Ray can barely stand up straight.
When I take a step toward him, he staggers backward into the coffee table.
“Dumb fuck,” I whisper.
I note the dented walls.
The broken lamp in the corner.
This is just a glimpse of all that has gone down in this house.
Now I’m close enough to see the monsters on his arms.
Blurred demonic faces, snakes coming out of skulled eye sockets.
Shoddy line work, whoever did it.
But enough to give any kid nightmares.
Especially when those arms have inflicted so much pain.
And his dark bloodshot eyes.
Cold as ice.
The old man grumbles under his breath.
“Fucking moron came back did ya? Piece of shit isn’t welcome under my roof!”
The words carry the venom of someone who has spent years wallowing in resentment.
His wife turns toward him quickly.
Her voice is trembling.
“Can’t even say hello to your boy, can ya?”
“He’s not my boy.”
The words land like a kick to the stomach.
I feel Marco’s body stiffen next to me.
Without thinking, I reach for his hand.
Ray scoffs from the doorway.
“Always knew you were a bloody faggot.”
He smashes his bottle against the wall.
Brown streaks cascade down the wallpaper to the skirting boards.
The sound echoes harshly across the tiny living room.
Then he shoves his way past me.
I cop a sharp elbow in the ribs as he bolts toward the front door.
