Page 45 of The Hate We Breathe
He doesn’t try it now, much to my almost disappointment. Maybe if he did, I could finally do something about him and claim it was in self-defense. No. Instead, he looks me over, eyesmoving from my face to my hands and legs and back up again. Then, he takes another long draw from his can.
“You never listen to me, do ya?” Darrio shakes his head, not waiting for an answer. “No, course ya don’t. Too much like your mama.” He scowls and spits the word “Soft”in my direction.
Once, that kind of insult would’ve been like a punch to the gut. But the thing about insults is that you have to give a shit about what the other person who’s tossing them out thinks. I stopped caring about Darrio’s opinion long ago.
“Get to the point, old man,” I snap. “Or I’m leaving.”
He narrows his watery gaze on me, his pupils dilated. That could be because of the lack of light or it could be because that’s not his second beer. After a moment of tense quiet, he snorts.
“Leave?” His snort turns into a chuckle. “You’re gonna leave?”
I realize that he’s mistaken my words for something else. Not just leaving the room, but him—this—my fucking life.Silverwood.
“You’re no better than the rest of us in this fucking place,” he tells me. “Ain’t nothing special about you ’cept maybe that cock o’ yours.” I bare my teeth at him and he laughs in my face. “Oh, strike a nerve? You think I don’t hear ’bout all those girls you pick up? You think I don’t know why that cunt is really with you?”
“Don’t youdaretalk about her like that.” Cold slithers through my veins. Violence simmers just beneath the surface of my skin.
Darrio lifts his beer to his mouth, still chuckling and grinning as he downs another mouthful. When he pops off, he huffs a smile my way. I want to kill him. “Never thought I’d be proud of my boy for anything,” he says. “And at least you ain’t stupid enough to get any of ’em pregnant.”
“You piece of shit.” I’m practically vibrating with rage, barely repressing the urge to launch myself at him with each word he utters.
It’s as if he doesn’t hear me. Those glassy eyes of his fix on me and he tips his beer in my direction. “Mark my words, boy,” he says. “She’ll dump your ass as soon as she gets back to where she came from. Girl like that is used to the nice shit. When she realizes you ain’t nothing and you ain’t come from nothing, she’ll wise up. She ain’t nothing but a whore—they all are.”
His chuckling turns into laughter. Light, but there, and his words echo in my head. They blend together, overlapping with another voice.
You’re always such a good boy,mijo. Te amo.
Good boy…
Good. Boy.
Mark my words, boy.
I thought I told you… boy…
The thin thread of civility that I’m holding on to snaps. I launch myself up from the chair and barrel towards him. The movement is so sudden that he rears back in his seat, but it’s too late. I grab him up by the front of his stained white shirt and jerk him off the couch and around to the side.
Beer sprays into the air as he drops the can. His back slams against the wall with a loudcrack, but my father is nothing if not a fighter. I duck the swift right hook that comes sailing for my face and respond with one of my own.
My control is gone. All I am is angry. Rage. Fueled by the memories of his constant abuse. Words. Fists. Quiet footsteps on old, creaky floors to not wake him. Holding my breath so maybe, just maybe, he won’t remember he has a son that lives with him. If I pretend I’m nothing, maybe he’ll leave me alone.
Then, blood spreads over my vision. My head snaps back. There’s a ringing in my ears that sounds like a woman’s screams. I don’t think. I just react.
Right hook. Left. Right. Left. Kick. Duck. Again and again, I drive my fist into Darrio’s face. Not my father. Not a man. An abuser. A drug lord. Piece of shit. Disgusting.
“Stop!Mijo! Por favor! Mijo, no más.”
I blink, the world coming back to me. Bits of broken wood are scattered around the living room. My side hurts and my head feels full of cotton. I sway as I glance down. Darrio is splayed out on his back, blood coating his face, his nose obviously broken.
He’s out cold.
“No más. Por favor, mijo. Por favor…”Turning my head, it takes a moment for me to realize the pressure on my arm is my mother. She’s sobbing as she stands there in her nightgown, tugging on my arm.
The red dots of blood staining parts of the fabric tell me that she must have been trying to get my attention for a while now. Tears rain down her cheeks. Her eyes are swollen and her skin pale. I look back at Darrio.
The smell of beer and mold invade my nostrils, making them burn. I want to look away, but I don’t. Instead, I stare down at my handiwork. Darrio’s face is a mottled mess. Blood slipping down over his lip and chin and down the sides of his cheeks from how he’s lying.
Drip.I blink again.Drip.I shake my head.Drip.I reach up and my hand comes away sticky with my own blood. Bastard must have gotten me good. Of course, he did. He hasn’t been able to make others fear him by being bad at fighting. No doubt, the only reason I got the jump on him like this is because he was never expecting it. Not from me—theboyhe thought he’d broken.
