Bad Boy Blues, page 31
I punch him in the face to show him what I mean. His head swivels to the side but he recovers pretty quickly.
“You bitch,” he snarls at me.
I hear Zach’s mom screaming in the background. Stop it, don’t hurt him. Who said you could come in here?
But then, my hearing goes to shit.
Zach’s dad lays a hard slap on me that sends me crashing to the floor, busting my knees and jarring the breath out of me.
It takes me a few moments to recover.
A few moments to catch my breath and a few moments to realize that I’ll live through the crippling pain.
Just as I gather enough energy to even think about sitting up and going back at it with Mr. Prince, someone’s at my side.
It’s Tina and Grace.
They are both sitting me up, asking me if I’m doing okay but I’m still a little disoriented. I don’t compute how they can be here, by my side. They should be at the party.
I can’t compute the noises that are coming from a distance.
Blinking, I try to focus, and I gasp painfully when I see Zach.
He’s bent over his dad, straddling him actually, and he’s punching him.
Repeatedly. Over and over.
His punches are ferocious and his arm ripples with his fury. God, he’s scary like this. So angry and unhinged.
I almost feel bad for his dad.
Somewhere off to the side, I hear Mrs. Prince shouting. Some of the staff members are holding her back. And a few are inching toward Zach, probably to stop him.
“Zach,” I whisper raggedly.
There’s no way that he can hear me but I try again, anyway.
“Zach, stop.”
His dad isn’t moving and I’m sure he’s killed him. Or if not, then he’s going to.
I open my mouth to tell him again when he stops abruptly.
Panting, he grabs his dad’s collar, who’s alive, thank God, and growls, “Don’t ever touch her again. Do you understand? Not ever. Because I’ll kill you with my bare hands. Like I should’ve done three years ago. And this time, Mom’s not gonna come save you.”
His dad doesn’t answer him; I don’t think he can.
Zach lets him go with a jerk and stands up, before turning to me like a compass that always points north.
His eyes flash with fear and he takes a step toward me, but then all hell breaks loose.
The room gets thrown in chaos when cops barge in.
Someone must have called 911. They come in, check the state of the room, talk to a crying Mrs. Prince, start firing orders.
And before I can even stand up, they take Zach away.
It happens so fast that it leaves me dizzy and nauseated.
One of them approaches me and says that he needs me to make a statement once I’m through with the doctor.
“There’s a doctor?” I ask, shocked, surprised and so many other things that I can’t even fathom right now. “What… where did you take Zach?”
“He’s been taken in for questioning,” he says, casually. “You don’t need to worry about that.”
“But he was…”
I trail off when he turns away and then, I’m being flooded with hugs and sympathy.
Someone cries at my shoulders. Someone else sits me down in a chair and hands me a glass of water that I don’t take a sip of.
“He was just trying to save his mom,” I whisper to no one in particular, watching the door they took Zach through.
But someone answers. It’s Tina.
She’s kneeling in front of me. “No, he was trying to save you.”
I don’t press charges against Mr. Prince.
They ask me if I want to, though.
But I think that it was just a formality. This is Princetown; I don’t think anyone can touch the Princes.
They ask me what I saw and how it all came about. I tell them about Mr. Prince’s slap and the suspicion I have about the abuse. Mrs. Prince’s wrist, which apparently is marked up.
Mrs. Prince claims that I attacked her husband without any reason. But I guess when her husband started pushing me around, people were already at the door because of all the noise, rushing to my rescue, and they saw what happened.
Not to mention, there’s another large imprint of his hand on her made-up cheeks.
It takes a few hours for them to question me and question me again before they let me go. The doctor had already cleared me, saying that all I had was a tiny busted lip and that I needed to take it easy.
Before I leave, I ask them about Zach and about what’s going to happen to him.
One of them gives me a curt answer, saying that he’ll be held longer for questioning and that’s all I need to know. The cop who escorts me out gives me the real scoop – because he’s young, a rookie, maybe, and when I tell him I’m from the south side, he perks up.
“He was violent. No question about it, and he said some things that might be used against him.”
“Like what?”
He glances around and divulges, “He made threats against his father in front of witnesses.” At my terrified look, he rushes to explain, “Look, as long as Mr. Prince is alive and kicking, I don’t think anything’s going to stick. There are people who saw you getting attacked and most of them confirmed that he was acting in your defense. It’s just bureaucratic bullshit.”
He was trying to save you.
“You said most of them. Why not all of them?”
He purses his lips.
“It’s his mom, isn’t it? She’s insisting that he did it out of spite.”
His silence confirms it.
God, that fucking woman.
Before I can talk further, I spy Maggie and Tina walking toward me. They both look concerned and as soon as they reach me, they burst out with all the questions.
They pull me away from the cop and help me out of the building. The building where Zach’s being held for questioning.
Back at The Pleiades, Tina puts me in my bed and Maggie brings me tea. She gives me a pill for the pain, which honestly, I’m not feeling at all. But I take it, nonetheless.
I don’t sleep that night. I toss and turn, thinking where Zach might be. If he got back or if he’s okay.
In the morning, I find out that he’s in the lock-up, and he’s going to stay there through the weekend.
I’m at the kitchen island when I hear the news and I’m already off the bar stool when Maggie comes and stops me. “You’re not going anywhere. You have to take care of yourself.”
“But –”
“He’s going to be fine. We went down to the station, all the senior staff members, and gave our statement about how Mr. Prince has been abusive for the past few years. They won’t hold Zach for anything. They’re just trying to throw their weight around.”
I look at her in disbelief. “You knew about the abuse?”
Sighing sadly, she sits me down. “Yes. All of the old staff members. We knew.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because we’re just… the staff. No one would’ve believed us. Plus, Mrs. Prince never came forward and pressed charges. It’s us against them. They own this town. This time though, there were witnesses, evidence. There are marks on her skin. I’m not sure if it will amount to anything but it will arouse suspicion.”
Then something occurs to me. Something horrifying.
“Do you think h-his dad would press charges against him?”
Mr. Prince is in the hospital but they say he’s going to be okay. I don’t even want to think about what would happen to Zach if he weren’t.
This time around, Maggie’s smile is even sadder and that gets my tired and hurting heart racing.
“You don’t understand these people, Cleo,” she explains. “All they care about is appearances. When Master Zach came back, they threw a party when they were the ones who kicked him out. They lied about where he went. They’ve been lying about the abuse, Mrs. Prince’s illness. They’ll lie about this too. So it’ll be Princes’ word against the world. And this is their world.”
She’s right.
This is their world. They control it. They write the story. They spread the rumors.
I want to cross the boundary, the line that separates me from them. That takes me far, far away from this shitty town and its shitty people.
In all the craziness, I forgot to tell everyone that I quit.
When Tina comes back from her shift, I sit her and Maggie – she’s been my babysitter all day while everyone visited me – down and tell them. They’re both happy for me. They’ve been wanting me to go and explore. Do the things I wanted to do before I lost my parents. Only they didn’t know that I’ve been afraid to do them for so long.
Only he knows.
I spend the night packing. Not that I have a lot of things with me, but still. When I go to pack the black t-shirt Zach threw at me when he kicked me out, I realize that my mom’s nightie is up in his room.
Somehow, I forgot about that.
I thought getting parted from one last thing that belonged to my mom would devastate me. It’d be like she died all over again.
But I’m okay.
Her nightie is not her and neither is our house.
Besides, I feel kinda content knowing that Zach has something of me. His instinct would be to throw it away. But still.
When I’m done packing, I sit down and write a letter.
It’s unplanned and impulsive. But when I start, I can’t stop.
The next day, Sunday, is spent saying goodbye to everyone and collecting my last paycheck. Mrs. S is stern, as usual. But still, she says I did a very brave thing, coming to Mrs. Prince’s rescue. She doesn’t say anything about how Zach came to my rescue but whatever. She doesn’t have a right to say anything anyway. I don’t work for her anymore.
Leslie and Grace both hug me and fuss over me and tell me to send them pictures of all the places I visit.
“I always knew he liked you,” whispers Grace.
Tears fill my eyes and I nod. “Yeah. He liked me.”
Then the time comes to say goodbye to a little boy I’ll miss the most: Art.
I spend my last evening with him. We watch movies. I make him his favorite pancakes. I read him his favorite story.
“Where’s Zach?” he asks.
A lump forms in my throat and a tiny little gasp comes out that I manage to cover up with a cough. “He’s out. But he’ll be back.”
“When?”
“Maybe tomorrow.”
“Will he leave like you?” he asks, staring at me with innocent, sad eyes.
I can’t stop my tears then.
Technically, Art’s nothing to me. We don’t share a blood relationship. I didn’t even know him before last year, but I feel like I’ve known him forever.
He’s my little brother. My baby. Orphaned and bullied like me. And like me, totally enamored with Zach.
I grab his hand and play with his tiny fingers. “Yeah. But you know what?”
“What?”
I kiss his first finger. “One day you’re going to leave too.”
“Me?”
I kiss his second finger. “Yes. You’re going to leave this town and you’re going to go somewhere real nice. Maybe a city or another town where they have lakes and mountains and there’s just so much sky, and winter. Snow, maybe. Do you like snow?”
He beams. “I’ve never seen it.”
“I know. We live in a hot place, huh?” I’m at his third finger now. “Well, then you’ll go to a snowy town and you’ll love it there. And you’ll meet all these interesting people and you’ll make all the friends.”
“Will they be like the kids at school?”
I place a kiss on his fourth finger, then his thumb. “Maybe. Bullies are everywhere, you know. They come in all shapes and sizes and ages. But remember what Zach said? Bullies will never change but we will. We’ll change and grow and one day, it won’t matter to us what they do. We’ll be ourselves. Our stronger, braver selves.”
He nods, still smiling. “Yeah, we’ll be so brave, they won’t touch us.”
Finally, I kiss the center of his palm. “Yup.”
***
It’s Monday.
The day I leave and the day they let Zach go.
I’m waiting for him outside the police station. It threatens to be a hot morning with a baking sun and sizzling humidity.
But then I remind myself that it doesn’t matter. I’m not going to be here for that. I’ll cross the line today and go north. Somewhere wintry and snowy so I can send Art all the pictures.
My eyes are nailed to the entrance as I wait across the street, and as soon as it swings open and reveals the guy I’ve been waiting for, I jump down off the bumper of my blue car.
Zach’s eyes go immediately to me and he pauses mid-step.
He wasn’t expecting me, I guess.
Oh well, I like to surprise people.
Once, he’s over his initial shock, he begins moving. His long legs jump down the stairs and eat up the asphalt until he comes to stand before me.
“Hi,” I whisper, rubbing my sweaty palms along my thighs.
I’m wearing my usual off-the-shoulder t-shirt and shorts along with my leather boots. And he’s in his clothes from the night of the party, the white shirt that’s smudged and wrinkled and half-tucked into his black pants, his suit jacket draped over his forearm.
“Hey,” he rasps in a scratchy, barely-there voice.
“You okay?” I ask and he jerks out a nod, the thick stubble on his jaw catching the sun.
His eyes go to my lip. “You?”
I touch the little tender part on the corner. “Yeah. It’s nothing.”
The flare of his nostrils tells me that it’s not nothing.
“Uh, there were witnesses who said that you came to my rescue. Immediately.” I shift on my feet. “So, um, thanks for that.”
He studies me a beat. “I should’ve killed him.”
My eyes go wide and sweep the area for any lingering cops. “Don’t say that. You’re not even home yet.”
“It’s the truth.”
I sigh, shaking my head. “Don’t go around killing people because of me, okay? That’s hardly a reason.”
His messy hair ruffles with a very rare breeze. “That’s the only reason there can be for me: you.”
I shuffle back a step at that, at his roughly spoken declaration, pressing my thighs against the bumper.
There’s a few moments of silence.
Awkward and heavy.
I hear his shoes shuffling on the sidewalk, coming closer to me. “Blue, I –”
“So your dad, he’s not pressing charges?” I speak over him quickly.
I don’t know what he was going to say but I don’t want to hear it.
“He wouldn’t,” he scoffs. “This is scandal enough for him.”
“Did you really beat him up all those years ago?”
A tiny nod. “I did. I got a few punches in before my mom stopped me and kicked me out.”
“And now? Will she press charges?”
A bitter, heartbroken smile. “She won’t do something that he won’t do.”
“Is it still a secret? That she’s sick?”
He shrugs. “It won’t be for long. They had to move her to a medical facility after that night.”
“Yeah. They told me.” Swallowing, I say, “I’m sorry. About your mom. I never… I never got to say that.”
He accepts it with a nod. “My dad. He’s, uh, always had anger issues, I think. Or at least, he had them with me. He wasn’t very patient when I was a kid. Maybe because I reminded him of his own childhood – he’s dyslexic too. I never met my grandfather; he died before I was born. But I can guess that maybe he wasn’t a very nice father to my father. I don’t know. The night he attacked my mom, I think that was the first time he’d hit her.”
Shaking his head, he continues, “When I pulled him away from her and punched him, she said that it was my fault. That I’d always been a fucked up, rebellious kid and it was because of me that my dad was so stressed out. She told me to leave. I always wanted to leave, always wanted to run away but I never thought it would come about like that. Anyway, I left because I was poisoning everything. I was polluting you, tainting you with my hate. I was turning my dad into a violent man, apparently. And I never would’ve come back.”
When he pauses, I add in a choked-up whisper, “But your mom got sick.”
“Yeah. Nora called me and told me about my mom’s cancer.” He lets out a harsh chuckle. “I remember laughing. I remember thinking, good; she deserves it. My mom never came to my rescue when I was a kid. I think that hurt me more than my dad’s behavior. She was always bothered about how stressed my dad got because of me and how that affected her relationship with him. And in the end, she was the one who kicked me out when I came to her rescue. I had no intention of coming back and taking care of her. But something made me jump on my bike and head out.”
Something like love.
I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood to hold myself up and not crumple in front of him.
Zach’s looking at me like he wants me to say something. I don’t know what he wants me to say. All I have is what I wrote him in the letter.
Sighing, I tell him, “I have something to say to you.”
He studies me a beat, his eyes intense.
Then, he swallows and nods. “Okay.”
I reach back and fish out the envelope from my back pocket. “I wrote you a letter.” Licking his lip, he stares at it. “Because I wanted to write down my thoughts before I told them to you. I know you won’t read it. I know that. So, I’m going to read it to you. Is that, uh, okay?”
His hands are fisted at his sides and he clenches his jaw. “Yeah.”
“Okay.”
I open the envelope and bring out two thin papers. It looks so short for the amount of time it took me to write this, and yet so long, because now I have to read it to him.
Sniffling, I unfold the pages and plant my feet wide for better balance. I’m so shaken up already that one tiny poke and I’ll tumble.
