Page 25 of Bad to the Bone

He must have paid somebody handsomely to keep an eye on my movements. I was overconfident. I should have handled my impulses better. Nobody knows as well as I do how intractable Tom Turner truly is.

The video from earlier in the day begins to play. It’s obvious that whoever took this stood on the lawn outside of the suite and used a telephoto lens. It’s not the best quality but both of our faces are clear enough, and it’s not hard to figure out what we are doing. Something like this could destroy Kim.

All at once I become perfectly cognizant of what Kim can lose in this moment. No school district would ever pick her up once it gets out that she slept with a student, even if I am 18.

Having her by my side should make me feel stronger, but it doesn’t. I feel more exposed, more vulnerable. For the first time I truly understand what it means to wear your heart on your sleeve.

Tom isn’t likely to get violent in public. But, that doesn’t mean he won’t cause a scene. In fact, that’s exactly what he would do. Something that would get the ball rolling as reporters try to figure out what led to the incident and then he could casually leak photos of us together to the press. Mission accomplished. Another life ruined.

“So here is how we are going to do this. Zayne, you are going to get up from this table and come home with me right now. And Miss Macmillian I trust you can find your own way back to town. And then you are going to call the school and ask for an extended leave. I will, of course, encourage the principal to give it to you. Then you are going to disappear. I want you gone by graduation.”

“What about Shannon?” I ask,

“They can mail her her diploma,” he snaps, shooting daggers at me with his eyes.

“Wait just one-” I stop her before she has a chance to make a comeback.

“Shannon can finish the year,” I say.

“Didn’t I tell you we aren’t negotiating?”

“I’m not negotiating. I’m clarifying the terms of my surrender.”

I feel her body stiffen next to mine and it breaks my heart. I look down at her face, frozen in disbelief.

“What?” her voice is barely a whisper. “You’re going to give in just like that?”

I shake my head and touch the tip of her nose with mine.

“He has all the cards this time,” I admit softly. Tears fill her eyes, but her chin is set stubbornly.

“Fine, the kid can finish the year, but I want you all gone by the time the fourth of July sales commercials roll around,” he says. Trust my dad to judge the seasons by whichever patriotic holiday he will be exploiting for votes.

“Fine,” I agree, standing up.

Kim clutches at my shirt and pulls me down, shaking her head.

“Let me go, baby. Don’t make a scene. That’s exactly what he wants. You’d just be playing into his hands,” I say, grasping her hands and peeling her fingers off.

“But…” the first tear rolls down her face as she struggles to find the next words.

“Let me go.” I kiss the top of her head and walk away.

I’ve never been one to run from my problems. Sure, I’ve walked away from lots of headaches and unnecessary complications, but not like this. I’ve never done anything like this. This is the kind of walk where you are absolutely sure that every step you take is in the wrong direction, and yet you press forward. There aren’t many things that I’ve done that I can say I truly regret, but this one is.

“Don’t think that just because you come along quietly this is over. This is FAR from over,” Tom growls as he follows me out.

I don’t even need to guess where he’s parked his car. It’ll be in the most conspicuous place possible. He wants to be seen. I climb into the backseat without a word. There is no word in any language that I can think of to describe the pain in my chest. Even pain seems like too small of a word. It’s not the ache of longing or the sharp pain of losing somebody. This is much more tortuous. This kind of pain grinds your bones together and chokes you without bothering to kill you.

I retrieve my phone from my pocket and seventeen missed calls greet me. Four from Dylan and thirteen from mom. I don’t need to check the messages to know what mom wanted. She must have started calling me the moment Tom left the house. The missed calls from Dylan worry me much more. He rarely calls, preferring text messages and video chat to calls. Despite that, I don’t bother checking the voicemail. I have enough trouble to deal with at the present moment.

It’s a long, silent, ride home. The anger and animosity building up in the car with each passing mile seems to blot out the sun and strangle both of us. When we pull in to the driveway, I barely wait for the car to stop before I am out of it. I march through the front door and up the stairs to my room.

“Did you find him?” I hear my mother asking softly.

I close my bedroom door at that moment. I know that whatever he is going to say will just be a litany of his personal grievances. The muffled sound of his voice floats through the door and scratches at a deep wound deep inside of me until I can’t stand it anymore. I have to act. I have to do something or go crazy.

My hand is on the handle of my bedroom door before I have a chance to give this a second thought. I hone in on their location without any trouble. It’s the same scene that I’ve witnessed thousands of times. My father hurling abuses and my mother silently taking it.

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