Free Out of the Blackness by Carter Quinn Page B

outside for weeks—certainly not in just shorts.
    I open my bedroom door just as I hear Carl come into the house. He’s been in the garage all morning, working on his car, no doubt drinking lots of beer. It’s always worse when he’s drinking, but I tell myself this time it’ll be okay. I’ve done my chores and cleaned my room perfectly. He can’t find fault with anything. Today I can prove to him I really am a good boy.
    I try so hard.
    I should know better. I’ve been told I’m a worthless, pathetic bastard enough times it should have sunk in by now. But still I have to hope, because I really do want to be a good boy. I just want Carl and Mom to love me, even when I make mistakes. Because that’s all they are, mistakes. I never try to be bad or wrong, it just sort of happens and I have no control over it. I know I can do better. I just have to try harder.
    I’m two steps from the kitchen when I hear the jeering tone in Carl’s voice as he mocks Mom for something. I can’t make out the words, but I should know by now to disappear. Unfortunately, the siren song of the Slip-n-Slide is far too powerful for a seven-year-old to resist. It overpowers my sense of caution. Besides, I know I’ve done everything right for once. Still, my breathing goes shallow and the buzz starts in my ears. I know they’re going to fight and I know I should avoid that kitchen at all costs, but…please. I just want to play with the other kids. Please. It’s so nice outside and I’ve been a good boy, I promise.
    The roar in my ears drowns out their words, but I hear Mom and Carl shouting. My feet keep moving me into the kitchen out of that desperate need to be a regular little boy for just one afternoon, for just a few hours. Please, oh, please.
    Just as I enter the kitchen, Carl backhands Mom with all his might, sending her stumbling back several paces right into me and the wall. I hear glass shatter and I know there’s my mistake. I was in the room when it happened; therefore, it’s my fault. I watch, absolutely vibrating in fear as Mom pulls her bloodied hand away from her face. My eyes immediately focus on the glass shards sparkling innocently on the linoleum floor, almost willing them to jump back together so I can avoid what is unquestionably coming next.
    “You ungrateful little son of a bitch!” Carl bellows venomously at me. “You made your mother break that glass! Look at me when I’m talking to you, boy! ”
    I’m already bawling when I feel him grab a handful of my hair, wrenching my head up so I have no choice but to look at him. I feel more than see his arm cock back. The instant my fear-filled child’s eyes meet his hate-filled adult ones, his fist smashes into my cheek.
    ***
    “Avery!”
    Sam’s voice chases away the nightmare, but it takes a moment to realize I’m still screaming and crying. Will these nightmare memories ever go away? I silence the scream, but bury my face in Sam’s shoulder as I continue to cry. I’d forgotten that particular beating, but I remember it vividly now. It was the first time Carl broke my orbital bone, but it wouldn’t be the last. Two days later, Mom took her “clumsy” boy to the doctor. I’d fallen out of a tree and landed on a rock, of course. Who wouldn’t believe that of a boy who’d already broken his arm doing the same thing?
    Sam holds me tightly, rocking me until I finally cry myself out. He doesn’t need to ask. Only two things make me scream in my sleep—Tommy Blevins and Carl. Sam’s hands are gentle as he caresses my back and strokes my sweaty, tear-dampened hair.
    It’s only when Kira hands Sam a glass of water that I remember she’s there. The embarrassment I’d felt earlier intensifies tenfold. I struggle fiercely to pull myself together. I know Carl can’t hurt me anymore. He has no idea who or where I am. And Tommy…well, after August, I’m almost sure he knows better than to cross Sam again. I repeat the mantra over and over in my head: I’m