Page 91 of Released from the Sin Bin

Pow.

Mom creeps past the door with tears welled up in her eyes. Her hands shake in front of her mouth.

“Have you had enough?” Dad runs his tired hand through his slick hair to fix the loose strand that fell over his sweat covered red face. “Did you learn your lesson?”

Mom nods, willing me to give in.

“No.” I shake my head slowly. “What lesson was that again?”

He winds back, and swings forward. His fist makes contact with my cheek and I stumble back onto the floor.

Fuck.

Mom shrieks and holds on to the door frame, stopping herself from running in to help me.

He’s never hit my face before. It’s always my chest or abdomen. Sometimes my back when I became too old to have my ass spanked. Never the face.

I usually give in by now.

My father stands over me, leaning down to check my face.

“Don’t ever lose a game like that again. Those penalties were a fucking embarrassment.” He points at me, spewing spit as he talks. “You’re a fucking embarrassment.”

I bite my tongue to stop from talking back. It isn’t worth it.

I’m a twenty-one-year-old man who can’t stand up to his father. It isn’t worth it. I am an embarrassment. He’ll take it out on mom, and I’d rather be his punching bag than let him touch her.

“Carter.” Mom slides down next to me once he’s gone from the room. “I’m so sorry.” She cries as her shaking hands check on my wounds. “I’ll get ice.”

My head throbs as I sit up. He’s getting worse. The drinking is more excessive, along with the punches. It started off with one slap across the back of my head for spilling a box of cereal and increased from there.

“Here.” Mom comes back with a towel and an ice pack. “Sit up on the couch.” She helps me up onto the den’s crisp, off-white leather couch. “I’m so sorry, Carter.” Her hands are still shaking as she rubs my arms and chest.

She always apologizes for him.

“Why can’t you leave?” I hold her hand still. “Mom, why can’t you leave him?”

She refuses to look at me as she nervously shakes her head. “You only have a few more months. Just stay at school.”

“And then what?” I tighten my hold to stop her from leaving. “Please leave him. I can’t leave you here with him.”

“It’s ok. He won’t hurt me.” She pulls her hands away and fiddles with the towel in her lap. “He expects a lot of his sons. Now, hold the ice pack to your cheek.”

“And his daughter?”

Mom sucks in a breath. Barely glancing my way. She squeezes her eyes shut and the tears roll down her cheeks.

“He didn’t—”

“Then why?” I stop her from lying for him. “You know he hurt her. It was happening right in front of us.”

“You don’t know that.” She shakes her head, but we all know it.

We may not have seen or heard it happening, but the evidence was there. Janisa is gone because he hurt her, and no one did anything to stop it.

“Please,” she begs and holds my hand, “just go.”

She gets up and leaves me in the den, trudging up the steps to her bedroom to deal with my father, who is likely passed out after exerting himself.

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