Free Compulsion by Heidi Ayarbe

the punch. The tension is always here, just never the release.
    Growing up, Luc only ever got the release before his dad left. Mera and I used to help him pretend that it was all right. And I wish they could help me pretend today.
    If you can’t see blood, it doesn’t hurt.
    Inhale. Wait for Saturday. After Saturday everything will be right.
    Time stands still until Dad continues to talk. Kasey’s waiting, her fork suspended over the last few peas on her plate. Four.
    I look away from her plate and stare down at mine.
    “Mr. Hartman called. Something about you and Mera getting trapped in a walk-in freezer?” Dad says.
    “Yeah. It’s no big deal. Some old guy was there and opened the door up for us.” I steady myself against the dining-room table, squeezing its edge so nobody can see how much I’m trembling. Shake it off. Fuck .
    “And if the old guy hadn’t been there?” Dad asks.
    What if?
    Dad plays too.
    “You two could’ve gotten hurt. You could’ve died.”
    I look at Dad. He looks angry. Or is that concern?
    “You’re not gonna sue or anything?” I can’t imagine Dad doing the whole lawsuit thing.
    “No. But I’m not happy with the situation and Mr. Hartman knows it. There’s absolutely no reason for you to be doing their job. I understand,” he continues, “why you were running late. But I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me.”
    Exhale . “Yeah. No big deal.” I almost tell him how freaked out I was, how it reminded me of the night Mom left us alone. I just want him to be my dad sometimes. “I’ll tell you next time.”
    “There won’t be a next time, Jacob.”
    “Yeah. You know what I mean.”
    Dad nods. We eat the rest of dinner in silence, crumpling up our used trays in the garbage. Kasey rinses her plate off and puts it in the dishwasher. Dad ruffles her hair, checking on the various food concoctions. The steam fogs the windows.
    “We’ll take care of the rest of the food, Dad. So you can get to work in the garage,” I say.
    Dad looks at me.
    I nod.
    He pulls three timers off the counter and sets them on the table. It’s like listening to a time bomb countdown symphony—except nothing will explode in the end.
    Dad heads to the garage, leaving Kasey and me on cafeteria duty. We pull out our homework. For a while there’s nothing but the sound of our pencils scribbling across the page.
    Tick-tock, tick-tock .
    The timers are out of sync. I pick them up and shove them in the couch cushions.
    Kasey stares at me.
    “They’re distracting,” I say.
    “You’re so weird.”
    “Because I don’t like the sound of the timers?”
    “Weird-o,” she mutters, showing incredible restraint not tapping into her “crackers” category.
    “Yesterday, we established my weird is mysteriously cool,” I say, and cringe because I can hear the shrill note in my voice. Being me is not cool, and I think Kasey must know that. How can she not?
    Plus since yesterday, I can’t get rid of the webs—it’s harder to, anyway. I just need a few days and things will go back to normal. It just hasn’t been this bad for a while. I need Saturday, the game, the win. Three. Perfect number three.
    “Now it’s just irritating,” she says.
    I swallow and say, “K, I’m just kind of distracted, I guess.”
    “Whatever,” she says. “Mr. Count-to-a-Thousand-Hold-Your-Breath-Before-Leaving. It’s not like Dad asks that much of you. It’s really shit you spent the grocery money on some toothpick chick at a burger joint. I’ve been stuck cooking since three o’clock this afternoon because said groceries defrosted.”
    “Mom said she’d put the meat away,” I say.
    “Yeah. Mom says a lot of things, doesn’t she? Just like you.”
    “Sorry.” I push my hair out of my eyes and tuck it behind my ears. “Really. I am.” She can’t even begin to imagine how sorry I am.
    I think she can tell I’m pretty run down because she sits next to me. “So who’s the lucky girl?”
    “What