Page 57 of Crybaby

He goes back to watching the TV while Granny smiles, hinting that she wishes for us to eat the meal she prepared for us. But not before we join hands and say a prayer, of course.

The food is good, and thisisas ridiculous as it sounds as wearesharing a meal, “the last supper,” with the family of the bastard we are about to hurt—very, very badly.

When I hear the staircase creak and descending footsteps, Darcie pushes her untouched plate away from her because it’s time to play ball.

Buckets rounds the corner and stops dead in his tracks, blinking once to make sure he’s actually seeing what he is—Darcie and I, sitting at his dinner table and eating his fucking beef casserole.

Darcie waves with her fingers while I smile. I’m not sure if he recognizes us, to be honest.

“Samuel, these two lovely youngsters wanted to talk about the Lord.”

Buckets doesn’t make a move because the penny drops, and he knows, grandma or not, I will do what I have to, to ensure Darcie gets what she came here for.

“You could learn a thing or two from them. Or you could always come to church with me instead of playing your video games.”

Buckets isn’t listening to her, though. He knows he has three seconds to get his grandmother and dad out of here before they witness him being gutted like the pig he is.

“Mr. Donaldson called earlier and asked if you could drop off the bags of grain by tonight.”

Buckets’s father drops his fork, it clanging loudly against his plate. “And you decide to tell me this now?”

“Sorry, I forgot.”

“I should give you a good hidin’, boy. You know Mr. Donaldson is our biggest client.” Annoyed, Buckets’s dad pushes back his chair, scraping it along the linoleum.

We watch as Buckets’s grandmother raids the kitchen for a Tupperware container to put his leftover casserole in. This would be quite comical if not for the fact that I am scouring the kitchen for objects to use as weapons. That grater on the counter looks rather fetching.

Buckets’s dad grabs the truck keys from the hook near the back door. He doesn’t say goodbye and slams the door behind him, rattling the porcelain display plates that hang on the wall.

Darcie leans back in her wooden seat, resting on two legs. She rocks back and forth, back and forth, the chair creaking each time she moves. The air is filled with a heaviness—it gets me fucking hard.

“What do you want?” Buckets asks, talking big as he folds his arms across his chest.

His hands are massive, and when I remember what those hands did to Darcie, it takes all my willpower not to break every bone in them.

Darcie is composed. Too composed. This means fucking war.

“What I want?” she questions, laughing. “What I want is not to remember the feel of you inside me. What I want is not to remember those big hands forcing their way into me. That’s what I really want. But I will never forget…which is why I’ll settle for the next best thing.”

“And what’s that?”

Darcie stops rocking and deadpans him. “Your hands.”

“Samuel?” his grandmother bleats with a look of horror on her poor little face.

My eyes never leave Buckets because in about five seconds, I’m going to launch across this table and rip out his fucking spleen.

“I suggest you leave, darling,” I say to Granny. I don’t look at her, but she knows I’m talking to her.

She doesn’t skedaddle and instead starts wailing.

I roll my eyes and, with a sigh, take her hand and gently escort her into the pantry and close the door, securing it with a fork across the handle so she can’t get out and witness the reckoning.

I’m not sure who attacks who first, but Darcie jumps onto the table before leaping onto Buckets, causing him to lose balance, and tackles him to the ground. He fights her off easily as he has about a hundred pounds on her. She goes sliding along the kitchen floor like a hockey puck and comes to a stop when she crashes into the oven door, smashing her head on the glass.

When I see blood,herblood, I leap across the kitchen and grab Buckets by the back of the neck as he launches for Darcie.

She shakes her head, appearing to need a moment to catch her breath.

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