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Aaron and I pull apart and glance at each other, the weight of what we’re about to do combined with what we didn’t say but wanted to, settling on us.
“Okay.”
“If you feel uncomfortable answering any question, let me know,” George says.
I nod and sit down in the most comfortable chair.
“Whenever you’re ready, you can start,” the detective says. “I’ll stop you if I need to ask a question.”
I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I’m immediately transported back to that moment. Aaron just walked off the dance floor. A tear slides down my cheek, but I quickly wipe it away and open my eyes. Another deep breath and I start telling the story, wondering if there will ever be a day when it doesn’t haunt me like this anymore.
Aaron
I run a hand over my face as I plop down at the dining room table.
“How are you doing, honey?” Mom asks.
None of us went to school today. Talking to the detective took hours, and none of us could handle much after that.
“Like shit,” I answer honestly. Thankfully, my parents are pretty cool about me swearing. As an only child, I’ve always had a close relationship with them and they trust me. They’re also pretty lenient with most things.
Dad slides a cup of coffee in front of me and I raise an eyebrow at him. He smiles knowingly and says, “Your mother made it.”
I take a long sip.Fuck, that’s good.
My mom makes the best coffee ever. I don’t know how she does it. Something in the genetics. It must be, because I got it from her. Mine is really good, but hers is even better.
I look up from my coffee to see my parents exchanging a glance. I’m not surprised. I glossed over plenty of the details when I told them about this last night. They heard most of it for the first time today.
“Listen, son,” my dad begins, “we don’t want to add fuel to the fire, but we want to talk to you about all this.”
I nod slowly. “Yeah.”
Mom reaches over and takes my hand. “How’s your hand feeling?”
I shake my head. “Not good.”
“Did you break it?” Dad asks.
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. But I punched that guy a lot of times.” My voice cracks, thinking back to that night. “She was so helpless,” I mutter. “She was curled in a ball on the floor. He was yanking her by the hair.” Tears spill from my eyes, and my mom moves over a chair and wraps her arm around me. “I shoved him into the wall. I don’t know how many times I punched him, but I kept going. I wanted to hear his bones crack. I wanted him to know he should never have fucking touched her. My hand was killing me, but I didn’t care. The only thing that stopped me was hearing her cry. It broke me.” I choke on my tears as my dad runs his hand down my back. “I love her. I love her so much. Seeing her like that… And then I felt like I was losing her. She shut down. In the midst of that, my hand—I can’t throw like I used to. I’ve felt like I’ve been losing everything. This year has really sucked.”
I rest my head against my arms on the table as my mom runs her fingers through my hair. “I’m so sorry, honey. We love you. We’re here for you.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I was—I was trying to protect her. And maybe myself, too.”
“It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay,” my dad says. I can hear the emotion in his voice.
I wipe my eyes and sit up straight.
Dad squeezes my shoulder. “Let’s get your hand checked out. You can’t heal if you don’t know what’s broken.”
A rush of air escapes my lips.I guess holding all of this in was weighing on me, too.
“What we can see on the X-ray is evidence of microfractures in bones in the hand, as well as the pointer, middle, and pinky fingers. They healed, but not correctly. As you can see, the bones are slightly offset in some spots. This isn’t a severe case, which is why you likely didn’t notice the issues looking at the hand from the outside. I’m going to refer you to an orthopedic surgeon—”
“Surgeon?” I ask, cutting the doctor off.
He nods. “Yes. In situations like this, where the functionality has been affected, surgery is usually the only option to fix it.”
