Page 50 of Sweet Little Lies
Chapter 19
Lance
I saw red and absolutely fucking lost it.
Right fucking there, without a thing holding me back with Mica looking on in utter shock, right along with a whole lot of other spectators, as I threw a punch at my dad’s face.
My fist caught him across the left side of his nose and jaw, blood immediately gushing out and pouring over his lip.
He’d stumbled, his body hovering over the back of a vacant chair as he wiped his face in surprise. When he rose up again, that same evil smirk had returned to his face, along with a determined glare in my direction.
“Good punch for a fucking pussy. At least you grew some balls since the last time I saw your crying lazy ass.”
Rage filled me to the brim, leaking out of my pores right along with the whisky I’d drank in excess.
“Shut the fuck up. You wouldn’t know what a pair of balls even felt like. You’re a weak, drunk son-of-a-bitch.”
He snorted. “At least I didn’t go run and hide while your mother was dying. Or kill my own brother.”
And that’s when I blacked out. He’d cold-cocked me back, and I’d fallen and hit my head. Or at least, that’s what I think happened.
When I came to about three minutes ago, I only remember things clearly up to that point. And now I’m lying on Mica’s couch with an icepack across my eye and a split lip that’s throbbing like a motherfucker.
I have no idea how long I’ve been here. Or how I got home or how she managed to get me inside. Questions I don’t have answers for, but I do know I’m glad I’m at her place and not my own. Because if I were at my apartment, I know I’d just want to get more fucked up than I already am. I’d take what’s left of my pills and lose myself in oblivion, blocking out all the shit that went down tonight.
Seeing my father is one thing. Being confronted by him and his angry put-downs and verbal abuse is something I’ve dealt with for years, since I was a little boy. But having him say those vile things about Micaela when he knows nothing about her, well, let’s just say every man has his breaking point.
I gingerly roll to my side and moan. My fist feels like it’s on fire.
“Como estás, amado?”
My eyesight is a little blurry, but I open them to see Mica’s comforting face come into view. The sweet, angelic lines of her jaw and the worry etched into her brow have me wondering just how bad I look.
“I’m fine, I think. Just a little sore. But baby, I’m so sorry....I’m so sorry for what he said…He’s…the fucking devil.”
She waves me off and places her hand gently on my cheek, the warmth of it searing through my flesh. Comforting me in a way I don’t deserve.
“Lance, you are not your father and you’re certainly not accountable to his racist beliefs or bigotry.”
Exhaling, I close and then open my eyes, trying to block out the memory of the way she looked when he said those horrible things to her. She is the only thing good and pure in my life. Everything else is so fucked up. Especially my dad. I’m embarrassed to have his blood running through my veins. I wish I could open my arms out and bleed out all the parts that are my dad.
I look away as she continues. “You can’t be held responsible for his views any more than I can with my family. If you recall, my mother wasn’t all too pleased or accepting of you, either.”
Gingerly, I lift myself into a sitting position, pulling her up on the couch next to me.
“You’re right, but my dad has a tainted view of the world and is an awful fucking man. I’m just so sorry that you had to see that and hear those awful things he said. I’m not like him and don’t share those opinions. You know that, right? It’s because of his abusive ways that I haven’t had much to do with him in years. The last time I saw him was…was at my mother’s funeral.”
“Oh Lance, I didn’t realize,” she says with a small, soft gasp, her fingers brushing across my cheek not covered by the icepack. “When was that?”
Dropping my hands and the icepack, I place my hands in my lap, absently stroking my thumb across my bruised knuckles. I hate thinking about it and hate talking about it even more.
“She died last year of liver cancer. It was bad at the end. My dad thinks I was responsible for her death.”
The look of horror on Mica’s face is endearing but completely misguided. I am to blame for her death in a way. After Landon’s death, both my parents started drinking heavily and regularly. They couldn’t deal. And it’s the booze that affected her life. Was the reason her body began to deteriorate at a younger age than most. Caused the cancer that ate away at her insides.
“Dios mio, Lance. No, no, no,” she shakes her head emphatically. “Baby, you have to know you can’t be the cause of someone’s cancer. That’s not how it works.”
Mica’s hands cover my own, the sweet gesture of a sweet and beautiful woman. If only she’d learn what a terrible person I truly am and what lies I’m covering up, then she’d walk away now and I wouldn’t worry that one day she’ll see the horrible truth and realize what a monster I am.
