Free Man of Honor (Battle Scars) by Diana Gardin Page B

place.
    We’re both fighters, but Mikah’s more of the scrappy kind. And it showed with every suspension from school he received. My aunt and uncle tried their best, but they weren’t our parents. And we all knew it.
    My aunt comes onto the white, wooden wraparound porch. Her smile is tight, but even with the addition of some gray strands in her curly hair and extra lines on her face, the resemblance to my mama is striking. The only difference is the fact that my Aunt Tay can smile freely. That was something her sister forgot how to do long before she died. Seeing her feels like someone dumped a bucket of ice water on my head, and while Mikah bounces up the steps to greet her, it takes me a little longer to drag myself closer.
    “It’s good to see you both.” Aunt Tay’s greeting is warm and genuine, and she ushers us inside the refurbished farmhouse to sit in the great room.
    The house is beautiful, with accents of both old and new. I remember thinking when we first moved in that it seemed like someone else’s fairy tale. After what I’d gone through, I never felt like I deserved any of this. I was dirty, stained.
    Used, used, used.
    The inside hasn’t changed much. White bead board covers the walls, light wooden beamed ceilings with cavernous heights. The furniture is casual and tasteful, but the place has a lived-in appearance despite its style. I choose a spot on the khaki sectional sofa and kick off my shoes, tucking my feet up beneath me. Mikah sits a few feet away, spreading his legs wide and placing his forearms on his knees.
    “So what’s up, Aunt T?” Mikah’s voice is deep and rumbly, and always manages to sound jovial and nonchalant at the same time. I envy the carefree way he goes about his life. It’s what I try to do, but mine is fake. His is real.
    My aunt sits down across from us on a plush ottoman and begins wringing her hands.
    I glance at Mikah. Never a good sign.
    “It’s about your father.”
    Well, leave it to Tay to get right to the point. Just hearing those words cross her lips, your father , makes my insides begin to tremble, turning me in a mess of goo. I clench my muscles together, trying to get control of the shaking. Hot tears spring to my eyes, and I blink rapidly to try and keep them in . Why?
    Lately, he seems to be everywhere. I’ve tried to keep thoughts of him buried deep for years, but all of a sudden they’re popping back up to the surface again, dead bodies that won’t stay sunken.
    “What about him?” I can’t disguise the tremor in my voice.
    Mikah, his face hard and set, grabs my hand and squeezes it. I know what he’s saying without using words. I’ll never let him hurt you again, Mea.
    He thought he was protecting me all those years ago. But it would have made things so much worse. So I did what I had to do in order to protect us both…
    I lay in bed, my sweat suit causing me to roast but also giving me a sense of false security. My knuckles are white, clenching the covers as tightly as I can. Each muscle is taut, and I’ve been like this for hours. Hours.
    Waiting, waiting, waiting.
    Please, not tonight. Dear God in heaven, if you’re up there…if you can hear me? Please. Just not tonight.
    I pray the prayer over and over again. I’m not sure why. It’s never saved me before. At this point, I don’t know what could save me. There is no longer anything behind my mother’s eyes. In the last year, they’ve gone completely vacant. It’s like she’s stopped living, but her body still functions. The kids at school don’t understand why my mom doesn’t come to stuff like the other parents do. They don’t get why Mikah and I never invite them over to play. And Daddy’s so controlling, we wouldn’t dream of asking to go to someone else’s house.
    We’re the town weirdoes. And that’s the least of my problems.
    The blackness in my room gives me no warning that the doorknob is turning. It’s silent, and I don’t know he’s coming until I see the