Page 35 of Vicious Behaviors
I can’t give her what she wants. I can’t give her an explanation, because I don’t fully understand it either. One second, I was sitting by the fountain at Sacred Heart, and the next, I was on top of those three kids, fists flying like I wanted to kill them.
However, it wasn’t me who wanted to hurt them. It was the voice. The one that comes out and talks to me sometimes. The one that whispers that I must stop evil before evil stops me.
“They were…“I start, then hesitate. “They were picking on a kid in my class,” I lie.
There was no kid. It was just me. Me and them.
Freak. Weirdo. Loser. All the names they called me, one worse than the other…it was too much. I tried not to let them get to me. I really tried. Then one of them threw a rock at my face. And when I felt the blood pour down from my split brow…something snapped.
It wasn’t me anymore. It was the voice. I disappeared, and the voice took over. It wrapped itself around my rage, guided my fists, made them do what it wanted. And I let it. Just like I let it kill…
No. I can’t go there. If I go there now, Mom will see the truth behind my eyes. She’ll see that something is wrong with me. And I can’t let her. Not her. Not Mom.
‘Nothing is wrong with us,’ the voice says quietly, trying to soothe my sudden panic.
But it’s wrong. I know I’m damaged goods. Ever since it came into my life, I haven’t been the same.
I wish Jude were here. I could talk to Jude. He’d know what to do. He always knows what to do.
But to show my mother that a monster has taken hold of me…that, I can’t do.
“So you were defending someone?” she asks, latching onto the lie. “Is that what happened?” To my shame, I nod. “In that case, we can talk to Sister Margaretta, let her know those boys picked the fight. If we explain what happened, maybe she will reconsider your suspension. Just tell me who you were protecting so he can back up your side of the story.”
I keep my eyes down, staring at the rug in my father’s office, unable to utter a word.
There is no boy. Just me. Just it.
“Marcello,” she presses, “you have to tell me who you were protecting. Sister Margaretta needs to know the truth. It isn’t fair that you’re the only one who got suspended and not the boys who were antagonizing your classmate.”
Considering I wasn’t protecting anyone but myself, there’s no name for me to give her. So I stay quiet. I keep my mouth shut and stare at the floor, wishing it would just crack open and drag me under.
“Selene,” my father says calmly. “Give me a few minutes with our son.”
My mother hesitates for a split moment, not wanting to leave without a name. She looks at him, then at me, crushed by the thought that I might open up to my father instead of her.
I tell my mother everything. Just not this. Never this. Because once I do, she’ll never look at me the same way again.
“Okay,” she finally relents, pressing a kiss on my temple.
I don’t lift my head to watch my mother leave the office, not even when the door shuts softly behind her. Now it’s justmy father and me. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stares at me while leaning against his desk, arms crossed. I swallow hard, trying not to fidget under the weight of his gaze.
“Did it help?” he asks suddenly. My head jerks up, jaw slack. I blink at him. “Well? Did it?” my father asks again. “Beating up those three kids…did it help?”
My father is not the sarcastic type. That’s more of Giovanni’s territory. So when he asks the question, I know he means it and expects an honest response.
“A little,” I answer truthfully. “A lot, actually.”
A few minutes after I let the voice do what it wanted, everything went quiet again. I could hear my own voice. Think my own thoughts. No whispering, no pushing, no darkness clouding my mind.
Sure, it meant I had to deal with the consequences, like my suspension, but at least I could finally breathe. For a little while, the voice was gone. And I felt like me again. Like I used to be before it ever came into my life. Before that night happened.
My father watches me for a long moment, studying me. I’m unsure what he sees the next minute, but he gets up from the edge of his desk and hurries to the door.
“Grab your coat,” he orders.
I do as he asks, tugging on my winter coat and following him out the door.
My sister Stella is waiting just outside, clearly trying to eavesdrop on our private conversation. She does that a lot. Whenever something big is happening in our house, Stella is usually never far from the action, wanting to know every detail.
