Free Veil of Scars by J. R. Gray Page B

them at school. But the last three months had been worse than the last three years combined. My body looked like a battlefield, to the point where I had to feign injury and sit out the last few games of the water polo season so no one would notice.
    My only hope to escape unscathed was for him to pass out, but I knew that would be a long time coming. I let the plastic phone fall from my stiff fingers, and I started backing toward my room. I crossed the hall and shot a glance down its length. Both my parents’ backs were to me. I had four paces to go before I could close and lock my door. It had been kicked in before, but it would at least provide a barrier.
    My mother was on her hands and knees mopping up the clear fluid. The smell of the spilt drink had permeated the hall, making everything smell like cheap vodka. Another step and the floor beneath my feet creaked. I stiffened and pressed my eyes closed waiting for the bellowing. It never came. They seemed to be so lost in their fight with each other I escaped notice. I backed another step, and my hand found the handle to my door. I closed it behind me and breathed for what seemed the first time in many minutes.
    I went to my window to try and pry it open. I had tried many times, but it had been painted and repainted over so many times, by so many people who had inhabited this POS rental trailer, I knew it was impossible. My hands clenched into fists, and I barely resisted the pain as beating them against the window and walls, giving up I fell face first onto my bed to scream silently into my pillow. Life couldn't be this impossible. There had to be something better. I almost wished for the impending fight with my father just to get it over with. I was tired of it looming over my head night after night. It was mentally exhausting.
    "Steven!" The bellow drew me out of my thoughts, and I exhaled. "Steven! Get the fuck out here and clean up this mess."
    I glanced at the clock. It had only been ten minutes. Sam would be here soon. He had to be here soon, unless his mother stopped him. I might be able to keep my head down and avoid bruises. I pushed off the mattress that lay on the floor and went to my dresser. Grabbing a few things, I tossed them into a bag, then added what I would need for school tomorrow.
    My father was screaming again by the time I walked out of my room. I hunched my shoulders forward and ducked my head giving him a wide berth as I went to clean up the floor.
    "Hurry the fuck up, pansy,” my father screamed as I grabbed the dustpan.
    I bit my tongue against my retort. Any moment I would be able to run out of here. I got the biggest pieces of glass and then went for paper towels to soak up the vile fluid. I moved to kneel, swiping the towels around the floor. My mother had abandoned helping and now lay sprawled across the sofa.
    My father came over scowling down at me. "Aren't you done yet, boy?"
    I told myself not to say anything.
    "Is that how you answer your father, you little shit?"
    "I'm working as fast as I can, Sir." I didn't look up, having learned long ago not to engage him.
    "You look like you're slacking off to me. Lazy fuck." His breath was rancid, and it turned my stomach.
    I made to clean up further away from him, getting every last drop of the liquid at the far end of the kitchen before working my way back toward the puddle at his feet.
    "What are you fucking scared of? Your old man? You're missing a giant puddle right here."
    I swallowed and saw he was still wearing his steel toed boots from work. My breathing caught in my throat as I came near. He took a step and stood in the middle of the mess of vodka. My hands shook as I wiped around his boots. Those boots had broken ribs written all over them.
    "I told your mother you were a fag."
    "James," my mother said from where she sat on the sofa. "Stop putting those ideas in his head. It's bad enough he looks like he does already."
    My long hair fell forward, and I lowered my eyes. He needed to