He crept in slowly, his knees shaking like they were about to buckle. His face was pale, the tension in the room more evident on his features than the vibe. His lips were pressed together, the bits that were visible were white signifying pressure, and his eyes portrayed a mixture of fear and nothingness as they avoided his presence.
Though his face was nervous and afraid, it appeared strange to Chet. He was used to his son's careful presence, but something stood out among his awkward stance that brought a feeling to the pit of Chet's stomach. He looked healthier, older, and stronger. A combination of emotions and thoughts overcame him as result of this realization and he laid his head in his arms for a moment to maintain composure.
He was angry most over anything else. He couldn't bring himself to believe that having left his son alone for almost a year would benefit him in such obvious ways. He was better off without him, which was a reality that Chet had yet to face.
Finally, he heard the recognizable screeching of the chair across from him being dragged across the floor and he rose from his seat, realizing he should have embraced his son. Shawn was startled by his sudden movement and Chet felt like his cellmate had just popped him one in the face. What was his problem? Why was he being so…?
Shawn raised his gaze abruptly at Chet's movement, his eyes wide and fearful. However, he stepped towards him, ignoring his father's outstretched hand and sitting down at the table.
Chet shot a glance toward the guard standing in the corner of the room. He was looking for some kind of acknowledgement or empathetic gesture, but he waited absently as if he were nothing more than an object in the room. "Tough crowd." He croaked, replacing himself in his chair. He watched the boy across from him, who was now surveying him with his eyes slightly narrowed and his jaw tightening and untightening. "So—"
Shawn blatantly cut him off, seeming a little gutsier than Chet had pegged him for. "No, I…I'm gonna be doing the talking. I need to talk. I've been needing to see you and I don't want to waste this time with your games and lies." He stared at the ground, only looking up when he finished.
Chet was beside himself. "All I was gonna tell ya was that I missed ya. Now, that ain't no lie, boy."
Shawn's face grew paler, if that was even possible. "I…um, I missed you, too, dad. I'm sorry. I didn't mean…"
"Don't apologize to me, boy!" Chet found himself yelling, finally attracting the attention of the guard. He held up his index finger and stabbed it at the air, roughly. "Shawn-y." He lowered his voice. "I don't want you anywhere near here. I don't want you to come back."
His brow furrowed and his nostrils flared. "What? Why? Dad, I need you!"
"Shawn-y," he said in a condescending tone. "Jail is no place for a boy. It's no good for ya. I'm no good for ya. Ya know that."
"No!" He argued. "I don't know that! You're my father! I need you to start being my father! Please, dad!"
Chet could feel his heart break. He wished that he would never have to deal with this. He'd known that he was a terrible father all of Shawn's life, but he did everything in his power to forget it, to pretend it wasn't true. Now, staring at his son, sober and awake, he wanted to die. He couldn't stand to look at his own boy, let alone live with the knowledge of what he'd done. "You got yer teach out there. He's yer daddy now."
"Dad!" He pleaded. Although his eyes were filled with tears, he shot back in a voice filled with fury and annoyance. "I don't care what you did, okay? It doesn't matter. I need you. I need you so bad and no one else… I'll be good! I won't get in your way or nothing! We can get you out of here. I'll tell them I lied! Please!"
Chet stood and walked around to the other side of the table. He grabbed his hand and pulled him up so he was facing him. "I never said this, boy, but…I love ya, son."
He couldn't put his finger on it, but Chet watched something change about Shawn's face. Without a change in expression, he could see the satisfaction that those words had provided Shawn with. "You always said I was a bad kid."
"No, yer the best damn kid anybody could ever ask for. That's why I'm in here, Shawn-y. I'm no good for ya and ya know it."
"But, Dad, we can start over!"
"This'll be the last time I tell ya what to do, boy, so listen good and no disappointin' me. Ya live yer life without me, forget about me, and make me proud, ya hear?"
Shawn stood dumbfounded in front of him. He looked like he'd just hit him and Chet felt like he had. After a second, Shawn wrapped his arms around his large waist and buried his face in his shoulder. "Don't do this to me."
It took Chet a moment to realize what was happening. He couldn't remember the last time that he had been hugged and he had always taken that to mean that nobody cared for him enough to perform such an action. He could see that that was probably all that Shawn needed. Maybe if he had given him one a day as he was growing up, then he never would've run away or gotten arrested or needed him so badly. Shawn might've been able to let him go if he knew that he was the only thing in this world that was keeping Chet alive.
He tightened his arms around him, and that second of closeness sent him barrelling down a dizzying memory lane. He could shut his eyes and see his baby son staring up at him, wrapped in a soft, blue blanket. He was so fragile, so vulnerable, so perfect. He still was. He opened his eyes and ran his hand down the length of Shawn's back. The same back that he could remember thrashing with his belt. He closed his eyes again, another memory of baby Shawn rolling around in his mother's lap. They could never keep him still. He opened his eyes and envisioned himself tying him to a tree and retreating back into the trailer for the night. He petted his hair and kissed his head as his hand passed. The same head that Virna wouldn't let leave the house without being covered as an infant. The same head he shattered a lamp over as a teenager.
Shawn was still just as fragile, vulnerable, and perfect as he was the moment that he first held him in his arms. There was still time to do right by him. There was still time to save him. "Now, c'mon, boy. Don't make me tell ya, again. And no cryin'." Chet hated crying. In specific he hated seeing his son cry. Not because it emasculated him, like he had always told him, but because it made him feel bad about himself: purely selfish reasons that molded Shawn into the broken young man that he was today. So he would heed his rule just one last time until his boy left and then would be his turn to be broken. "Go on, now! Get!" He pulled away from him and nudged him toward the door.
The look on Shawn's face was one that he would never forget. He had never seen so much pain being expressed all at once. It was like every bit of hurt that Chet had caused Shawn in his lifetime was being felt by him all in that moment. And then he considered the fact that that was most likely the case. He shook as he stepped backward and the tears poured from his eyes like open faucets. "I HATE YOU!" He shrieked, his voice like nails on a chalkboard.
The echo roared through the room, the guard standing by, literally jumped in surprise, his hand hitting his belted baton hard, adding to the echo.
"I hate you!" He repeated, his voice quieter, but still repeating the worst pain Chet had ever felt. He gave him a glare, so filled with anger, that Chet felt his knees weaken beneath him. He spat, pivoted toward the door and ran out, the guard propping it open, anticipating his action.
