Sugar lets go of me, whipping around to sneer at him. “Mom’s the one who wants to honor dad. You’re the one who’s embarrassed because it may mean that you’re not the center of attention for one godforsaken moment!”
His eyes flash in anger, even as he goes still. “What did you just say to me?”
“You heard me,” she says, voice tough as nails, even though she’s trembling—with fear or with anger. She bites out, “You’re jealous. Of a fucking ghost. Of a little girl. Of anything you can’t own. Because you’re a small, petty, pathetic excuse for a man—never mind a father.”
I’m so busy appreciating that fire in her eyes—her ruthless snarl—that I catch what’s happening just a beat too late.
Doug’s palm meets her face with a sharp crack, sending her stumbling back, right into my chest. I catch her, but it’s only a split moment before I finally—fucking finally—bolt forward.
The first punch is easy, even though he should see it coming. My knuckles meet his cheek, sending his head whipping to the side. He’s quick to recover, but Doug’s right-handed—which I know from the catch before—so I duck out of the way before his responding punch can land.
My heel meets his knee hard enough that he actually cries out, a high-pitched snarl that’s sure to have gotten everyone’s attention. He buckles, going down on one knee, head flying back when mine crashes into his face.
It’s all a blur once I get on him, fist flying back and jerking forward. Maybe he gets one or two hits in—one to my jaw, another to my kidney—but all I see is red. Some of it’s this roaring, crazy explosion inside of me, but some of it’s his blood. My knuckles go numb as I hurl my fist forward, again and again. Only distantly, I can hear Sugar screaming at me to stop, but it’s muddled, like it’s happening underwater.
Doug gets his legs under him long enough to get me on the ground, but all I can see is that look on his face when he slapped Sugar.
Sugar, who looks so small here, in this wretched fucking house.
Sugar, who I promised to protect.
Sugar, who loves me, even though she shouldn’t.
The table with the glass and paperweight tumble over when I shove him into it, glass crashing all around us. Doug’s not content to stay down for long, even though I can see him tiring out, that wobble in his knee graduating to a full-fledged quiver when he tries to stand.
I’m younger and faster, and I find my footing first, using it to drive my foot into his face.
His head jerks back—there’s no way that nose isn’t broken—but Doug’s as dumb as a box of rocks. He won’t stop. It just makes me go faster and harder, knowing that he’s almost even competition for someone like me, but he’s content to use all that power against a little fucking girl.
At some point, he gets back up, and that’s fine. I wipe a wrist under my nose, not even tired yet. I can see him huffing for breath, though. He’s too worn to keep up with me—not enough stamina. I can have this motherfucker, lights out, in three more minutes.
I just need a little more time. A few more hits. A couple more kicks to the face. A little bit of time to appreciate that I’ve beat him. To savor the crash.
It takes me too long to realize that he’s beginning to look a lot like my brother.
By the time I do, Sugar is between us. “STOP!” Her eyes are wide and panicked, but if it weren’t for that, it’d just be the red welt on her cheek and the way she’s crying, and I probably wouldn’t be able to.
Marie is in the doorway, clutching her chest, wearing such a picture-perfect mirror of her daughter’s expression that all it’s missing is the welt.
That’s not what stops me, though.
It’s that Sugar is between us again. It’s taken me twice now, but I’m finally learning that she’s going to get hurt here. Holding me back. ‘Handling’ the two of us. Always clawing to control the situation, to remove the conflict. To get just a little fucking peace, Sugar will throw herself in front of my chaos. Every time.
I think that’s the point I really stop fighting.
I stop avoiding what I know needs to be done, because people like me and Sugar can’t afford that.
I lift my hands in the air, backing off. “I’m done.”
Doug spits a mouthful of blood on the floor, face still twisted in fury. “You’re gonna be done, boy. I’m going to fucking finish you.”
Marie steps in then, and at first, I think she’s going to hold him back. Instead, she rubs his back. “I’ll call the cops,” she says to me, face red. “So help me, I will!”
“No,” Sugar bursts, eyes wide and wet. “We’ll go, you don’t need to—I’m sorry.”
“Don’t fucking apologize to them,” I hiss, thrusting a finger at her mother. “You’re just as bad as him.”
“Don’t you talk to my wife,” Doug growls, irate.
I ignore him, shifting all this red-hot chaos onto her. “You knew what he was doing to her, didn’t you? She’s your own fucking daughter! What’s he? Some piece of shit you married?”
“You don’t understand anything,” she cries.
“I understand enough, and if she ever comes back here again, it’ll be to bury your fucking body.” To Sugar, I snarl, “Get your shit, we’re leaving.”
Despite having gotten his ass kicked, Doug looks satisfied in a way that doesn’t quite click until he says, “Don’t you ever come back. You hear me, you little whore? You better pack up everything, because come tomorrow, it’s all going on the lawn.”
Marie flinches at the word ‘whore’, but she says nothing.
Nothing.
I give her a long, scathing look. “I can’t fucking believe some people call my mom a bad parent when pieces of trash like you exist.”
She sets her jaw and looks away, and I see it then—the spark of shame. It’s not big enough for her to stop it. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe she’s worse than him.
“We’ll go,” Sugar’s saying. “We’re going.”
Upstairs, I watch, fist flexing as she dumps her things into a plastic storage bin. She’s crying, but every time I try to touch her as she passes, she just flinches away, head shaking.
I never should have started this at all. Letting someone in, someone vulnerable like Sugar? That was the kind of mistake Sebastian Wilcox didn’t make.
I take one last look at the bed, at the smooth quilt and the straightened pillow, and think about the knife Sugar told me she started sleeping with under her pillow. When she’d threatened me with it, I didn’t really understand why she needed to carry it, but after meeting Doug? I get it. He’s just another Heston. The only way out from under their thumb is to fight your way out—or fucking chop it off.
I thought Sugar came to Preston to get a jump on her education and to expand her opportunities in photography. She was actually just escaping. Unfortunately, she was doomed before she ever stepped foot on campus. We’d already crossed paths. I’d already marked her. As long as she has me in her life, there’s no escaping the violence. I’m just another part of the never-ending cycle of abuse and dysfunction. She deserves better. She deserves that little bit of fucking peace she’s so willing to throw herself on the line to get.