Page 16 of Kings Don't Break
A pang of shame hits me as I shake my head and think up ways I can prove him wrong. Convince him I’m not useless. I can try harder.
“Ken… please… today was just a bad day. I’ll make up for it.”
“You’re damn right you’ll make up for it. In more ways than one,” he rants, drowning me out. “Especially considering your mother shits on herself! Like a fucking toddler that wets the damn bed! It must run in the family. Both mother and daughter are dead weight. Both determined to fuck up every part of my night.”
I struggle through my next breath, urging myself to stay calm. Deferential. “It’s her condition. You were there when the doctor explained she can’t help it. Sometimes she’s going to have accidents before she can make it to the?—”
“Are you saying I’m too stupid to understand her health issues? Is that what you’re implying? I don’t get what the doctor said?”
“No, Ken… of… of course not.”
“Then what were you saying? Be real clear, Kor. Speak very carefully.”
“All I’m saying… I’m just saying she can’t help it. Please give her some grace.”
He barks out a harsh laugh in my face. “Grace?! I’ve given plenty of grace! Do you think anybody else would have the two of you? Anybody else would put up with this kind of shit? Shit… on my floors!”
“You’re not the one that cleans it up!” I snap before I can stop myself. My hands gesture to the floor where the cleaning supplies lay. “I’m the one who takes care of it. I’m the one who looks after her and cleans?—”
His fist slams into me so hard, I’m almost knocked into another timeline. My body sails backward, all footing and balance lost. I don’t remember hitting the ground.
Consciously, I’ve blacked out. I come to seconds later, crumpled on the floor with Ken standing over me.
My ears are ringing. My body feels disjointed and my jaw throbs in unbearable pain. I open my mouth to speak and realize I can’t. I’m spitting up blood. A panicked sound escapes my throat at the gruesome discovery.
“How many fucking times do I have to tell you about mouthing off?” Ken roars, and another pained, terrified cry bubbles out of me. “You get real bold like you’re the one in charge here! Stop the theatrics—don’t expect me to feel sorry for you now!”
I should shut up. I should cooperate.
But I can’t. There’s so much blood. It spills past my lips, and I break into another terrified cry, wondering if he’s broken something this time. If my throbbing jaw’s dislocated or he’s knocked out a tooth.
Cries of pain aren’t what Ken wants to hear. It only pisses him off more.
He draws his foot back and then swings it forward, crushing me hard in my ribs.
“I SAID STOP THE THEATRICS!” he bellows, going for another kick, then another.
With no means of escape, no way to protect myself, nothing to do but cry, I curl myself up in a ball. My arms come up over my dizzy head and I shut my eyes, doing what I always do in these moments.
Praying for its end. Disappearing into my head.
Alternate timelines and realities where this isn’t my life.
When he is done—he’s screamed and kicked and expressed every ounce of rage possible—I’m beyond pain. My body’s gone scarily numb in some effort to protect myself from all the agony being inflicted.
He steps back and observes his work. Blood streaks the once gleaming tiles I’d just finished scrubbing clean from Mama’s accident.
“Clean this shit up. Then I want you ready for me in bed,” he growls, turning away and disappearing down the hall.
Silent tears streak my cheeks as I wobble onto my knees and reach for the sponge with a shaky hand.
I scrub the floors spotless, wiping up the blood I’ve bled all over the place—and when more leaks out, I clean that up too.
My mind takes me far away from the present as I do. Back to those alternate timelines—back to the side of the highway where I’d seen him again.
The one who I once called home.
4
