Page 39 of The Keeper
I hop off of the table I’d been sitting on, ignoring the jolt of pain in my side, and plow out of the room. I throw the door open so fast I don’t see anyone in the hallway and run smack into Mack, sending me to the ground with a hard thud.
“Jesus, RJ.” Mack kneels beside me, trying to help me up.
“Get your hands off me,” I growl at him, pushing his hand away and standing on my own.
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” His response, quiet and concerned, speaks to his regret for his curt words on the field. But I’m not having any of it.
“Oh, sonowyou want to know if I’m okay? You know what? Fuck. You. You need to sort out your shit, Mack, because I am sick of this Jekyll and Hyde crap you’re pulling.” I lean in close and stare into his eyes. “Less than twenty four hours ago, you had me on my back and your tongue down my throat, then this afternoon you’re barking at me like I’m an absolute idiot.” Mack’s expression rolls between heated at the reminder of last night, and remorseful at his recent behavior. “Don’t talk to me again unless you have feedback about my game.”
I brush past him and prowl down the hallway, trying to get away from everything about this horrible, horrible day.
* * * * *
My mood hasn’t improved much by game time the next day. I’m grouchy with my teammates as we load into the bus and claim two seats for myself so I don’t have to talk to anyone. Instead, I opt to glare out the window and blast some kind of horrible screamy music that Jeremy added to my phone.
The three-hour bus ride passes slowly, and my only solace is that I at least don’t have to be in an enclosed space with Mack for the ride. He drove down to USD in the morning for some sort of meeting, so it’s just Coach Johnson and Janice, along with the men’s team and coaches, with our team on the bus.
I’m lost in thoughts about my dad and today’s game when one of my headphones is popped out of my ear, and Thomas plops down next to me.
“How’s the wounded party doing today?”
“I’m fine. But I’m not in the mood to talk, Thomas.” I take my headphone in hand and begin to place it back in my right ear when it’s snatched out of my grip. “I mean it. I’m not trying to be a bitch, but I’m really not in the mood. I need you to leave me alone.”
Thomas nods, holding his hand out for me to take back the single headphone. “Whatever it is, let me know if you want to talk about it. I’m a pretty good listener.” He gives me a small smile, then stands and walks back towards the front of the bus.
My eyes turn back outside, but my thoughts remain on my dad. What dramatics will he pull at this game? When he came to the first game I started in during my sophomore year of high school, he kept screaming that we were all a bunch of ‘fucking dykes’. Families were literally moving away from him in the stands, and I was mortified. That was the first time security escorted him out.
Jeremy had driven down to watch the game, but traffic held him up, and he got there late enough to miss dad’s tirade. He told me he was so proud of me and how I played, took me to dinner, and then dropped me off at home. He had taken a shitty day, a shitty first game, and completely turned around my day.
But that evening was the first time my dad’s abuse turned physical.
I came through the back door of the house, hoping he would be passed out in the den in the front. As I crept through the dark kitchen and rounded the corner to the stairs, he came out of nowhere, wrapping his hand around my throat and slamming me against the wall, knocking the wind out of me.
“Where thefuckhave you been?”
I clawed at his hand as it squeezed tighter, unable to get out the words to explain. I felt suspended in time, both seconds and hours going by as I remained pinned to the wall, unable to breathe. In reality it was probably less than thirty seconds. When he finally let go, I collapsed to the floor on my hands and knees, drawing in large, shaky breaths.
“Jeremy.”
Inhale.
“Came.”
Inhale.
“Dinner.”
Inhale.
“You lying sack of shit. He doesn’t give ashitabout you. You can’t sneak this past me. Which of those boys were you fucking?Huh?”
He emphasized his last word with a swift kick to my gut, and I crumpled into the fetal position on the floor, crying out in pain. I struggled to get out my words, but finally managed to catch my breath enough to choke out an explanation.
“I didn’t. I swear. We grabbed a burger. I didn’t do anything.”
“I didn’t ask for your lip, you fucking cow. I know what you girls are like, whoring your way through school. How many of those guys’ dicks have you sucked? Don’t you know how pathetic you are?” He crouched down and grabbed the back of my hair, yanking back until he could see my face. The scent of alcohol hit me like a wall. “I’ve seen you with them. But I also see how they look at you. Like you’re worthless, because you are. You’re a worthless piece of trash.”
With that, he finally let go of my hair and stood up, stumbling back down the hallway to the den. I remained lying on the floor at the bottom of the stairs for at least fifteen minutes, curled in a ball, focusing on breathing.
