Page 135 of Bad at Love
The lights are off.
I can hear Daryl breathing.
Raspy exhales in the darkness.
I’m sent back in time, to when I was a child, approaching my father. The sleeping bear you never wanted to wake sometimes. I learned to become extremely adept at walking quietly, not making a sound, not existing.
But this time, I’m not here to be quiet.
I stand at the foot of the bed, eyes focused with laser precision on the figure lying across it. How fucking dare he try to sleep right now after what he did. He should be begging my mother and Noah for mercy. He should be turning himself in. He should be shaking with fear.
He’s none of that.
“Get the fuck up,” I say, my voice breaking with anger.
He stirs and then flips over. I can’t see his eyes but I know he’s looking at me.
“What?” he asks.
Groggy. He’s actually fucking groggy from a deep fucking sleep.
“I said get the fuck up!” I yell at him. “Get the fuck up you bastard.”
“Laz? What the fuck are you doing here?”
I’m not myself right now.
The Laz I knew leaves my body behind.
I go around the side of the bed and reach down, grabbing him by the shirt and yanking him out of bed. Daryl’s not a tall guy but he is big and stocky and built like a bull and yet I’m able to get him out of bed, to his feet.
I don’t know what my plan is.
I don’t have time to think about what my plan is.
“Who do you think you are,” Daryl is saying pushing me back. “Get the fuck out of my house!”
I’m pushing him back, one hard shove that sends him back into the wall. “You fucking hurt my mother. You’re going to pay for that!”
“Like you suddenly give a shit!” he growls back. “Your mother provoked me. She got in my way.”
“You were going to hit your son!”
“He is not my son!” he yells, louder, as if he wants Noah to hear him. “He is nothing to me, no son of mine dresses like a girl, wears makeup. It’s disgusting and he should know better, have more respect than to do something like that. I’m his father! He owes me!”
“No one owes their father anything!”
“Oh fuck off, Laz,” he snarls and in the dark I can see the beady glint of his eyes. “What would you know about having a father anyway? I know he left you. Can’t say I fucking blame him.”
I don’t think.
I just swing.
Hit Daryl right in the jaw.
My fist cries out in pain.
He goes flying back against the wall, bumping into the bedside table and knocking over yet another picture frame that shatters into thick shards when it smashes against the tiles.
