Page 134 of Bad at Love
"What the fuck happened?" I whisper wildly, looking between the two of them. "Was this Daryl?"
My mother doesn't say anything, just looks down. Ashamed. The same look she used to have with my father.
I look to Noah. "Was this Daryl? Was it your father?"
He nods, his eyes nervously darting to the hall. I look over my shoulder but there's no one there.
"Yes," he whispers, his voice raw with shame. "I...I broke the rules. I stayed out late. Really late. Past curfew. My friend dropped me off and I thought I would sneak in. He's got his driver's license, it's okay. We were just hanging out at his house, his parents were home and everything, they knew I was there, it was cool. They’re really accepting." He pauses, wiping his nose. "And then dad caught me sneaking in. I was wearing this. I had on makeup. I thought I could get in my room and wash it off before he saw. He lost his shit. He...he threatened to kill me. He came after me. I ran, I escaped, went around him. I ran through the house."
He glances at my mother. "Sarah woke up. Started yelling at him to leave me alone. He came after me again, she went in front to protect me and he hit her. Then he threw her to the ground and said he was coming for me. I had to run outside and hide."
The anger rising through me, the flames licking, burning me, are like nothing else. "Where is he now?" I manage to say, choked.
"Upstairs," my mother says quietly. She looks up, her eyes meet mine and I see a tired vulnerability that was never there before. "You need to go Laz."
I shake my head, getting to my feet. "Go? Go? I just got here. I'm just getting started."
"We'll sort this out on our own," she says.
“Have you called the cops?”
She shakes her head. “No. What will they do?”
I almost laugh. “Are you serious? Mum, you have to call the cops. This is assault. He fucking hit you. He was going to do the same to Noah. This is abuse. This is something he needs to go to jail for, for a very long time.”
“You know he’s powerful,” she says meekly, pleading with her eyes. “You know that he has people eating out of the palm of his hand. The police aren’t on our side.”
“If you don’t call the police, I will.”
“Laz, please. Don’t. Do it for me. Don’t ruin Noah’s life.”
“Noah’s life?” I repeat. “You have got to be…I can’t believe you.”
“I’m scared,” she snaps at me, tears filling her eyes. “Okay? I’m bloody scared and I don’t know what to do. I just don’t. Okay? I don’t.” She starts to cry, breaking down in front of me like she never has before.
Despite everything that has gone wrong between us, I put my hand over hers. Then I look at Noah. “You know we have to call the cops.”
“I know,” he says. “But I’m afraid that…he won’t get put away. And then he’ll hurt me. You know what he said? That I wasn’t his son. That I was a disgrace. That I’ll never be a proper man and I might as well off myself if that was the case.”
Again, my blood boils over.
Rage seethes and seethes.
“He basically told me to kill myself,” he cries. “My own fucking father.”
“Noah,” my mother says softly but doesn’t add anything more.
“Fine,” I tell them, letting the anger fill me like tar, black, oozing, sticky. “I’ll fix it myself.”
“Laz,” my mother hisses.
But I’m already walking off through the kitchen.
Past the broken frames.
Up the stairs.
Down the hallway toward the master bedroom.
