Page 104 of All In Good Time

He saw it all, eating up the meaning from her pupils, and his lips lifted briefly. “I know.”

* * *

Dragging it out wasn’t worth it. In his weaker moments, Derek might have lingered outside longer than necessary to delay the inevitable, but these past days had given him a burst of courage that made him eager to face it.

The door brushed against the floor as he opened it, and the warm air of the inside entry hit his face. The TV was already playing in the living room, and Derek took a breath to steel himself before turning to enter the room.

Mark sat on a chair, facing the living room entrance. He wasn’t focusing at all on the background noise of the television—instead, he was already observing Derek, who stared straight back.

“I see you’re not listening again,” Mark said, and stood from his chair to cross slowly until he stood right in front of Derek.

Derek held his father’s gaze, carefully studying his moves and choosing to keep his mouth shut. Bear it. Just bear it. His teeth brushed at the inside of his cheek as Mark rubbed his nose.

Derek held in a cringe as Mark’s bitter breath flooded his nostrils, rank with the prick of alcohol.

“What exactly did that whore do that’s got you so desperate to be her bitch, huh? She suck your cock or something? Must be pretty damn good if she makes you go against your own father so easily.”

A punch of anger and sickness bit painfully down on Derek’s brain, and for a moment, he lost some of the strength to bear his father’s taunting. “Don’t talk about her like that.”

In his mind, the words were forceful and strong, threatening even. Out loud, they were fragile, but they still got a reaction.

Mark’s eyes widened a fraction, his brows shooting up in outraged shock. “What did you say to me?”

Derek was slowly losing the battle, and his eyes involuntarily averted to the wall over Mark’s shoulder, unable to take the intensity of his glare.

An ache ran up his jaw as his father grabbed the sides of his face with his fingers and yanked so Derek was forced to look back at him. Derek winced. Mark’s fingers dug into his cheeks and jaw.

Mark scoffed. “You’re so weak, it’s pathetic. No wonder your mother couldn’t stand to stick around. Not with a pitiful fool of a son like you.”

Mark spit the words into his face, and Derek blinked away the watery pain in his eyes. The imprint of Mark’s fingers wouldn’t be there in the morning, but they might as well be permanently etched under his skin.

“You’re wrong.” He didn’t mean to say it. The words came from his mouth so quietly they were barely a breath, but Mark heard them, and that was enough.

“Wrong?” Mark’s face grew red, his hand raising into the air.

Derek flinched.

The blow flew past his ear, but it didn’t come down on him—in fact, Mark’s grasp on Derek disappeared entirely.

There was a loud crash, and Derek looked up to see his father’s fist straight through the wall, leaving a gaping hole of white drywall and chipped paint.

Panting, Derek watched as Mark pulled his hand from the wall. He glared at Derek with furious intensity. He lifted a finger, and shoved it in Derek’s face, as white dust fell from it and littered onto Derek’s shirt. “Don’t youdareleave your room tonight.”

Then he was gone. And Derek stayed right where he was. On the ground, the debris of Mark’s outrage scattered around his feet.

He breathed in, once, twice.

He wanted to be angry. He wanted to smash and cry and break things. The humiliated tears pricked pitifully at the corner of his eyes.

But he continued to breathe in and out as he walked to his room and closed the door behind him. He wanted to sneak out that window and go see her, but his dad would notice the sound now. It scared him that his father noticed her. It scared him that Mark saw Becca as a threat.

He didn’t want to put her in harm’s way. Not when Mark had made it clear he’d pay extra attention to anything Derek did.

He sat on his bed and stared at the door, his fingers clutching at the comforter. To his right, on his bedside table, sat the small purple lavender candle, right where it had been for the past half a year.

He pulled his lighter from his pocket, lit the wick, and let the calming scent surround him.

39

---