Black Promises (Blackwoods College)

I strained to hear. Muffled voices, movement upstairs. The floorboards creaked.

Robyn’s room.

Another angry shout. I sighed and began the trek upstairs.

Aunt Genni sat in the living room with a martini glass and a thousand-yard stare. She glanced over as I tried to sneak past, her wrinkled face pulled down in a sick frown, her skin the color of rotten milk.

“He’s at it again,” she said softly. “You’d better stay down here.”

“And leave Robyn? No thanks.”

“You know how he gets when you’re involved.”

I snorted and looked away. I knew exactly how he got. I’d been dealing with it ever since I’d come to live with these people. Genni had more control over these situations than she realized, and yet all she ever did was sit on that couch, drink herself stupid, and pretend like everything would be fine once her husband’s rage cooled off.

Nothing was fine and hadn’t been for a long time.

I headed upstairs. I heard Aunt Genni sigh, but she didn’t try to stop me.

Sometimes I wondered if she enjoyed the spectacle.

I dropped my laundry basket in my room. I heard a whispered argument leaking through Robyn’s door. I couldn’t understand everything, but I caught the general feeling.

Uncle Bernard was pissed that Robyn had been late getting home from campus, which was probably my fault since she’d waited to drive Cora.

I walked to the door and took a deep breath.

I knew how this went. If I ignored it and hoped it passed, Uncle Bernard’s rage would only grow hotter until he inevitably exploded on Robyn. That could take the form of loud screaming and cursing, or he could slap her across the face repeatedly.

He’d done both and worse in the years I’d known him.

But he hadn’t touched her in a while. I wouldn’t let him go there.

I knocked twice. The argument stopped as I stepped inside.

Robyn sat at her desk, face pale with fright. Uncle Bernard stood over her, looming like a bully, pink nostrils flared, tiny eyes wide. He looked back at me, and his jaw tightened as his rage peaked.

“What the fuck are you doing in here, castoff?”

“I wanted to check up on you two. Sounds like you’re having another one of your classic discussions.” I leaned against the doorframe and crossed my arms.

Uncle Bernard was a big guy. Back when I’d first come to live with him, I’d thought he was a giant. His rages had scared me blind back then, and there had been nothing I could do when he went on a rampage. I’d had to take the abuse, the beatings, the constant tirades, the incessant blaming and hatred. I’d been the reason everything had gone bad for him. I’d been the root of all evil, at least according to him. If I’d ever tried to speak up, he’d be quick to remind me that the only reason I wasn’t living in some hellhole foster home was his kindness.

Kindness. That was the word he’d used.

The piece of shit. Sometimes I wondered if a foster home would’ve been better.

Now, though, I was taller than him, stronger than him, and a hell of a lot younger. He knew my reputation—he saw the bruises and the cuts. He came to the football games and watched me pummel opponents for fun.

He couldn’t hurt me anymore.

And yet the little kid locked deep inside still cringed every time he turned his attention my way. I wondered if that would ever go away and figured probably not.

“This has nothing to do with you, castoff. This is between me and my daughter.”

“We both know how this goes. You yell and scream at her, she apologizes over and over, and eventually you smack the shit out of her anyway. Why don’t we skip the abusive asshole shit for tonight?”

His face turned blood red. He took a step toward me, hands tightened into fists, and I knew what he wanted.

He wanted to hurt.

I understood him better than I liked to admit.

I pushed off the wall and squared up, daring him to make a move.

We stared each other down. Sometimes, he took the bait and vented his frustration out on me. I let him do it, although we both knew I could break his neck any time I wanted.

Mostly, though, he backed down.

Tonight looked like one of those nights as he took a breath and slowly let it out.

“Remember why you’re here, castoff. Without my help, you’d be in some crack den snorting heroin and dying before your twentieth birthday. I can take all this away the second I want to.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I stepped aside and gestured at the hallway. “Whenever you’re done.”

He looked back at his daughter. “Don’t be late again.”

“Okay, Dad. I won’t.”

He stormed past me. I didn’t move to stop him. It was always better to let him walk away and cool off, even if sometimes I wanted to smash his skull into small pieces.