Slate | ✓

TWENTY | WILL

*CW: child abuse & intrusive thoughts. If you're not comfortable, please consider not reading and instead skip ahead to the next part. Comment here or DM me if you'd like a brief recap of the chapter.*

When I begin to speak, it feels like I'm a distant narrator to somebody else's story. Like the William Slate who was there that day died and I'm giving the eulogy. "So, my Mom had these fried dough deserts she used to make when I was a kid. They were, like, her specialty and she'd make them in bulk to give to the neighbours and stuff. I can still remember it. She had this giant fucking pot," I illustrate the size with my hands, "just for this recipe, and each batch would require, like, tons of oil. So... you can probably see where this is going."

Damien winces.

"Yeah," I say, the words flowing easier now that I've started. "I was ten, and I was home sick from school that day with a cold, so it was just me and her in the house. She was in a good mood. Very energetic. Maybe too energetic. Looking back now, I think she was probably—" I sigh. "She was definitely manic, but, like, I was just happy to be with her. By that point, my Mom was usually spending her time in bed, you know?"

He nods. "Yeah."

"I was helping her fry the dough in the kitchen, and things were fine. Then, at some point Charlie comes home. Mind you, I think it was, like, noon or something, but he'd been expelled already so he wasn't in school either. I remember being scared of him, and my Mom telling me to go to my room when he came in. He was completely fucked, like slurring his words, swaying on the spot. I doubt he could even see straight. I'd never seen him, or anyone, like that before. I didn't really understand." I look down at my hands. "I should have gone to my room, but he was picking a fight with my Mom, and I didn't want to leave her." I avoid Damien's eyes. "Anyways, she's screaming, crying, begging him to leave, promising him money and whatnot if he'll just go sleep it off somewhere else. They're both freaking the fuck out. Charlie gets violent and starts throwing things." I swallow. "He ends up tipping the pot on the stove, and I'm in the middle of things."

"Jesus, fuck," Damien says.

"It was weird." My voice sounds so distant. "It was, like, so hot that I didn't feel it at first. Like my brain couldn't keep up or something, and for a second I actually felt cold." I look over to Damien. "Yeah, so that fucking hurt, but I, like, twisted at the right time so my shoulder got most of it... And I got lucky. It missed my face completely and most of my throat." My fingers trace the patches of rough, damaged skin that encroach onto the base of my neck from my one shoulder.

I continue. "So, I'm on the floor and I'm crying. Charlie turns tail immediately. Like, didn't even look at me, and my Mom is trying to get him to help and she's screaming at him from the next room. He wouldn't let her call for an ambulance because he's freaking out and he's high, and he probably thought he'd get arrested for it." I shake my head, "I guess she was trying to protect him, I don't know. But, uh, Charlie dipped, like that second. It was literally the last time I saw him. Then it was the two of us, and she's completely hysterical— panicking, doesn't know what to do. She probably thought the cold water would make it hurt less, or help with the burning or something, I don't know, but she put me in the shower."

Damien rubs his jaw. Moisture collects in his eyes.

"Yeah," I shrug. "Maybe not the best choice. She tried to peel the shirt off, but my skin came away with it. Lovely mental image, I know. The neighbours had heard all the screaming from next door and they were the ones to actually phone the cops. I ended up in Emergency. They called Victor, and it was a whole thing. I think my Mom took all the blame for it. Obviously, you have a child with serious injuries, the welfare people investigate." I wring my hands together. "My parents agreed on it. Officially, Charlie was never there, and I was left unsupervised in the kitchen when I accidentally burnt myself trying to grab the pot off the stove."