Begin Again (Book One Of The Kingston Series)

Chapter Fifteen: Scars

Chapter Fifteen: Scars

"'Why do you call him that? He's not your real dad.'

'He has done damage only a father can do.'"

Christian

I pull my backpack strap tighter to my body as I walk home. The pressure against my back has sharp rivulets of pain surfacing. I open the back door quietly. I had walked the mile home. I can't go on the bus anymore.

Jude just tries to talk to me. Jude is the football team quarterback. The coach is the only person at that school I care about. Coach seems to understand me. He let's me use the bathroom to change. I am pretty sure he thinks I'm gay. But he leaves me alone. I don't know what would happen if the team saw my scars.

He doesn't always get my back. My chest is marred in places. He has left my body a scarred broken mess. I don't care about anyone else at my school.

Sharp blue eyes flash in my mind. That's a lie, I think to myself. Jasmine Ryder. The most beautiful girl I've ever met. She wasn't in class. Not the ones she was supposed to be in. I try to be as silent as possible. Tuesdays are the worst. I don't have football practice on Tuesdays. It means I come home early. My father doesn't like that.

"Chris!" His voice bellows. His footsteps are loud thumps on the hardwood floor. I close the back door behind me. The kitchen is small. The counters filled with empty bottles. I cleaned before I left. There are at least ten bottles. He had company? I had learned to memorize how many bottle we have to avoid what happened last time. He had broke the bottle over my head. I had to walk to the hospital. I don't see the whiskey bottle.

"Yes, sir?" My shoulders hunch and I keep my eyes on the floor.

"What the fu-" He hiccups. Drunk off of the last of the whiskey. "'Re you doin 'ere?"

"School has ended." I inform him. His greasy hair hangs in his face. Sweat stains under the arms of the long-sleeved-tucked-in shirt he has on. His beer belly is concealed in the gray button up. He has one sock on. His black belt shines slightly in the light. Winking at me mockingly.

"School has ended what?" He prods. Seeming more sober.

"Sir." I add. That was a big point against me. Forgetting sir will get me a hit for sure. Wincing at the kitchen floor, I think of the punch he could deliver. He coughs thickly.

"Why aren't you at football practice?" He asks scowling. His hands are already settled on his belt. I close my eyes. Hopelessness sets in. Doesn't matter what I say now. I know what's going to happen. There isn't a thing I can do to avoid this.

"There is no practice today, sir." I tell him anyway. Knowing there isn't any use. Trying to be humble. Timid. He makes a dissatisfied noise.

"You quit didn't you?" He shouts loudly. I jump at his loud voice in our quaint little house. My eyes stay on the floor. I try to think of something good.

"No, sir." I tell him. Not looking up at him. Still trying to avoid my fate.

"Take off your shirt." The words have a tightening effect in my heart. I don't move to do it. Trying to plead.

"I'm sorry, sir." I tell him. Now looking up at him.Looking into his blue eyes. My eyes match my mother's chocolate brown ones. "Please don't. I'll be at practice tomorrow."

"Don't back talk me, boy!" He hollers. Pulling his belt out. I undo the buttons of my shirt, with shaking hands. My backpack hits the floor in an ominous thud. My shirt falling on top of it. I turn my back to him. Kneeling. The first slash is the hardest. He has the most strength then. I hear the tell tale air whooshing that means the belt is about to hit. I clench my jaw. The air hits me back before the leather does.