I jumped, my arms clenching to my body, my heart galloping like horses racing inside of me. I tried to be quiet when I gasped as I heard the loud crack.
My mom’s hand flew to her face, her eyes watering again, the same way I saw them every day.
“Be quicker, you dumb bitch!” my dad yelled, raising his hand again. He crossed it over his body, then the back of his hand whooshed toward my mom, the back hitting her across the face again. “Can’t you see I’m watching the damn game?”
“Yes, I-I’ll do better, honey,” she stuttered, her watery eyes wide and her shoulders up.
My dad hit her a lot, and when her shoulders went up like that, and her eyes went big, it meant she would do things so fast like she was superwoman, rushing around and making everything just right so dad wouldn’t get angry.
“Quinn,” she whispered, ushering me out of the room.
I wouldn’t let go of my motorcycle, it was my favorite. All black with silver flames on the sides, and I was going to get one just like it when I was all grown up.
My mom took my arm, guided me out of the room, and down the narrow hall to my bedroom. It was blue, like the sky with yellow stripes around the middle, but it was all old now. It’d been like that when I was a baby, but my dad wouldn’t let my mom change it. He’d said it was a waste of money.
“I’ll be quiet, Momma,” I said, whispering just like she had. “I won’t make him mad.”
Tears ran down her face even though she smiled at me, her watery eyes, just like mine, warm as she stroked my hair. “My baby Quinn,” she said softly. “Could you be a good boy for me and stay in your room?” I nodded quickly. I’d do anything for her; she loved me more than anything in the world. She told me so herself.
“Yes, Momma,” I replied, then jogged over to my bed, jumping on top and zooming my bike through the air, making quiet motorcycle sounds like I’d heard down the street.
“That’s my sweet boy,” she said, her lips growing wider, her straight teeth shining white. “Now, make sure you do like we talked, okay?”
I nodded again and grabbed the earphones that made everything quiet. When she left, though, I took them off. I’d done that before. I didn’t like what I heard, but I had to.
My mom cried out as a loud slapping noise came from the living room. “Please!’ she begged. “Quinn’s only a little boy!”
“He’s gonna be a fucking man,” my dad yelled back, followed by a crash. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t grow up to be some pansy-ass like you’re making him out to be.”
Another loud crash, then a boom sounded. I sat still on my bed, shivering, scared, wondering if my mom was okay. I couldn’t go out; she told me to stay. I had to stay because I was a good boy for my momma.
Momma told me to stay…
That was the last time I saw my momma smile. I missed her smiles. Not seeing her made me cry, and I had to do it in secret because Dad said boys don’t cry. Boys who cry need to be taught what it was to be a man.
I pounded my fist into the bag as I remembered all the times my dad had laid into my mother, his hands slapping her, his fists driving into her tiny body, making her bleed, breaking her more and more every day. Then when she was gone, I took her place.
“I hate you,” I growled, imaging his face there as I slammed my hands into it over and over again, finding the fuel I needed to push through the pain of all the years I’d lived under that roof.
“Fucker!” I yelled, kicking the shit out of the sides of the bag where there were numerous indents from months of my attacks. “You fucking bastard.” I drove my hands into the canvas over and over, the exertion causing me to break out in a sweat. The droplets fell from my hair, down my face, and from the tip of my nose. But I couldn’t stop.
I had to get out the aggression that was holding me down, sucking me under and suffocating me until I couldn’t breathe, my lungs burning, my muscles aching with so much exertion I could barely lift my hands.
“Keep going, you pansy-ass,” I demanded, repeating the words no little kid should hear and lifted my hands again. “Don’t fucking stop.”
Only my deep breaths made a sound in the dark basement. The sunlight had gone from the small window, and the overhead lamps hadn’t been switched on. Darkness surrounded me, blinding me, making it impossible to see my hands in front of my face.
I felt for the bag, listening to the quiet squeak of the chain on the hook attached to the overhead ceiling beams, honing in on the direction of the swing.
I threw my fist forward, connecting with the bag. It swung again, and I listened, my senses heightened in the quiet, empty space. I threw another jab, followed by a fast one-two, each landing exactly where I wanted them to.
Minutes ticked by as I unleashed my anger, then I’d had enough. My exhausted limbs struggled to carry me up the stairs to the first floor, then dragged my sorry ass up more stairs, the striped carpet leading to my bedroom and a hot shower.
***
My hair was still wet when I slipped on my helmet, but when I took it off, there was barely a damp strand.
I cut the engine and rolled my bike through Hollow Tree Cemetery, turning down the last pathway to a row of oval-shaped headstones, stopping when I reached the one I wanted.
“Hi, Mom,” I said, sitting down on the grass over where she’d been laid to rest. I unwrapped the bouquet I’d bought earlier, removing the dead flowers from the vase, and replaced them with the lilies she’d loved so much. Orange, her favorites, as well as a mixture of white. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner, but you probably know why.” I chuckled to myself, then wiped the beginnings of moss away from her name. Ellie Dexter, Wife of Roy Tenant, Mother of Quinn Dexter.
I ran my fingers down the white stone and over the jagged gray lines, the newer marble I’d had replaced instead of the cheap-ass concrete my dad had paid to be placed there, making sure my name was the same as hers this time.
“So, I guess I have a few things to tell you,” I said, running my fingers over the blades. “Nah, you know already, I don’t have to say a word.” I smiled, but it fell as soon as my lips started to curl. “Mom, I don’t know what to do.” I rolled the black fabric-covered elastic on my wrist. “For the first time, I have no idea what I’m doing.” A gentle breeze picked up my hair, blowing it over my forehead and circled around my face. The chilly air of Fall whistled through the trees nearby, shaking leaves from the branches.
I checked my watch, noting the time. More than an hour had gone by, and it was a little after midnight. Seeing those numbers on the screen had me thinking to when I’d seen Kinsley walking back from the movies after Phoebe had left her on her own. The same road my mom had taken her last breath.
I pressed my hand to the top of the ice-cold stone and looked down one last time. “I’ll be back soon, Momma,” I said, pulling back until my fingertips slipped from the marble. “I love you.”
***
I bounced from foot to foot, gearing myself up for the fight. I shook my arms and shoulders out, loosing up the tension in my tight muscles. I still hadn’t spoken to Kinny about that night—she hadn’t contacted me either—and I hadn’t slept too well replaying the details over and over. I’d had to relieve myself more than a few times, thinking about her soft skin, her tits that my hands couldn’t contain, and her warm center…