Page 14 of The Beginning and End of Everything
Cheers and applause erupted when the two men marched into the pen, wearing only their jeans. They couldn’t have been much older than me, but as soon as the first punch landed, I could tell they were every bit men. The violence that unfolded before me was captivating. With every blow, blood decorated the straw at their feet, and their faces and knuckles split until the pair of them were streaked in crimson. It terrified me as much as it thrilled me.
Dad hit me, and I feared him. But these men, they were fighting back, and even though I was a kid, I was tempted by that power.
I glanced at my father, his teeth snarled and fist raised as he encouraged the blood bath. I decided then and there that I wanted to be like those two boys. I wanted the respect that I didn’t have from my dad, but more than anything, I wanted to be able to protect my ma.
7
Connor
September 2000
The sky was still tinted with slight purples and pinks from the setting sun, although the nearly full moon was out.
Brandon and I had pitched an army green tent five feet from the back door. It was my first outdoor sleepover, and Ma was worried.
The sleepover wasn’t the only reason nervous energy fired through me at lightning speed. It was Poppy’s birthday, and I wanted to make sure it was special. Even at twelve, I wanted to make sure I did things to ensure Poppy would never forget me.
Brandon swatted at the fairy lights we’d tied from the tree to the tent. “These lights are dumb.”
“Are not.”
Poppy had fairy lights on her bed, so I knew she liked them, which is why I’d insisted Brandon and I hang them. Of course, Brandon griped about it.
He cocked a brow, thumping another bulb. “They’re girly.”
The back door creaked, drawing my attention away from the lights. Poppy stood on the back stoop, fiddling with the skirt of her purple dress. One look at her and my palms grew sweaty. My chest went tight. Poppy was the first girl I ever thought was pretty—but that night, she was beautiful.
“Fairy lights!” She clapped before running toward the tent with a huge smile.
I glanced at Brandon and smirked while he just rolled his eyes on a groan. I bent and lifted the flap. “Come in.”
Once Poppy had crawled inside, I hurried around the back to grab her present from its hiding spot before ducking inside myself.
Poppy sat in the middle of the mounds of blankets and torches and snacks. Her eyes locked with mine. “You did all this for me?”
“Yeah.” I shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, even though I hoped to God it was, and her face lit up with a smile.
Her gaze finally dropped to the pink, glittery box in my hand, and I fought to keep my voice from cracking. "Happy birthday,” I said, handing her the present.
She lifted it to her ear and shook it gently before tearing off the paper, tossing it to the ground. Her finger slipped underneath the side of the white cardboard box. Sweat beaded on my forehead.
“Oh. Connor.” She held up the framed photo of me, her, and Brandon—the picture my ma had taken a few weeks before, prior to Brandon getting sent home for pulling out a nudey magazine. "I love it,” she said. “It’s the best present." She wrapped her arms around me, pressing her body tight to mine, and I took a deep whiff of her strawberry-scented hair—I couldn’t help myself.
Seconds later, the tent flap lifted, and Brandon tumbled inside, sprawling over the blankets with a huff. I frowned at his Iron Man T-shirt and ripped jeans. He was supposed to dress up for Poppy’s birthday. I’d told him at least three times.
He grabbed one of the flashlights and flipped the switch, holding it under his chin before he sat up and folded his legs. The white light shined over his face, highlighting the nasty, purple and black bruise on his cheek.
"Con.” He flicked the light on and off. “Why are you wearing your church clothes?” His brow creased when he glanced at Poppy. “And possum, why do you have on a dress?"
I stopped myself from frowning; I hated that he had that stupid pet name for her.
Poppy smoothed out her skirt. "You were supposed to dress nice, Brandon. It's supposed to be a tea party."
Brandon let out a snort and thumbed in my direction. "He looks like an idiot. I'm not wearing a tie."
I swatted at the top of the tent, trying to ignore him. I liked my tie. He was the one who looked like an idiot with his rat’s nest hair and dirty clothes.
"Not only did you not dress up,” Poppy shoved Brandon, and he almost fell over on the pile of tattered blankets, “But you look filthy.”
