Page 32 of My Undead Heart

“Only water around here.” I have no need to stock my place with anything else. I rarely have visitors, and even if I had something hard I wouldn’t offer it to him. I don’t wait for his response, instead I fill two glasses at the tap before handing him one. “Cheers.” I make light of the heaviness that hangs around us, but my smile doesn’t feel right on my face.

He brings the glass to his lips and takes a long sip. It’s been a good six months since I’ve seen my father, and then it was only in passing. We haven’t had a civil conversation in over two years, so in all consideration I’m counting this as a win. Maybe it’s the late hour or my poor lighting but he’s aged years since Danny’s graduation. Even his frame seems smaller. Almost weak. And in all my life I’ve never used the word weak to describe my old man.

“I talked to your uncle today.”

Ah-ha. There it is. “Yeah, did he tell you I’m gonna be working on his crew?”

“Hard times? You gonna lose the gym?”

“No.” I don’t entertain the possibility, but I know it’s there. The fear of losing what I’ve built from the dust of my shattered career is motivation alone to never let it come to that. I have hope that if I stay the course, my stroke of luck will turn around. I feel it’s already beginning to.

“Not what I heard.” As much as I don’t want to hear it, there’s a smugness to his words. He’d probably love to see me hit rock bottom again. If only to ease his own conscience. But that will never happen. Not over my dead body.

“I’m working it out, Pop. Not your problem.”

He sets his glass on the counter and his glare returns, along with a stroke of anger. “You need money, son, you come to me.”

I’ll never ask him for money, or anything else for that matter. Not after everything that went down. “You know damn well why I won’t do that.”

“And why not? You’re done fightin’. Those days are over. Don’t let your pride get in the way of livin’ life.”

“That’s rich coming from you.”

“Ha! There you go. On your high horse. Must get really lonely up there. Always on the righteous path while the rest of us peasants scrap for what’s ours.”

“Stop. I never had a problem with your way until you forced it on me.” Anger, sadness, and the familiar disappointment clouds my vision. I struggle to calm the need to strike out, physically, but indulge my feelings by laying it all out. “You ended my career. You took everything that was important to me and pissed all over it. With no remorse! Now you want to help? This was a mistake. Get the fuck out of my apartment.”

“Your mother spoiled you. Made you this way. Made you think you’re better than the rest of us.”

That’s the last straw.I slam my glass on the counter and with one step I’m right up in his face. Chest to chest, my fingers grab and twist the collar of his shirt. “Don’t ever speak to me about her.” The words seethe from between my clenched teeth and he has the decency to not say another damn word. With one cleansing breath I release my hold and take a step back.

He holds my stare and nods twice. Dropping his chin, he turns and strolls to the door. His hand touches the metal but he pauses before twisting the handle. “Offer still stands,” he mumbles without looking back.

“Get out!” I slam my fist against the counter, rattling the empty glasses. The sound mimics memories from my youth, the ones I shove deep down so I don’t have to remember. The door opens enough for him to shuffle outside and shuts on a soft click. I wait a few minutes, attempting to calm myself but it doesn’t work. With every second that ticks by the past creeps into my mind’s eye. “Fuck!” I shout so loud even my own ears ache with the sound.

This is total bullshit. I’m exhausted, and was prepared to spend a peaceful night catching Zs before getting up in a few hours to do it all again. Now there’s no way in hell I’ll be able to quiet my mind enough to pass out. For a brief second I consider the easy way out, a sleeping pill to take the edge off, but I shake my head. I refuse to go there. Instead, I stomp into my bedroom, strip off my clothes and change into a pair of sweats, and grab my headphones on the way out the door. If I can’t sleep, I can run.

My body reverberates with the rhythm of my steps and music blasts in my ears, urging me to go faster, push harder. This is my solace. The place where I find peace. While most of the city sleeps, I chase total exhaustion, leaving behind the nightmares that threaten to shake my stability. It’s always that way with him. My mistake was letting him in. An error I’ve repeated my entire life. You’d think after thirty-two years I’d learn my lesson. I’m sure a shrink would have a blast with me, but I’ll never know. It’s bad enough these thoughts clutter my mind. There’s no way I’ll share them with another human being.

It’s almost two when I return to my apartment. With only a few hours before I have to open the gym, I rush through my shower and don’t waste another second. My body succumbs to the fatigue I forced upon it and I’m out within minutes of my head hitting the pillow.

My eyelids flutter open though my body feels like a dead weight. Why am I awake? It’s still dark and Mom doesn’t wake me up until after the sun bursts into my room between the missing slat on the blinds.

Scuffling. Whispers. Then a whimper of pain, like the squeal the alley cats make when my friend Randal and I set out food only to coax them close enough to pull at their tails. The sound wipes the lingering sleep from my mind and I sit up in bed.

“Please. Just go, Rich. You’ll wake him.” My mother’s begging reaches my ears and instantly I know exactly who’s in the other room with her. I’m only thirteen years old and he’s still bigger than me, but after last time I swore I wouldn’t be afraid and cower in my room. Not while he beat the crap out of the woman I love most in the world.

Fear pricks my gut as more scuffling and a muffled scream come from behind the door. I know what comes next. I won’t stand for it. Not anymore. I’d rather he hit me. My lungs pull in a deep breath for strength and I yank open my bedroom door. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust, the light from the television casting a green and blue hue over the rest of our apartment. Panic surges in my throat when my eyes find my mom. His hand is around her throat. She’s pinned to the wall by his strength. His other hand is somewhere between their bodies and I blanch at the thought of it. Some kids are grossed out by the idea of their parents having sex. If only I could be so lucky. Those children don’t know what it’s like to have their dad visit in the dark of night to steal pieces of their mother, taking her without her consent every damn time. Following the act with more violence.

But enough is enough. I’m not a child anymore; I haven’t been for a while. Grabbing the bat I left propped against my nightstand, I grip the heavy wood, holding it between my fingers the way coach showed us just last week. The way he swore would earn us a home run.

“Get off of her! Get off my mom!” I scream, cock the bat back, and whack him as hard as I can.

“Matthew, don’t!” my mother yells as the bat connects with the flesh of his lower back in a fiercethunkand his hand loosens from her throat. Adrenaline surges through my veins, and for a second I think this is it. I’ve won. He won’t be able to hurt her after a hit like that to the kidney. Except instead of crumpling to the ground, he whips around and shoves my mother out of the way so she slams against the edge of the couch.

“You’re a big man now? Ya wanna go?”

“Please, Rich. Don’t. Matthew, go back to your room and lock the door.”

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