Messages on a Coffee Cup

Chapter 11

   I carefully climbed into Kimberly's bedroom window on to the roof above her garage, my favorite book in hand. It was fairly flat so there was a slim chance that I would've fallen. I looked over the edge of the roof and saw Ethan grab a ladder from the side of the house and rest it in front of the garage door. He finally climbed up and joined me.

   "You okay?"

   I nodded, vaguely confirming my emotional stability.

   "Do you want to talk about it?"

   "Distract me," I pleaded, desperate for something else, anything else to talk about.

   "What's that?" he said gesturing towards the hard cover enveloped in my arm.

   "The Fault in Our Stars by John Green. Its about a girl, Hazel Grace. She was diagnosed with stage four cancer when she was thirteen. Her mom thinks she is depressed so she starts going to Support Group in the Literal Heart of Jesus, and then she meets this guy and..."

   "I know," he interrupted as he put his arm around me.

   "You know?"

   He nodded. I found that very hard to believe.    

   "Alright then! I'm going to test you. Okay?"

   "Okay," he responded with a smug look on his face. 

   He knew. He had passed the test. I swear I am destined to be with this boy.

   "Impressive. What is Anna's pet hamster's name in An Imperial Affliction?"

   "Sisyphus," he responded confidently. "Come on. Give me a hard one!"

   "Okay. What poem did Hazel recite to Gus at the gas station?" I retorted. I was almost certain he wouldn't get this one.

   "Seriously? The Red Wheelbarrow by William Carlos Williams!"

   "Last one. What does Gus fear the most?"

   I was not so sure he would get this one.

   "Oblivion," he seductively whispered, kissing me on the cheek and looking at the stars.

   "God, you're good."

   "No, not really. You just suck," he chuckled.

   I smacked him on the arm causing him to jolt to the side.

   "Ow! Man, you're abusive!"

   That word, abusive, immediately changed my mood for the second time today. 

I swear to God, I think I have a split personality, my conscience screams. 

The place in which my dad's palm connected with my cheek started stinging as if remembering the occurrences of a couple of hours ago all because of that one word.

   Ethan noticed and tried to apologize, "Shit. I'm so sorry. I can't believe I said that."

   "You know, if you didn't call the cops, he would have gotten away with it again," I stated as my eyes welled up with tears. 

   This wasn't the first time my father had hit me. It had happened again about four years ago and, of course, alcohol was involved.

That's how I got the scar on my forehead; he pushed me and I hit my head on the corner of the kitchen table.

   He nodded his head, "I know how it feels you know. To have 'em get away with it.

   "Mom or dad?" I asked, my eyes drowning in tears.

   I dreaded the answer that came next as he hesitated for a minute. My heart dropped as I heard his next words.

   With his head, yet again held in his hands, he reluctantly answered through a slightly audible sob.

   "Both."