Free When We Collide by A. L. Jackson Page B

to pretend that I wanted to be here.
Even more difficult to hide from my son how much I hated the man he
knew as daddy .
    Troy rambled on about his day at the shop, talking
about the classic car that’d been brought in for restoration, and
he asked Jonathan about school. Jonathan offered few words. He only
answered Troy when he was asked a direct question. His voice was
always hesitant and insecure when he did. He’d barely make eye
contact when he glanced up to meet Troy’s face.
    I wondered if Troy ever noticed his pride and
joy was terrified of him.
    No.
    Troy had never once touched Jonathan. If he did, he
wouldn’t live to see the next day. I’d die before I allowed anyone
to harm my son.
    The guilt that excuse caused was piercing, and I had
to turn away from Jonathan and stare down at my plate. As if being
exposed to this life didn’t affect him? Harm him?
    But I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?
    The scars hidden beneath my long-sleeved sweater
stung in memory. Troy had left me with a permanent reminder that he
would never let us go.
    With a sense of hopelessness, I looked back up at my
son. He sat on his knees so he could reach the table. His face was
downcast, and he pushed food around with his fork.
    “Eat, Jonathan.” Troy pointed at Jonathan’s plate
with his fork.
    Jonathan grimaced and whined, “But my tummy
hurts.”
    Every night, it was the same. My heart fell.
    “I said to eat your dinner, Jonnie.” Troy’s voice
hardened. “I don’t work all damned day so you can waste your food
every night.”
    I watched Jonathan spear a piece of meat with his
fork and force it into his mouth. He chewed then swallowed hard as
if it caused him pain.
    My eyes dropped closed. I knew the source of that
pain. I felt it all the time.
    “He said his stomach hurts.” I mumbled the words
toward my plate in a mix of disgust and apprehension. I only ever
spoke out if it was for my son. I did whatever I had to for the
attention to remain on me.
    I didn’t look up, but I felt Troy sit back and glare
at me. “I didn’t ask you.”
    An oppressive silence fell over the room. Jonathan
took the opportunity to slither from his chair and disappear into
the living room. His footsteps were light as they echoed down the
short hall, and then his bedroom door clicked closed.
    It was as if there was a certain tenor in Troy’s
tone that was Jonathan’s cue. He’d learned it long ago, when Troy
would instruct him to go to his room when his voice was vise-grip
tight, and now Jonathan would go before he’d ever been told. Troy
never let Jonathan see him hit me. I didn’t know why, but I was
thankful for it.
    I remained still as I waited, my insides steeled.
Troy didn’t even bother to stand when he struck the right side of
my face with the back of his hand. It wasn’t very hard, just enough
to rattle me, body and soul, enough to stoke the hatred that grew
every day.
    I refused to look his way, refused to acknowledge
the monster who shoved his chair back from the table and braced his
hands on the top as he leaned across and snarled close to the side
of my face. “Don’t you dare talk to me that way in front of my
son.” Grabbing a handful of my hair, he tugged me back and forced
me to look at him. “Do you understand me?”
    Still I remained silent. It was for the best. He
pushed me away by the wad of hair he had curled in his hand. With a
painful snap, my neck twisted to the side and a thick lock of hair
ripped free when Troy jerked his hand back.
    I wanted to cry out, but I bit it back. I wouldn’t
give him the satisfaction. Instead, I cradled my head in my hands
and waited. His footsteps were heavy as he tore across the floor
and slammed the back door shut behind him. The engine of his truck
rumbled as he turned it over, and the wheels dug into the dirt when
the truck was thrown in reverse. Gravel spit up and pinged against
its sides as he backed out of the drive. My body stayed rigid until
the sound of the engine