Midnight Silpper

Chapter 4

Zayne

"You two want to tell me what actually happened?" Mr. Vitelli asked the both of us, in his stern, fatherly, no-nosense tone. He crossed his arms, as his gaze bore down on me, expectantly. 

I was in a hospital bed with Adrienne sitting beside me. She looked on worried, a frown creasing her expression.  Pain radiated from her expression, along with a deep-seated fear and sadness.  Her eyes appeared puffy and red, like she had been crying over me.

When was the last time anyone cried over me?

I didn't want her upset.  I didn't want her to have to feel distressed over seeing me like this.  I had didn't know how to act or even say to reassure her that this was nothing.  Adrienne didn't need to cry over what my joke of a father did to me.

She had always been expressive, embracing the entire spectrum and depth of the single emotion she was feeling.  It was what made her so trustworthy and unique. I could always tell when something made her exuberantly happy or alarmingly upset. 

Like now.

The day wasn't supposed to end this way.

"Football practice," I answered after a moment. 

Mr. Vitelli remained unamused by the answer nor was he convinced of it. "You sure about that?"

I couldn't tell anyone here that my dad was the one that had inflicted the damage. That was a surefire way to get me landed in a foster home and I was willing to die before I would ever leave Adrienne. I didn't have any relatives who would be willing to take me in. They all practically disowned both my parents.

After I had called Adrienne to let her know I was swinging by, the clouds ominous with the threat of rain, dad started off on one of his angry, drunken tirades. When he began to grow physical, I shoved him away, ready to leave the house before he took a baseball bat and began to beat me with it, in his fucked-up glory.

The fucker was smart. He knew where to hit to make it look like it was some kind of accident. He knew I was on the football team and if anyone asked, he'd say that it was because of football practice. That was the excuse I was sticking with here. There was no way in hell I was going to confess that my dad was the one that was inflicting this kind of damage.

This was one of the few, brutal times he had tried it with me.  His physical beatings were beginning to intensify, as if he was struggling to maintain the last vesitges of his manhood, as I grew bigger and stronger.   He was pathetic in every sense of the word and he was becoming more afraid of losing his power over me.  The only reason he let me stick around this long was becuase he was collecting welfare checks on my behalf, which he would then promptly blow off on booze.

Adrienne had heard the commotion through the phone, just as I was about to call her to let her know that I was going to be a few minutes late. I tried to swing him off, but he had the upper hand and began to smash the shit to pieces on my ribs, before his rage was spent.  Satisfied with the damage he had done, he walked out of the house in a huff, probably intent on looking for more booze, but not before threatening even more harm if I didn't clean myself and this place up.

Like hell.

I remained on the ground, feeling the slow-burning, throbbing pain emanate from my ribs. I had heard a crack and knew something had broken. Thank god, he didn't do any real permanent damage.

Adrienne had somehow raced on her bike a few minutes later, charging through the house in a panic. She saw me on the ground and quickly called her father. Her father arrived and took us both to the hospital.