Page 12 of My Skin Begs You Please

“She made this one for me. Can you believe it? To think we were worried she’d never be able to take care of herself,” Mom said with a soft tut before taking a bite of spaghetti.

“She can’t,” Dad said around his food, his mouth lopsided as he chewed. “If she could, we’d be a hell of a lot richer.”

“Richard,” Mom scolded.

“It’s the truth. But I’d take two Betsys over this one any day of the week,” he indicated me with his spoon. “Worthless pervert.”

I put my fork down. I’d only taken a few bites, but I’d lost my appetite. I hated that his words stung. Part of me knew he wasn’t my dad—not the man who’d raised me and loved me, not the man who’d kept his peace when he didn’t agree with someone, a man who’d thought before he spoke.

That dad was dead, and this was the man the stroke had left behind. Angry, hateful, prejudiced. I didn’t understand it, but the doctor said it was due to the location of the damage—the frontal cortex? I didn’t get the science of it all, but what I knew for sure was the man who’d taught me to throw a ball and wax a car and change the oil, and who’d seemed to love me unconditionally, was gone.

Thiswas the person my mom, Bets, and I were left with now.

“Richard,” Mom said, sharply. “You won’t talk to your son that way.”

“He’s no son of mine,” he whisper-slurred, shoving in another messy spoonful, getting sauce all over his chin and lips.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Mom said to me. “It looks like it’s going to be one of those nights.”

I knew sometimes Dad was worse in the evenings. I’d even suggested we switch to a Sunday brunch, but Mom didn’t want to miss the after-service activities at her church. I hadn’t pushed back because I dreaded getting up before noon after pulling an all-nighter at the store, and I knew how much she needed the fellowship of her friends. Still, our evening meals were becoming more and more fraught as time passed.

“It’s fine.” But I couldn’t just sit there and take it tonight. I was too tired. “Maybe I’ll just go ahead and pack up some of this for Bets and hit the road.”

Mom’s shoulders sagged. “I was hoping you could stay a whileafter, so we could listen to music together.”

I glanced at my father, watching him make a mess with the spaghetti. Mom was tired too, and caring for him took a toll. Was it too much for me to stay and give her a little attention? To listen to music with her and let her relive the past, a time when her future had looked brighter?

I leaned over to kiss her cheek. “All right,” I whispered. “You can choose the album this week.”

Her eyes grew damp. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, Mama. It’s nothing.”

But as Dad belched and fixed me with another glare, we both knew that was a lie. It was something. And it was all I had to give her these days. Maybe even ever. Because if I got sick…

I shut that thought off.

If there was any justice in this world, Mom would never know about my diagnosis, and I’d be around to distract and soothe her for a long time to come. She’d been a good mother to me and Bets, and after all she’d been through with my dad, I only wanted to be a source of happiness for her.

I had to hope for a miracle. Surely those still existed in the world.

“I was looking through my old vinyl records earlier and chose a few out. We’ll have fun,” she said with a shy smile.

I nodded and squeezed her hand. “We will.”

“Faggot,” Dad muttered.

***

Minty

My asshole hurtlike a motherfucker as I sat down on the hard rocking chair across from the sofa in my mom’s living room. I’d paid a visit to my “lover’s” dorm earlier in the day, and I had the pain to prove it. Bruises on my hips. A bite on my shoulder. Kylehad hurt me horribly, and I’d left feeling high as a kite.

But along with the after-bliss crash came thoughts of the kind of pain Luke had offered me. Fuck, he’d been so hot, shoving me against the door, his hand on my throat… Could it be enough?

I didn’t think so.

I clenched my asshole and remembered the rush of fear as Kyle throttled me, the hate in his eyes, and his seething rage as he’d come so hard he bit his lower lip until it bled. Ever since I’d enticed him to follow me to Tilt-a-Whirl a few weeks ago, he’d been more brutal than ever. His hatred more concentrated and intense.

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