Page 67 of Even After Sunset

He pauses, like he’s waiting for me to fill in the silence.

I don’t.

“I’d like to talk to you a bit about your relationship with your aunt and uncle.”

Well,thatsounds like it’ll be a blast and a half.

“The physical abuse… With your uncle. How long ago did that start?”

“What?” I shake my head. Stupid, because he can’t see me. But I can’t help it. I’m baffled—that he actually bought that bullshit Jackie fed him the other day. I mean, has heseenme? I’m six-foot-two. More man than my uncle, who, yeah, is strong as hell, but still—fat and a good few inches shorter than me. And lazy as a hippo. We get in some fights for sure, and he and my aunt smack me around some. But it’s deserved every single time. And any time these days that my uncle does any serious damage, it’s only because he waits until I’m half in the bag. Otherwise, I give back as good as I get. Since I turned sixteen at least, Uncle Karl’s been walking away from our fights just as bashed up as me.

“There was nophysical abuse,” I snap.

“Alright… I’m sorry.” He pauses, like we’re playing chess and he’s strategizing his next move.

“This isn’t a game, asshole,”I want to tell him.“This is my life.”

I don’t say anything though, and he tries again.

“When Jackie mentioned the bruises… and the text that she saw from your friend about—”

“We fought sometimes, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Okay… Can you tell me what you mean when you say ‘you fought’?”

“I meanwe fought.”

“And sometimes he would hit you?”

I roll my eyes again.

“That’s the general idea, isn’t it, when people fight?”

“It can be, yes… Sometimes fighting can be physical.” Another calculated silence. “Jackie mentioned that you were passed out the last time he hit you. Can you tell me about that?”

Um, that would be a hardno.Not going down that path, but thanks so much for asking.

I run a hand through my hair.

“Look, I know where you’re going with this, and trust me, there’s no need to file a CPS report here. My uncle didn’t abuse me. Anything Karl did to me—it wasn’t anything I didn’t deserve.”

Understatement of the century right there, ladies and gentlemen.

But our man Richard is still not getting it. And it’s throwing me for a loop, because I have never in my life been in a situation where I’m trying to convince an adult thatI’m the guilty one. The finger’s usually pointed in the opposite direction: straight-the-hell at me, while I peddle my innocence like a desperate lawyer trying to plea-bargain my way out of a drawn-out sentence.

“Alright, let’s talk a bit more about that,” he says. Still thoughtful and treading so carefully, it’s putting me on edge.

I know he’s seen my rap sheet. He knows I’m not some misunderstood, innocent kid who needs defending. Everything that’s been done to me, I’ve had it coming. And then some.

“Give me an example, Silas… of something you did to deserve being hit by your uncle.”

“Anexample?”

Christ, this guy.

“Let’s talk about the last time—when your friend found you on the lawn. What did you do that time to bring on your uncle’s anger?”

I hesitate before answering, because I want to get him off my case about this bullshit with my uncle. But also, I’m driving across the entire east coast of the country with his adopted daughter. This “special arrangement” is what’s keeping me out of Trenton right now.

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