Page 16 of Bozo

He kicks me in the ribs, right where they're already bruised. I gasp, tears springing to my eyes as white-hot pain lances through me.

"Damn right you will," he growls. "And don't you dare come back without my beer, or you'll really be sorry."

I struggle to my feet, clutching my side. The room spins as I stumble to the door, fumbling for my shoes. I can feel his eyes boring into my back as I slip out into the chilly night air.

This late at night, the nearest convenience store is almost a mile away. I start walking, each step sending jolts of pain through my body.

As I trudge along the dimly lit footpath, I imagine what it would be like to just keep walking; to never go back to that house; to disappear into the night and start a new life somewhere else. But I know it's just a fantasy. I have nowhere to go, no money, no one to turn to. It would be useless for me to run. I’d only end up on the streets. So right now, it’s better the devil you know.

The neon lights of the store come into view. I pause outside, taking a deep breath to compose myself. The bell jingles as I push open the door. The bored-looking cashier barely glances up from his phone.

I make my way to the fridges at the back, grabbing a six-pack of the cheap beer Dad likes. As I head to the register, I pray that the cashier doesn’t ask for ID. I'm not old enough to buy this, but I need to purchase it. If I don’t… I swallow hard.

God, no, don’t think about what could happen. Not now,I tell myself.

Thankfully, the cashier doesn’t even glance at me as he rings up the beer. I quickly pay and get the hell out of there.

My cell rings and I answer it as I begin to walk back home. “Hello?” I answer.

“Guess where I am?” My spirits are instantly lifted when I hear Connor’s voice.

“Where?” I ask, unable to keep the smile off my face. God, it’s so good to hear his voice.

“Home,” he replies simply, and my heart speeds up. “Where are you?”

I sigh. “Dad needed beer. I’m walking home. I’m glad you’re home though. It’s been too long.”

"Wait, what? You're out getting beer at this time of night?" Connor's voice is laced with anger and concern. "Are you okay?"

I hesitate, not wanting to worry him. If he finds out what’s really happening, he’ll lose his mind. "Yeah, I'm fine. You know how he gets."

There's a long pause. "I'm coming to get you. Where are you exactly?"

"No, Con, it's okay. I'm almost home anyway," I lie, my pace quickening despite the pain in my side.

"Bullshit," he says flatly. "I know you, and I know that tone. Something's wrong. Just tell me where you are."

I sigh, knowing he won't let this go. I quickly give him the address.

"Stay there. I'm on my way."

Before I can protest, he hangs up. I slow my pace, torn between relief at seeing my best friend and dread at what Dad will do if I'm not back soon.

Ten minutes later, headlights appear in the distance. Connor's brand new SUV pulls up beside me, and he leans across to open the passenger door.

"Get in," he says, his eyes scanning me with worry.

I slide into the seat, wincing as the movement jars my ribs. Connor notices, his jaw tightening. I pull on my seatbelt and breathe a sigh of relief that he’s here.

"What happened?" he asks quietly as he pulls away from the curb.

"Nothing," I mutter, staring out the window. "Just tripped.”

Connor scoffs, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "Don't lie to me, Grá. I know you better than that."

I remain silent, unsure what to say. Part of me wants to tell him everything, to finally let someone know the hell I've been living in since he’s been gone. But another part of me is terrified of what might happen if I do.

"Look," Connor says softly, "I know things have been rough since your ma died. Why haven’t you told me that he’s gotten worse? You should have told me, Grá. You could have stayed at my place."

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