I was hungry and it was all we had. But I couldn’t tell him that. I couldn’t tell him anything.
Standing, I shook as I began to put the pieces of the cereal back into the bowl. Dad started whistling a tune from my cartoon, and my heart started pounding. “Hurry the fuck up, kid. Pick that shit up. Making messes in my house like you don’t have any damn sense.”
My eyes started to tear up, and I hated that I was letting him get to me. An eleven-year-old was supposed to be tougher. I felt weak.
“Pick. It. UP!”
I couldn’t take any more of his drunken anger, his apparent displeasure for me. I picked up the cereal bowl and threw it at him. It missed his head and hit the wall, the bowl shattering into a million pieces. “I hate you!” I hissed, tears burning down my cheeks. “I want Mom back! I hate you!”
His eyes widened, and I panicked, regretful of my outburst. Kellan would’ve been so disappointed. I shouldn’t have talked back. I shouldn’t have responded. I should’ve locked myself in my bedroom like always.
But there were no cartoons in my bedroom.
I just wanted to be a kid, if only for one day.
Dad swung around and gripped my arm. “You want to get slick? Huh?” He yanked me across the room, forcing me to trip over my own feet. “You want to break shit?!”
I was dragged through the kitchen, where he opened the cabinet under the sink. “No. I’m sorry, Dad! I’m sorry!” I cried, trying to tear away from his grip.
He snickered, and pushed me inside of the cabinet. “Here’s your damn cereal,” he said, grabbing the box, and dumping it all out on my head.” When he shut the cabinet door, I tried my best to open it, but it wouldn’t move. He’d placed something in front of it to keep it locked.
“Please, Dad! I’m sorry!” I cried. “Don’t leave me.”
I’m sorry.
He wasn’t listening though, and after a while I didn’t even hear his footsteps.
I didn’t know how much time had passed since I was locked inside of the cabinet, but I fell asleep twice, and pissed myself. When Mom found me, she looked strung out and shook her head, seeming so disappointed in me.
“Oh, Logan.” She sighed, and ran her hands through her hair. She lit up a cigarette. “What did you do this time?”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Alyssa
“Do you have any idea how much you’re confusing me, Logan?” I asked, my arms crossed as he stood on my porch in a black T-shirt with dark jeans. I was chilled by the cool breeze that hit me, seeing how I was only wearing an oversized T-shirt and knee-high socks. His back was turned to me as he moved over to the edge of the porch and wrapped his fingers around the railing. He stared out into the darkness. His arms were muscular and I could see every cut to him as he held onto the wooden rail. When we were younger, he was handsome, but not built. Now, he looked somewhat like a Greek god who made my legs tingle just by looking at him.
“I know. I just… I don’t know where to go.”
He turned to face me, and I gasped, seeing his blackened eye. With haste, I hurried over to him, lightly touching it, watching him cringe. “Your dad?”
He nodded. “If I go back to Kellan’s like this, he’ll freak out.”
Oh, Lo…
“Are you okay? Is your mom okay?” I asked, and I paused. It was as if we traveled back in time, reliving the same routines we used to perform. I wished this wasn’t one of the more common memories.
“She’s not okay. But she’s okay.”
Déjà vu.
“Come inside,” I said, taking his hand in mine.
He shook his head, pulling his hold away from mine. “You asked me something the last time we spoke, and I didn’t reply.”
“What?”
“You asked me if I think about the baby.” His fingers rubbed the back of his neck. “I think about how at the end of the summer, he or she would’ve been starting kindergarten. I think about how maybe he’d have your laugh, and your eyes. I think about how she’d probably chew on her collar and hiccup when she was nervous. I’d think about how his heart would beat. How she’d love you. How he’d walk, talk, smile, frown. I think about it. More than I want to. And then…” He cleared his throat. “Then I think about you.