Page 70 of Bonds of Magic
It would never stop hurting, and I didn’t want it to. I didn’t deserve that. But the sudden pain in my chest, the way it scraped up my insides to draw a breath? There was a reason I kept those memories below the surface.
I shot Cory a look. “No offense, but the more I learn about your dad, the less I like him.”
“Try living with him,” he said with a grim smile.
“So he never—”
“Nothing my dad ever did with me is worth talking about.”
Cory’s voice was firm. It was the steeliest I’ve ever seen him. It killed me that he didn’t have a dad he could look up to. Someone he could trust.
I didn’t know how to respond. The way that he talked about his dad always shut down the conversation. I should probably stop bringing it up. But I couldn’t let it go.
“It’s got to be hard,” I said. “No parent should ever abuse their kid. Even if it’s only verbal, that’s still—”
Cory laughed again, and this time it was wild and high-pitched, the sound skittering through the empty gym. His eyes were staring at something only he could see, but finally, he looked over at me.
“No. You’re right. Verbal abuse is no picnic.”
My brow furrowed. “Cory, did he do more than verbal abuse?”
Cory turned, suddenly very interested in a spot on the ceiling twenty feet away. But his hands were balled into fists, and his knuckles strained where they gripped the knife.
I knew I was prying, but I couldn’t stop myself. “Did he—”
“He hit me, alright? Is that what you want to hear? He hit me, punched me, kicked me. Pick a verb, he did it all.”
“Fuck, Cory. That’s—”
“Awful?” he said, his tone still high and jittery. “Despicable? Shameful? A terrible thing to do to a kid, let alone your own son? Yeah, I know. Believe me, I figured that out pretty quickly.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah. I know.” He shrugged. “Thanks.”
He didn’t seem to mean the words. “Cory—” I began again, but he interrupted me.
“I learned early on that other kids’ parents didn’t hurt them. But I also learned that if I told other people what my dad did, I got in more trouble. An ACL injury ended my dad’s football career, but he was still plenty good at throwing his weight around when he wanted to.”
He turned back to me. “I know you’re trying to help. And I appreciate it, I do. But there’s a reason I don’t talk about this stuff. It’s in the past, and he’s dead, and there’s nothing anybody can do to undo it. So I don’t see the point in bringing it up.”
His words echoed things I’d said about my own past. And if I didn’t want people prying into my wounds, I couldn’t pry into his.
“Okay,” I said. “In that case, let’s get to work.”
We practiced until midnight, and it wasn’t until Cory was drifting off in the middle of my lecture about mid-air knife rotation that I realized how late it had gotten. I’d wanted to distract him from thoughts about his dad, but this was pushing it.
“We should pack it in,” I said.
“No, we can keep going.” Cory put a fist to his mouth, trying and failing to stifle a yawn.
“We can, but we won’t. Remember, you still have to dream tonight.”
“Maybe I’m strong enough to go for five nights now,” he suggested.
“Better not to risk it.”
He seemed listless as I packed the target away, his joy over the knife I’d lent him already spent. I expected a sullen walk back to his room, but as soon as we stepped outside, I heard a meow. I looked down to see Mouse at my feet. She meowed a second time and put her front paws on my calves.
