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And it sure as shit won’t be the last.
“Stop defending him!” I shout. “You keep making excuses for him. What if he kills you?” My frustration is an itch in my chest I can’t scratch.
Mom wraps her arms around me, trying to hold me. But I’m not a kid anymore—I’ll be sixteen soon. I’m a man. And I’m not going to let my dad beat the ever-loving shit out of my mom for the rest of my life.
He used to hit me, too. But I started hitting back. I can do that now. I’m bigger and stronger than he is, even when his rage becomes like a force of nature because the alcohol makes him stronger. I’m taller than him, and I’m not scared of him anymore.
Dad feeds off fear.
But he still hits my mom. And I can’t always be here to protect her. One day, I’m leaving this shithole and there’s no way in hell I’ll leave her behind with that monster.
“He won’t do that,” Mom says, trying to wipe her tears without hurting herself even more. “He won’t h—” She cuts herself short.
“Yeah, you can’t say he won’t hurt you because that’s all he does,” I say bitterly. “And you don’t know when he’ll crack and stop holding back. You don’t know that he’ll spare you. What if—”
“Stop it, Blake,” Mom scolds.
Usually, when she tells me something, I listen. Mom deserves my respect. She’s done so much for me. But I can’t keep watching him ruin her like this.
“Let’s leave,” I say.
“What?”
“I’ve been putting money away. If we leave tonight, when he’s at the pub, we’ll have a few hours to get away before he realizes we’re gone. We can take the bus to New York. We can start over.”
Mom shakes her head. “I can’t just leave him. I married him for a reason.”
“You can’t tell me you still love him,” I say. The anger threatens to consume me.
The itch in my chest turns into an ache when she doesn’t answer me.
“I’m leaving tonight,” I tell her. “When he gets back, I won’t be here. And neither should you. Come with me.”
“For better or worse, Blake.”
“What?”
“That’s what I vowed when I married your father. That I would be by him for better or worse. These parts… they’re the worst. But there’s good in our marriage, too. There’s good in him. And I won’t just leave because sometimes, things are bad. He hasn’t left me when things when bad, either.”
I shake my head over and over. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to know how much she loves him and that he’s just lost and needs forgiveness and kindness to get through this bad patch. She keeps making excuses for him. After years and years of broken ribs, black eyes, split lips, I don’t believe that Dad will change.
And if Mom still believes that, she’s a fool.
“I’m leaving tonight,” I say again, my voice hard and cold. “If you won’t come with me, I’ll do it alone. But this isn’t where I want to spend the rest of my life.”
Mom tries to argue with me, but I’m done talking. I walk to my room and shut my door. I feel like I’m going to spontaneously combust. I want to kidnap my mom—pull a bag over her head and throw her over my shoulder, take her to the bus station with me so that we can get away.
But if she wants to stay, I won’t make her go. I can choose not to live here just as much as she can choose to stay.
When Dad comes home from the store, he’s himself again. He laughs and jokes, he makes us lunch. He’s kind and sweet with my mom, doting on her, treating her like a princess. We all pretend that we don’t see her black eye, that the lopsided smile she can offer is complete and she’s not battered and bruised after Dad’s episode this morning.
At five, Dad kisses her and tells her he won’t be late; she should wait up for him. He claps me on the back, telling me I’m the man of the house while he’s gone and to look after Mom.
And then he leaves the ranch, walking the couple of miles into town and to the pub.
He walks because he already wrapped our truck around a tree and we can’t afford a new one.
I pack my bag—an old duffel bag the ranch owner threw out—and make sure I have all the money I saved in a tin under my bed where my dad wouldn’t find it to use the money for drinking.
