Free Bait by Alex Sanchez Page B

making it in.
    “Well, first she started to cry. Then she got angry. And then…I kind of blew up at her.”
    Vidas nodded and chewed on his chips. “What made you angry?”
    Diego thought a moment. “Because…she acted like she’d never noticed the cuts. But how could she not have noticed? You noticed. And then she acted like I did it just to get back at her. So then…I punched another hole in the wall.”
    Vidas glanced at Diego’s fist. “That must’ve hurt.”
    “Yeah.” Diego ran his fingers across his knuckles. “But at least I didn’t punch her .”
    Vidas stopped chewing his chips and his voice came out concerned: “Have you ever hit her?”
    “No. But I was afraid I might.”
    Vidas pondered that before taking another chip. “So instead of hurting her you hurt yourself.”
    Diego hadn’t thought of it that way.
    “Do you think,” Vidas asked, “maybe that’s part of why you cut yourself? In place of hurting other people?”
    Diego shifted his feet on the carpet. “I don’t know.” All he knew for certain was that when the anger consumed him, he had to do something to let it out.
    “Have you cut yourself,” Vidas asked, crumpling his empty chip bag, “since you signed the contract last week?”
    “No,” Diego replied truthfully.
    “What’s it feel like,” Vidas probed deeper, “when you do cut yourself?”
    Diego gave a shrug. “Good.”
    “Good?” Vidas winced. “Doesn’t it hurt?”
    “Yeah,” Diego explained, “but it’s a good hurt—a rush. For a second, it’s the only thing you feel. Like a high. Everything else disappears.”
    “What disappears?” Vidas asked. “What don’t you want to feel?”
    “I don’t know. Everything.” As Diego’s legs began to jiggle, he gazed down at his tattered sneakers. Last week, he’d asked his mom for a new pair and she’d told him he had to wait. There was never enough money since Mac’s death.
    Vidas was saying something. Diego glanced up from the carpet. “Um, sorry. I spaced out. What did you say?”
    “I asked when did you first start to cut yourself?”
    Diego hesitated and folded his arms across his chest. “I guess after Mac died.”
    Vidas raised his eyebrows. “So, Mac committed suicide and you started to hurt yourself? It sounds like maybe there’s a connection. What do you think?”
    “Why do we always have to talk about him?”
    “Because, one, he was your stepdad, and two, he committed suicide. That’s a pretty major event in your life.”
    Diego turned to look out the window at the harbor. In the distance a tiny tugboat was pulling some huge ship across the channel.
    “How did he get along with your mom?” Vidas asked, his voice steady.
    “Fine.”
    “‘Fine’ doesn’t tell me much,” Vidas pressed him. “How often did they fight? Once a month? Once a week? Every night?”
    Diego recalled how at first Mac and his mom hadn’t fought at all. But after moving to America, the arguments started—about money or Mac’s drinking or stupid small stuff. Diego would retreat to his room, but Mac never allowed him to have a lock on the door. Diego had complained about it to his mom, but she wouldn’t listen.
    “Maybe a couple of times a week,” Diego answered Vidas.
    “Did he ever hit her?”
    “Nope.”
    “Did he ever hit you?”
    “No.” Mac had never even spanked him. He never needed to.
    “Did he ever,” Vidas continued, “try to touch you…in a way you thought was inappropriate, that made you uncomfortable?”
    “No!” Diego sat up in his chair, his cheeks reddening, his head burning. “Why do you keep asking stuff like that?”
    “Because,” Vidas said, “sometimes that happens in families. And nobody talks about it. The person it happens to is left stuck with their feelings—hurt and anger. What they don’t talk out, they end up acting out.”
    Diego turned away, refusing to look at Vidas. He suddenly wished he’d never asked for probation. What had he been thinking?
    “If Mac