Page 23 of Between Never and Forever
“I’ll see ya around, Levi Cooper.”
“Will you?”
“I think so.” She purses her lips to hide her troublemaking smile. “I don’t think the universe is done with us yet.”
Her statement gives me hope. Makes me feel a little less like I’m losing something and more like I’m just loaning it out for a while.
“Wait,” I say quickly, reaching into my pocket and pulling the bike lock key back out.
I hold it up in front of me and mime an underhand toss twice before actually letting it go. Sav catches it with one hand. She looks from the key in her palm then back at me, brow raised in question.
“You can give it back when I see you next,” I say with a shrug. “Don’t forget.”
I watch her slide the key into the back pocket of my jeans—her jeans now, I guess—and her smile is bigger than I’ve ever seen it. She takes a few more steps backward.
“I could never,” she says softly, and then she turns around and disappears into the darkness.
I wait until I don’t hear her footsteps on the pavement anymore. I resist the urge to walk to the front of my house and see if I can see her down the road. Instead, I turn back to my window and attempt to climb back inside.
Once I’m finally over the window ledge, the weight in the room feels heavy. My skin prickles and I swallow around a lump in my throat. When I turn around, I find my mom staring back at me. She doesn’t even try to mask her fury, so I don’t bother to explain myself. When she reaches up and flips the light switch, dread coils in my gut.
The Bible is already lying open on my bed, and Dad’s belt is in her hand.
I grit my teeth. It’s been a while since she’s used the belt. Years. But despite the time, I know what she expects from me. I haven’t forgotten.
“Now,” she hisses.
Slowly, I walk toward her, but instead of cowering, I keep my eyes locked on hers. This time, I don’t look away until the last minute, when I have to turn around and face the Bible on the bed.
“Pants,” my mom seethes, and I obey, tugging my pajama pants down until they pool at my feet. My movements are jerky, but with anger, not fear. Then I brace my hands on the bed and set my eyes on the Bible.
It’s open to Matthew 15:4 like I knew it would be. I breathe through my nose slowly.
“Read.”
I keep my mouth shut and I don’t move. I used to think I deserved these punishments, but I can’t for the life of me understand why helping someone like Savannah should warrant this. My mother is wrong. She and my father are both wrong. I grit my teeth and say nothing.
I will not read Matthew 15:4. I won’t read it ever again.
“Read!” my mother shrieks.
When I still don’t speak, I hear her raise her arm seconds before the belt cracks on my backside. A muffled cry escapes me as I bite my tongue. I taste blood in my mouth, and my eyes sting, but I still don’t read the verse like she wants.
I stay quiet. I refuse to speak.
It doesn’t matter.
She’s going to use the belt either way.
THEN
PART TWO
* * *
7
18 years old
