Hearing me come in the room, Dad swung around to face me as Mom frantically shook her head, motioning for me to go back to my bedroom. I could see the red mark across her cheek, standing out in stark contrast to the unnatural paleness of her skin.
“What the hell do you want, boy? Git yer ass back to bed!”
I tried to ignore the ball of fear twisting my stomach as I stared at my dad looming over me. He was almost a foot taller and was easily one hundred and twenty pounds heavier than me.I tried not to think about how my mother was even smaller and weaker than I was.
“Leave her alone,” I said, trying my best to keep my voice from wavering.
My Dad laughed – an ugly sound that contained absolutely no trace of humor.
“Leave her alone,” he mocked in a high-pitched voice, before snarling at me. “Get the fuck back to bed, boy.”
He started to turn back toward my mom, stopping only when I spoke again, more forcefully this time.
“No! I saidleave her alone!”
Dad’s shoulder’s stiffened as he drew himself up straight then slowly turned back to look at me, his face twisted into something ugly.
My pulse was pounding in my ears as my heart raced and my breathing quickened. I was vaguely aware of Mom reaching for his arm, at the same time begging me to“listen to your father, Jason. Just go to your room, honey.”
As hard as I tried to lock my knees and stand tall, I couldn’t help but shake as Dad unbuckled his belt and whipped it free from the belt loops of his jeans. He was surprisingly fast for being as drunk as he was.
He’d taken his belt to me a few times over the years, whipping my ass as punishment for various rules I’d broken. He’d even backhanded me across the face a few times when I’d smarted off to him. He’d never hit me while this drunk and angry though.
“Doug, no, please. He didn’t mean it. I’m sorry for not picking up your boots.Please don’t!”
Before I could move, Dad grabbed my arm and swung me around, slamming the side of my face against the wall with one hand and bringing down his belt against my back with the other. The air was filled with the crack of the leather, and my mother’s cries. For a fleeting moment, I felt nothing but the pain of his fingers digging into the back of my neck, and my cheekbone pressing hard against the wall. The coppery taste on my tongue told me he’d probably busted my lip, too.
In the next instant, fire bloomed in a stripe across my back. I couldn’t hold back my cry as the belt cracked again, hitting lower this time. Then again, across my thighs. Again, higher this time, across my right shoulder blade. Then again, and again, and again until every nerve ending was coated in hot, searing pain.
The sound of Mom screaming at him to stop rang in my ears, and I watched, helpless and pinned face-first to the wall, as she charged at him, knocking him off balance. Her slight body would never have been able to do that if he’d been sober.
He roared, totally enraged as he stumbled backward, knocking a lamp off the end table and barely keeping himself from falling down. He lunged toward Mom, grabbing her by the arm and backhanding her. I watched in terror as her head whipped to the side with the force of the blow, and he twisted her arm behind her back as he drew her close, shaking her like a ragdoll.
“I work like a dog all day long, and this is how you treat me? I should have beaten you senseless long before now, you worthless cunt!”
He yanked her arm up higher, causing her to scream and rise up on her toes to relieve the pressure on her shoulder. He brought his other hand up and gripped her chin, squeezing ithard as he continued screaming in her face before throwing her to the floor as she sobbed and begged him to stop.
Without thought, I ran for my bedroom, grabbing the baseball bat Mom had bought me for my twelfth birthday when I’d told her I wanted to try out for the baseball team at our school. It wasn’t one of those fancy aluminum bats that some of the kids had – we couldn’t afford those. It was a plain, wooden Louisville Slugger, and I loved it. I loved how it felt in my hand as I took a swing. I loved the “thwack” it made when it hit a baseball.
And now, I loved it even more. I loved the way it bounced off my Dad’s head at the exact moment he bent over to punch my Mom again as she lay curled up on the floor at his feet.
I loved the way the impact of the wood against his skull sent vibrations up my arms.
I loved the way time seemed to stand still for a split second before he dropped to the ground with a strangled moan.
He landed beside Mom in a crumpled heap, as she struggled to roll away from his body.
He was perfectly still. Eyes closed. A small puddle of blood forming on the faded linoleum floor underneath his head.
I dropped the bat and rushed over to help Mom as she tried to get to her feet. Her face was bloody, already swelling from the blows she’d taken. She gasped and grabbed her side, wincing as she took several shaky, shallow breaths. A guy at school had cracked a rib last year playing football during gym class. He kind of breathed like that afterward, too.
“Get the…phone, honey. We need…to…call…for help.” I nodded as I helped Mom to the couch, then ran to the kitchen to grab the cordless phone off the charger.
I hesitated for a second, eyeing my dad’s body on the living room floor. He wasn’t moving, and I couldn’t tell if he was breathing.
If I’d killed him, I’d be arrested. I didn’t want to go to jail, and I definitely didn’t want to leave my mom alone in this world.
I took a deep breath and dialed a number I knew by heart. My best friends’ house. After two rings, it connected.
