Page 46 of The Hate We Breathe
Mama’s sobs continue and they pull at my insides. I expect a bubble of shame to surface, but there’s nothing. No shame. No guilt. No fear. I know Darrio won’t ever call the cops on me. He couldn’t afford them looking into him, but more than that—he won’t want anyone knowing his own son could fucking beat his ass.
“It’s okay, Mama,” I tell her.
She tugs on me again, rambling in Spanish so fast that it’s hard to keep up. My head throbs and when I get up and move away from Darrio, I stumble. Looking down, I realize that there’s a fucking sliver of wood—a piece of one of the legs—stabbed into my side.
With a grunt, I reach down and yank it out. Fire burns over my skin and into my muscles.
Fuck!That fuckinghurt.
More blood leaks from the wound, but I ignore it. There’s still a ringing in my ears, but it’s lessening with each passing second. I shake my head, trying to get rid of it.
“Lo siento, Mama.” I reach for her as she stoops to Darrio. “Come on, let me get you—” She spins and jerks, flinching away from me as I hold my hand out to help her up. I go still. “Mama?”
Fresh tears well up as she looks up at me. Eyes wide. Face pale. I’ve seen the look before. Many times. I’ve just never seen it directed at me.
Fear. She’s afraid of me. She’s looking at me the same way she’s always looked at my father when he raised his voice too loud. I try again, keeping my voice low and telling myself that it’s just because of the blood and violence.
“Mama…” I slowly lower myself to my knees, wincing at the burn in my side. “Come here… let me get you off this floor and I’ll take care of this.”
“No.” She shakes her head back and forth. “No, no, no.” Shaking so hard, I swear I hear her teeth chatter, she backsaway from me as I try to come closer. I freeze again, my chest tightening.
“Mama, I’m not him,” I tell her. “I would neverhurtyou. He deserved it.”
A rushed sob escapes her throat and she turns, throwing herself atop Darrio. Arms out, body carefully placed so that she’s protecting him from further harm… from me.
For a moment, I don’t do anything. I just stare at her trembling back, racked by her muffled wails.
“He’s not a good man,” I whisper.
She doesn’t respond.
“Hebeatsyou.”
Still nothing.
“He beatme."
A hiccup.
So many excuses pile up in my head. She doesn’t know anything else. She’s afraid that if she tries to protect us or leave, he’ll kill her. It’s statistically probable. Other excuses rise up, blocking out my own.
Things will get better,mijo…
We should be grateful. Your papa takes care of us…
It was my own fault,mijo…
He didn’t mean it…
Slowly, I rise to my feet. Her only reaction is more fat tears rolling down her face and a hiccupping sob.
My limbs feel numb as I start to move. Little pinpricks of pain racing up my spine and down my arms. I walk towards the hallway and then down to my bedroom.
It’s like I’ve slipped out of my body and left it behind—just skin and limbs moved by invisible strings. I’m nothing but a shadow dragging itself through the wreckage. My hands are shaking as I grab the duffel from the closet, shoving in clothes,shoes, and cash. The bag grows heavier with every item, with every breath.
The hallway stretches too long. Each step echoes in my bones.
Mama’s on the floor, kneeling beside Darrio’s unconscious form. Her fingers tremble as they ghost over his face as she tries to wake him. Her shoulders jerk when the floorboard under my foot betrays me, the creak like a gunshot between us.
