coming with the same strength now; he must be getting tired. Finally, he relents and stalks out the backdoor, slamming it so loud it sounds as if it’s about to fall from its hinges. I struggle to straighten and lean my head against the refrigerator, holding my side and taking painful shallow breaths. I look up in time to see my mom hurrying towards me; she grabs my arm, pulling it around her shoulders, and moves me over to the bar stools to sit down.
“Do you need an ice pack, honey?” she asks, her voice trembling and a sadness in her eyes that tells me she’s sorry.
“I’m fine,” I bite out. and I can’t help but sound harsh. I’m not the one who just stood watching while my husband beat the shit out of my kid for no good fucking reason. He didn’t even give me a chance to explain this time. I stagger to my feet and make my way over to the door. “I’ll be in my room,” I huff without looking back.
“You want me to bring you anything?” she asks and I shake my head as I make my way down the hall. I don’t want anything from her, I think as I navigate the stairs in pain.