Page 11 of Between Never and Forever
The living room I’d have to walk through to get to the kitchen.
I pull the door shut again and rest my forehead against the wood. I can’t risk it. I’m screwed if he wakes up because I can’t run fast with my side all beat to hell the way it is. My stomach rumbles again, the hunger ache mixing with the pain from my side, and I blow a harsh breath through my nose.
Three more years.
I just have to make it three more years.
Then I’ll be eighteen with a high school diploma, and I can tell my mom and her skeezy, asshole boyfriend to fuck off. I’ll never have to see either of them again.
I can do this for three more years.
I stalk toward my bed, pull my backpack out from underneath it, and crawl back out my window into the early morning. The bus won’t be at Levi’s stop for a couple hours, but I don’t want to be in my house. At least it’s not raining anymore.
I consider walking the few blocks to the river but decide against it.
Instead, I cross the street and walk to the small neighborhood park that’s about halfway between my place and Levi’s. I sit on one of the rickety swings, and my wet shoes squish as I push off the ground. My hands grip tightly at the chains and my legs pump hard until I’m soaring high. I close my eyes, feeling the wind whooshing over my skin and through my clothes.
I get high enough that when I reach the farthest point, my butt comes off the seat just a little before the swing arcs back toward the ground. My stomach does a flip, and I can almost forget about the hunger pains. I can almost ignore the constant ache from where Terry kicked me. I can almost make myself believe I’m free.
I wonder what would happen if I let go.
If I just kept my eyes shut until I reached the highest point and then released my grip on the chains.
I’m not stupid. I know I wouldn’t fly. I wouldn’t continue up, up, up like a sparrow. I’d plummet to the ground like a damn frozen turkey. But would I break my neck? Would I die? How long would it take? Would it be instant? Would it hurt much?
No.
I’d probably bust my leg and then be stuck on crutches. I’d end up weak and defenseless. If I’m going to die, I don’t want it to be at the hands of my mom’s stupid fucking boyfriend. If I’m going to die, I want to have some say in it.
* * *
I sit down at the cafeteria table across from Levi, and he silently pushes a sandwich toward me.
He hasn’t spoken to me all morning. He gave me a granola bar and then ignored me the whole bus ride, and it’s really ticking me off.
I take a bite out of the sandwich he handed me, then speak to him with my mouth full because I know he hates it.
“What the hell did I do this time?”
His forehead scrunches but he doesn’t answer me, so I reach across the table and punch him in the shoulder.
“Ouch!” He swipes back at me but misses. “Why the heck did you hit me?”
“Why theheckare you ignorin’ me?” I slap my half-eaten sandwich on the table. “You been a jerk all day.”
“I haven’t been a jerk.”
“Yeah, you have.”
“I gave you food,” he argues, and I scowl.
“I don’t want your charity if it comes with your attitude,Leviticus.”
“Stop freaking calling me that!”
“Stop bein’ such an asshole!”
“I’m not being an asshole!”
