Page 37 of Full Throttle

Mom went to bed hours ago, and she’d nearly tripped going up the stairs. We’d been in this house for over two years now, and every passing day, she’d gotten worse, more distant towards Dad and me.

The worst part? The love in her eyes was gone whenever she looked at Dad.

Before he’d lost his old job, her green eyes used to shine, reminding me of a field in the middle of summer. Now, her green was almost lifeless. That was the worst part.

I didn’t care that she no longer loved me or that her words were always filled with venom when she spat them at me.

No, I didn’t care about any of that.

I cared about the pain she was causing Dad. He was a good father, and I was very blessed to have him. He was doing his best. The job he’d gotten that caused us to pack up everything and move here wasn’t the best, but he worked long hours and always came home with a smile on his face. The smile was for me. He didn’t want me to worry, but I did. I always did.

I was nine years old now, and I knew that I shouldn’t complain about my home life. So my mom said some mean things to me? It was nothing compared to what Cain and Xander had to go through with their monster of a mom. She was the B word. That’s what Xander called her all the time.

I didn’t know what to think about Cain’s older brother. He was only two years older than Cain, but he was harsher—meaner than Cain. My first night in this house, I saw Cain through my window and every night after that. I saw him at school, usually in the hallways with his friends. He didn’t have many, but the two boys he was always around looked scary. Even though we rode the bus together and walked home together, we never really had a conversation.

At first, it was just me doing the talking.

Neither Cain or Xander responded.

Xander just gave me a dirty look and mumbled things under his breath.

Then, last Christmas, I was sitting on the window seat Dad built me, writing in my diary. It was something I did every single night before I tried to go to sleep, but that was hard sometimes due to Mom yelling at Dad almost every night. I had been on the second page of my daily entry when I heard a tap on my window. I looked over and saw the pale blonde boy next door, staring at me with a frown on his face. I did my best to ignore the black eye he had. I didn’t want to embarrass him.

When I opened my window, he continued to stare.

I said hi and eventually, he said hi back.

Now, it was almost a year later, and we talked every night after our parents when to bed…but tonight was different. Tonight, I needed him more than ever. My bottom lip wobbled as I continued to stare into his dark room.

“Cain,” I croaked, my eyes burning. I didn’t want to cry, not in front of him. He had bigger things to worry about. I never cried in front of Cain or his brother. Their mom was worse than mine. So, I just kept it inside, and when I needed to let it out, I wrote about it in my diaries. I was on my fourth one now, though I never asked Mom for a new one. I would always ask Dad in secret, because I didn’t want her to know.

I looked down, tears falling onto the window seal.

He wasn’t coming tonight.

Maybe he had a bad day…

“What are you doing?”

Relief washed over me, and I turned away from him, grabbing the book I’d borrowed from the library and wiping away my tears. When I faced him again, I gave him a real smile, missing tooth and all. “Hey! I have that book for you!”

Cain didn’t have a library card because his mom would never take him to get one. So, he told me what books he wanted, and I checked them out for him. His pale face split into a smile. “Oh, yeah?” he asked, a hint of excitement in his voice.

I blinked, feeling heat in my cheeks.

Cain was almost twelve now, and he’d be changing soon, just like his brother did, who was now fourteen. Every time I see Xander, he looks more like a grown man than a kid. Cain told me that his brother’s voice started changing when he was twelve.

Cain's was already changing, and it made me feel funny. Next year, he would be leaving my school and going to the middle/high school. Everything was about to change, and I was scared.

“You sound different,” I blurted.

My friend tilted his head to the side. “How?”

I shrugged, book in hand. “Your voice sounds…deeper. I don’t know.”

He shook his head. “You’re a nut, Nik.”

Shaking it off, I held up the book. “Do you want this or not?”

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