Here's my new chapter. I hope you all enjoy it. Thanks to those who are
faithfully reading this; you totally rock.
A/N: ** mean sort of flashback. My computer doesn't do italics unless it goes into spaced out form which bites. But I hope its okay.
Without further constraints, I present to you, my loyal readers, my next chapter. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated, because I feel I'm under par for this chapter. Any advice you could give is appreciate. As always, I accept flames as well. You've got to eat the entire apple if you want to taste it well.
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From Here to Heaven
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Part Five
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Chris: Breakdown
The knob to the door rattled and there was a scraping of keys against the chrome lock. Twisting myself around, I gave a soft groan as my almost healed ribs gave a twinge of pain. Propping myself up higher on the pillow behind my back, I used my arms to forcefully move my gimp knee away from the edge of the couch. The bulky brace strapped onto it made it rather difficult to move.
The door opened and Shawn came in, followed by Hunter. They both carried a dozen or so bags and from the make, they appeared to have just gone grocery shopping. If it had only been Shawn, I would have made some remark about how sweet it was for a man to do a woman's job, but as Hunter's eyes fell on me, I remained silent.
"Hi Chris," Shawn said cheerfully, heading into the small kitchen, tossing his bags onto the floor, Hunter a moment behind him. "How are you?"
"I'm bored, Shawn, how are you?" I asked, keeping up the ritual that had started a week earlier. Both Shawn and Hunter had called sick into work the first day they had found me and Shawn had taken my picture with his camera. Hunter had taken the picture and all the other information I had provided grudgingly and had left, saying my fake birth certificate would be ready the following afternoon. The next evening Shawn had taken me to the local hospital, had gotten my knee taken care of as well as the other injuries I had sustained, and taken me back to his apartment. Since then while Shawn and Hunter were at work, I sat on his couch, bored, listening to his battered radio and reading whatever literature Shawn had scourged up for me.
"I'm okay," he said. "You like tacos, don't you?"
"I like whatever you've got," I said, the same odd feeling touching my heart every time he asked if there was something to my liking. I had struggled with the feeling immensely ever since they had found me. I couldn't name it yet and still had a hard time dealing with it. It was harder when Hunter was around, because he was so unfriendly.
Hunter hadn't gotten any better since the first morning in the alley. He had taken the information angrily and had showed up the next day even angrier. He usually came by in the afternoons and evenings, after both he and Shawn had finished work, and talked with Shawn. He ignored me until it was absolutely necessary and snapped at me even then. Shawn appeared not to notice it and I followed his example. If Hunter wanted to play games, fine. I didn't live with him and if he disliked me, it was no sweat off my back.
"That's good, because as of right now, it's the only thing I know how to make," Shawn said.
"Maybe you try taking a culinary class," I said. "That usually helps."
"Culinary classes cost money," interrupted Hunter. "Which isn't something in supply."
"It was only a suggestion," I said, unfazed. "I was asking him."
"No, but you're not exactly the easiest thing on the wallet, kid," Hunter replied.
I blinked at him, hurt. I hadn't exactly volunteered to have Shawn take me in, but now I lived in his house and it was with his money I ate. Hunter's comment hurt me. I saw Shawn's eyes flash at Hunter, but he said nothing. So I would say nothing too. Hunter would see how badly his words had affected me.
"Tacos are good, Shawn," I said, as if ignoring Hunter's last comment. "They're terrific, thanks." Shawn offered a smile, but his eyes wondered. I looked away.
Sighing, I sank deeper into the pillow and heard the banging of cabinets and boxes and pans. If my leg had been better, I would have helped them. I was bored sitting on the ratty couch all day and I wanted to do something with my time. I could at least help Shawn out with his simple housekeeping duties, when I could start moving around in a day. I knew how to clean spotlessly, thanks to the hours of painful work I had to for one of my foster families. Shawn's apartment was far from the cleanest in the world. He was a typical bachelor, except now he was a father.
I squirmed on the couch at the thought. When Hunter had gotten the birth certificate written up, Shawn had instructed him to have it written so that it read I was born to Shawn. My name was now officially Christopher Keith Michaels. The hospital had asked how we were related and Shawn had played the part perfectly. Given the fact that we both had blonde hair, though mines was a darker shade of blonde and same pale skin and blue eyes, it held. He was officially my father. I still wasn't quite sure about how I felt about that one.
There was a sudden pained yelp and a loud clang as a pan hit the floor. Hunter sprang back, his finger in his mouth.
"Burned yourself?" guessed Shawn innocently, but I too easily detected "serves you right" tone. At least we had retribution for Hunter's earlier comment. "That's why you usually don't put your hand too close to the fire, dear."
I snickered, but Hunter didn't appear to hear me as he said, "Shut up! Don't you need to talk to the kid anyway? Why are you still in here?"
I looked at them in surprise. Shawn needed to talk to me? Did he want to kick me out?
"You can make tacos then?" Shawn asked frostily, as though Hunter had brought up a very sore subject.
"Yes, I can," Hunter sneered. "Talk to the kid now."
"His name's Chris," Shawn bristled and I felt myself stir. I had never seen Shawn and Hunter actually argue. I had seen Hunter angry with Shawn, and Shawn angry with hurt Hunter, but never at each other at the same time.
"Well, talk to Chris then. I'll make your damn tacos." Hunter spat out the word and banged the pan down on the stove.
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't try to break my stove," Shawn said. "You do know where everything is, don't you? I assume that since you practically live here, you would."
Hunter replied, "I don't practically live here. I myself have a job that supports only me." His tone was biting.
"I myself am not a selfish person," Shawn said, swinging around Hunter and through the small kitchen entryway into the living room. "Try not to burn the tacos, Hunter."
Hunter didn't reply, but he went rigid as he ripped open a bag of tortillas.
Shawn came up to me. His eyes were wary as he sat down on the beaten chair. He looked apprehensive and stared at me quietly for a few moments.
"Shawn?" I asked softly. "Shawn, what's wrong?" My voice came out frightened and I berated myself. I could take care of myself just fine. I didn't need charity. If he decided to kick me out, I'd do fine.
But then why was Hunter still angry? Shouldn't he be happy?
Shawn sighed and smiled tiredly. "I'm not throwing you out, don't worry."
"I wasn't," I said, bluntly, but the look in his eyes told me he knew the truth.
"I'm glad," he said graciously. "I just have to ask you a question. Did you ever go to school in Canada? I assume you must've; you're as intelligent as anyone I've met your age."
"I did," I said, surprised. "I went up until the beginning of tenth year." The moment the words left my mouth, I realized that I had slipped up. I was fifteen and if I had been on the run for the last year and a half, then that would have meant I should have been in ninth year, instead of tenth. But I had told them the true facts. Would they realize?
Heart pounding, I saw no change in Shawn's eyes; they were too clouded and muddied to really poke through. Chancing a look at Hunter, I saw his hunched back as he read some instructions from a box. He didn't appear to have recognized my slip-up.
"That would explain some of it," he said. "If we put you in now, you'd probably be a junior in high school, then?"
I looked at him in some confusion. "I'm not really sure about your high schools. In Canada we had years and just went by our years."
"You're only fifteen," he said, frowning. "So you're probably only be a sophomore. That's the second year in high school."
"We went up to thirteen years," I said, hoping that might clear some of it up.
"That must be it, then. What classes did you take in your last year?" he asked.
My mind raced as I formed my features into a look of confusion, as if I didn't remember. They wouldn't actually look up Canada's standards in a book, would they? If I told them stupid classes, they'd find me inept. It was better to show them how intelligent I was, wasn't it?
"The beginning of the year I was taking calculus, chemistry, woodshop, PE, and some other things I can't remember," I said, really drawing a blank. "I was taking an advanced English, math, and history class, I remember that."
"What a good little scholar," Hunter sneered from the kitchen, making me jump. I thought he hadn't been paying attention to what we were saying, but apparently he had.
"Well, I'm sure he did better than you," Shawn shot back. "Shut up, Hunter, I'm not talking to you." He turned toward me again. "Well, Chris, I'm going to tell you something and I want you just to listen. I don't want you to interrupt."
"It's if that's damn bad-" I started with a horrible feeling.
"Don't curse," he corrected me and I fell instantly silent. I had never worked out Shawn's insistence on stopping me from using the words I had always, but I humored him. He continued with a reprimanding look. "Chris, I think you need to go back to school."
For a second, I merely looked at him. He had to be joking. "You're kidding right?" I asked, not sure of what to say. "You've got to be joking."
"Rest assured, he's not!" barked Hunter angrily from the kitchen. "And don't try arguing with him, kid, I just go a tongue-lashing myself. He's hell bent on sending you to a school so you can better yourself. There's not a point in you trying to argue."
It was a funny speech and both Shawn and I stared at him. He was angry at Shawn himself, but he didn't want me to argue with him. He didn't want me trying Shawn, was that it? Shouldn't he be trying to convince Shawn that it was a stupid idea? I didn't get it. I couldn't work out his feeling and his attitudes and it burned me.
But Shawn wanted to send me to school? I looked at him in amazement. "You're really serious?"
He nodded, though his teeth chewed on his lower lip. "Yes, I think I am. There's not use growing up in a world where you're uneducated, though you seem smart enough to me. And besides, I think you'd like something to do with your days, no?" He smiled at me and my heart almost broke.
He wanted to send me to school! Oh, how I had yearned for that! School had been always one of the things I had enjoyed. It was a haven from the fists and shouts of my foster homes and thought all the kids grumbled about how mean the teachers were, I knew how kindly they were in comparison to the darker people of the world. And the freedom! Oh, the freedom to talk, to snap, to do whatever I had wanted, knowing that while I was at the school, no one could touch me.
And the knowledge. How I missed that knowledge. I had been the teachers' pet at my school. Though I was resented for that, I had taken satisfaction and particular pride, something I didn't feel much at my home, when I found the correct answer. It wasn't easy to me, I had to work for it, but I enjoyed it. I enjoyed the literature most particularly. When the hands of my captors had rained upon me, I would nurse my bruises and my anger in the capable hands of a book. I had lost myself in the fiction of dragons, of fairies, and most often in the literature of olden periods. Shakespeare had called out to me most; I had spent more nights than I could count rereading the lives of Julius Caesar's assassinators. I loved to read, I loved it direly and I wanted to read more.
But I didn't tell Shawn that. Instead, I turned my eyes away from him, so he couldn't see the emotion on my face, and I replied in a voice that trembled, "I think I'd like that. I think I'd like that very much."
I kept my head down, so Shawn couldn't see my face, but I saw his hands go to the brace on my leg. I refused to look up. The emotion on my face was too clear. If I looked up, they would both see how badly I wanted this. And that could be a weakness, if they so chose to make it one.
"How's your leg?" he asked, totally off the subject.
Keeping my head down, I replied, in a voice that trembled slightly, "its okay. It's better than it was yesterday. I was going to try walking for real tomorrow without holding the wall."
"Shall we try two weeks from now, then?" he asked, gently, and I turned my face to him. He was looking at me with intense eyes, eyes that were predominantly compassion and pain. "You'll still need the brace, since the doctor said you'd need it for a couple of months, but you'll be able to walk. You'll need some physical therapy, though."
I didn't say anything.
Shawn sighed. "Chris, you don't have to do this if you don't want to. I just thought it might be a good idea." He paused. "Really, you don't have to-"
"I do!" I burst out, surprising myself. I saw Hunter's back straighten. "I really, really do! It's just . . . it's just . . ."
"It's just what?" Shawn pressed soothingly.
"It's just that it's like you've adopted me or something. It's like I'm really your kid." I regretted the words the moment they left my mouth and I lowered my head even further in embarrassment. If I could have run from the room, I would have. I didn't need their stares, their exclamations that I was indeed really their child and they loved me as much as so. If they did that, they'd turn around the next moment and hit me. I closed my eyes in pain. Why couldn't it all just leave?
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*"Can you move?" Samantha asked me, her voice a tiny squeak.
I tried to smile at the little girl, tried to assure her that everything was alright, but it wasn't- oh God, it wasn't. They had never used the iron before, he had never used his belt like a whip. I hadn't even thought they would try to use the iron. I hadn't thought that their type.
Never underestimate those you cannot trust.
But at least I had saved Samantha from a beating. The bastard had tried to rape her. I had saved her, at least for now. When I recovered a little, I'd call the cops. I had tried to stand it for as long as I could. The beatings had been small at first, a backhand that sent me tumbling to the floor, but they had increased steadily. First it had been the belt across my neck and back. The bruises on my neck had stood out. And then, after weeks of the belt beatings, he had finally used the iron, the belt, and his fists. He had been going after Samantha when I had gotten home. She was screaming her lungs out, but did the shitty neighbors care? Or course they didn't.
I knocked him to the ground, ran upstairs, and tucked the little girl in a closet under a pile of clothes after enforcing her that she had to remain quiet, no matter what. Samantha was the brightest girl her age I had ever seen, but she was scared. She stayed quiet while I ran out of the room, down the hallway, and started to make it seem as though I was making for the window. I hoped his attention would be diverted from my foster sister, and it had. He had found me in his bathroom.
He hit me, over and over, until I was unconscious for a few minutes. When I came to, he had tied my hands over my head tightly with his belts and was sitting on my legs. In his hands he held the iron, blinking its red light. And then he had used it again and again. I had tried to stop the screams, but they had leaked out, and that enraged him. He slapped my head against the metal floor and I was gone.
Samantha had revived me and untied my hands. I lay on the floor, trying to breathe. I was burned badly in many different places, with too many bruises and hurt ribs to count.
"I can move," I whispered to the little girl. "Where is he?"
"He left," she said back, touching my burn gingerly, but her cool, small hand was a welcome. "Can you get up, Chris?"
"No," I said, coughing, wracking my body with pain. "Sam, I need you to run downstairs and get the phone. Are you sure he left?"
"I think so," she said in terror. "But I don't want to go, Chris. I'm scared."
"I need you to, Sam. I need to call the cops and get us out of here. You're a brave girl, Sam. You're the bravest I've ever seen. If he grabs you, yell for help." I knew it was weak. If he was downstairs waiting, it didn't matter. He'd grab Samantha, make her scream, and then I'd have to make my broken body move and rescue her. This time, he'd kill me, but I would save Samantha. We had to take the chance before I passed out again and left her to face his wrath when he returned.
"If he grabs you, yell and I'll come down. This time, run across the street to Mrs. Smiths' house and use her phone. Tell her he's beating me up and I need the cops. Can you do that for me, brave little girl?"
She smiled bravely and my heart ached for a youth corrupted so young. "Okay Chris. I can do that." And she ran downstairs. I counted to ten, let out my breath, and counted to ten again. If she was caught, I'd never forgive myself. I'd die damning myself.
But she returned and with the phone, I called the police. They came immediately, took me to the hospital, and Samantha went to the Child Protection Services. I never saw her again. The next month, I lay in the very same predicament, only this time, there was no one to help me but myself.*
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"Chris?"
Shawn shook me from my revere.
"Samantha," I whispered.
"What?" asked Shawn in a confused voice. "Are you okay, Chris?"
"I'm fine!" I yelled suddenly, surprising myself. "I'm fine!"
I had frightened myself badly. How had I let the memory taken hold of me? I had shown my weakness in front of them and now they could use it. They knew I was weak. They knew I was helpless. And I had proven both the facts to myself as well.
"Chris?" Shawn asked again, gently, his eyes wide in concern.
"I'm fine," I said, closing my eyes in pain and turning away from them so they wouldn't see my face. "I'm fine. Just leave me alone."
Please, just leave me alone. Just let me deal with it.
"Chris, talk to me. What's wrong? Do you need a doctor?"
"No, Shawn, I don't!" I was yelling again, tears jamming behind my eyes. I swiped at them angrily, furious at myself for letting myself cry. "I'm fine! Just leave me alone, okay?"
"Chris," Shawn insisted. "There's something wrong."
"Why don't you just leave me alone?" I screamed at him, struggling to move from the couch. "Why can't you just leave me the fuck alone?" The tears were falling from my face now, falling faster than I could wipe them up.
How could they care so much? How could they throw their hearts into me? Hunter had, even though he adamantly refused it. Why else would he be sticking around? How could they?
"Chris, what's wrong? Chris!"
He grabbed my shoulders and spun me around to face him. I lowered my head and thrashed with my arms. "Leave me alone? Can't you leave me alone?" I was struggling, but his arms held me tightly and I was unable to move. My voice was high, falling as fast as my tears were. I was crying, sobbing, shaking in his arms.
"Chris? What's wrong, buddy? Please tell me."
His voice was gentle.
He couldn't be gentle. He'd hit me the next moment. I cringed thinking about it. He couldn't care. Nobody was capable of caring.
I heard Hunter's footsteps. NO! Not Hunter too! They'd both see how desperately weak I was. They were both seeing it now. No, they couldn't! They'd hit me the next second!
I continued thrashing, but now I felt Hunter's hand on my middle, holding me gently too. I felt their stares and then Hunter's soft voice, "its okay, kid. We've got you."
I went slack.
Why? Oh why, oh why were they doing this to me?
My tears fell faster, dropped onto my pants, and then Hunter's arms were around me, hugging me to his chest.
What was he doing?
I sobbed into his shirt, not knowing why, not caring. I felt safe in his arms. I wanted that safeness. I craved it. It didn't matter if the next moment he spun me away and started to hit me. It didn't matter. I was safe now, safe in somebody's arms, when I hadn't been safe in my entire life. I was sobbing and I was ashamed and they were seeing my weakness and I was going to be hit the next second, but I was safe.
Slowly I stopped. I stopped shaking and went limp in Hunter's arms. He was cradling me, holding my head. My breath came out shallow.
"Chris," Shawn said behind me, his hand touching my back. I flinched away, but Hunter's hands held me steady. "Chris, please. Talk to us. Tell us what's wrong."
It was another minute before I allowed myself to speak and when I did, my voice was raw and muffled against Hunter's chest. "You care about me. You really care. And I don't know why."
The words that tore from my lips tore more painfully than I could have imagined. I felt more liquid heat at the corners of my eyes but I clamped them shut hard and trembled in Hunter's arms. I could feel them looking at each other, pondering what to do. I had shown them my weakness. Would they capitalize on it now?
Hunter's hand on my back moved away and I burrowed deeper into his chest, preparing myself for the strike I knew was coming. I heard the soft whistle of air as his hand came back down . . .
He started to rub my back.
And that was enough to send my tears off again.
A/N: ** mean sort of flashback. My computer doesn't do italics unless it goes into spaced out form which bites. But I hope its okay.
Without further constraints, I present to you, my loyal readers, my next chapter. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated, because I feel I'm under par for this chapter. Any advice you could give is appreciate. As always, I accept flames as well. You've got to eat the entire apple if you want to taste it well.
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From Here to Heaven
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Part Five
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Chris: Breakdown
The knob to the door rattled and there was a scraping of keys against the chrome lock. Twisting myself around, I gave a soft groan as my almost healed ribs gave a twinge of pain. Propping myself up higher on the pillow behind my back, I used my arms to forcefully move my gimp knee away from the edge of the couch. The bulky brace strapped onto it made it rather difficult to move.
The door opened and Shawn came in, followed by Hunter. They both carried a dozen or so bags and from the make, they appeared to have just gone grocery shopping. If it had only been Shawn, I would have made some remark about how sweet it was for a man to do a woman's job, but as Hunter's eyes fell on me, I remained silent.
"Hi Chris," Shawn said cheerfully, heading into the small kitchen, tossing his bags onto the floor, Hunter a moment behind him. "How are you?"
"I'm bored, Shawn, how are you?" I asked, keeping up the ritual that had started a week earlier. Both Shawn and Hunter had called sick into work the first day they had found me and Shawn had taken my picture with his camera. Hunter had taken the picture and all the other information I had provided grudgingly and had left, saying my fake birth certificate would be ready the following afternoon. The next evening Shawn had taken me to the local hospital, had gotten my knee taken care of as well as the other injuries I had sustained, and taken me back to his apartment. Since then while Shawn and Hunter were at work, I sat on his couch, bored, listening to his battered radio and reading whatever literature Shawn had scourged up for me.
"I'm okay," he said. "You like tacos, don't you?"
"I like whatever you've got," I said, the same odd feeling touching my heart every time he asked if there was something to my liking. I had struggled with the feeling immensely ever since they had found me. I couldn't name it yet and still had a hard time dealing with it. It was harder when Hunter was around, because he was so unfriendly.
Hunter hadn't gotten any better since the first morning in the alley. He had taken the information angrily and had showed up the next day even angrier. He usually came by in the afternoons and evenings, after both he and Shawn had finished work, and talked with Shawn. He ignored me until it was absolutely necessary and snapped at me even then. Shawn appeared not to notice it and I followed his example. If Hunter wanted to play games, fine. I didn't live with him and if he disliked me, it was no sweat off my back.
"That's good, because as of right now, it's the only thing I know how to make," Shawn said.
"Maybe you try taking a culinary class," I said. "That usually helps."
"Culinary classes cost money," interrupted Hunter. "Which isn't something in supply."
"It was only a suggestion," I said, unfazed. "I was asking him."
"No, but you're not exactly the easiest thing on the wallet, kid," Hunter replied.
I blinked at him, hurt. I hadn't exactly volunteered to have Shawn take me in, but now I lived in his house and it was with his money I ate. Hunter's comment hurt me. I saw Shawn's eyes flash at Hunter, but he said nothing. So I would say nothing too. Hunter would see how badly his words had affected me.
"Tacos are good, Shawn," I said, as if ignoring Hunter's last comment. "They're terrific, thanks." Shawn offered a smile, but his eyes wondered. I looked away.
Sighing, I sank deeper into the pillow and heard the banging of cabinets and boxes and pans. If my leg had been better, I would have helped them. I was bored sitting on the ratty couch all day and I wanted to do something with my time. I could at least help Shawn out with his simple housekeeping duties, when I could start moving around in a day. I knew how to clean spotlessly, thanks to the hours of painful work I had to for one of my foster families. Shawn's apartment was far from the cleanest in the world. He was a typical bachelor, except now he was a father.
I squirmed on the couch at the thought. When Hunter had gotten the birth certificate written up, Shawn had instructed him to have it written so that it read I was born to Shawn. My name was now officially Christopher Keith Michaels. The hospital had asked how we were related and Shawn had played the part perfectly. Given the fact that we both had blonde hair, though mines was a darker shade of blonde and same pale skin and blue eyes, it held. He was officially my father. I still wasn't quite sure about how I felt about that one.
There was a sudden pained yelp and a loud clang as a pan hit the floor. Hunter sprang back, his finger in his mouth.
"Burned yourself?" guessed Shawn innocently, but I too easily detected "serves you right" tone. At least we had retribution for Hunter's earlier comment. "That's why you usually don't put your hand too close to the fire, dear."
I snickered, but Hunter didn't appear to hear me as he said, "Shut up! Don't you need to talk to the kid anyway? Why are you still in here?"
I looked at them in surprise. Shawn needed to talk to me? Did he want to kick me out?
"You can make tacos then?" Shawn asked frostily, as though Hunter had brought up a very sore subject.
"Yes, I can," Hunter sneered. "Talk to the kid now."
"His name's Chris," Shawn bristled and I felt myself stir. I had never seen Shawn and Hunter actually argue. I had seen Hunter angry with Shawn, and Shawn angry with hurt Hunter, but never at each other at the same time.
"Well, talk to Chris then. I'll make your damn tacos." Hunter spat out the word and banged the pan down on the stove.
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't try to break my stove," Shawn said. "You do know where everything is, don't you? I assume that since you practically live here, you would."
Hunter replied, "I don't practically live here. I myself have a job that supports only me." His tone was biting.
"I myself am not a selfish person," Shawn said, swinging around Hunter and through the small kitchen entryway into the living room. "Try not to burn the tacos, Hunter."
Hunter didn't reply, but he went rigid as he ripped open a bag of tortillas.
Shawn came up to me. His eyes were wary as he sat down on the beaten chair. He looked apprehensive and stared at me quietly for a few moments.
"Shawn?" I asked softly. "Shawn, what's wrong?" My voice came out frightened and I berated myself. I could take care of myself just fine. I didn't need charity. If he decided to kick me out, I'd do fine.
But then why was Hunter still angry? Shouldn't he be happy?
Shawn sighed and smiled tiredly. "I'm not throwing you out, don't worry."
"I wasn't," I said, bluntly, but the look in his eyes told me he knew the truth.
"I'm glad," he said graciously. "I just have to ask you a question. Did you ever go to school in Canada? I assume you must've; you're as intelligent as anyone I've met your age."
"I did," I said, surprised. "I went up until the beginning of tenth year." The moment the words left my mouth, I realized that I had slipped up. I was fifteen and if I had been on the run for the last year and a half, then that would have meant I should have been in ninth year, instead of tenth. But I had told them the true facts. Would they realize?
Heart pounding, I saw no change in Shawn's eyes; they were too clouded and muddied to really poke through. Chancing a look at Hunter, I saw his hunched back as he read some instructions from a box. He didn't appear to have recognized my slip-up.
"That would explain some of it," he said. "If we put you in now, you'd probably be a junior in high school, then?"
I looked at him in some confusion. "I'm not really sure about your high schools. In Canada we had years and just went by our years."
"You're only fifteen," he said, frowning. "So you're probably only be a sophomore. That's the second year in high school."
"We went up to thirteen years," I said, hoping that might clear some of it up.
"That must be it, then. What classes did you take in your last year?" he asked.
My mind raced as I formed my features into a look of confusion, as if I didn't remember. They wouldn't actually look up Canada's standards in a book, would they? If I told them stupid classes, they'd find me inept. It was better to show them how intelligent I was, wasn't it?
"The beginning of the year I was taking calculus, chemistry, woodshop, PE, and some other things I can't remember," I said, really drawing a blank. "I was taking an advanced English, math, and history class, I remember that."
"What a good little scholar," Hunter sneered from the kitchen, making me jump. I thought he hadn't been paying attention to what we were saying, but apparently he had.
"Well, I'm sure he did better than you," Shawn shot back. "Shut up, Hunter, I'm not talking to you." He turned toward me again. "Well, Chris, I'm going to tell you something and I want you just to listen. I don't want you to interrupt."
"It's if that's damn bad-" I started with a horrible feeling.
"Don't curse," he corrected me and I fell instantly silent. I had never worked out Shawn's insistence on stopping me from using the words I had always, but I humored him. He continued with a reprimanding look. "Chris, I think you need to go back to school."
For a second, I merely looked at him. He had to be joking. "You're kidding right?" I asked, not sure of what to say. "You've got to be joking."
"Rest assured, he's not!" barked Hunter angrily from the kitchen. "And don't try arguing with him, kid, I just go a tongue-lashing myself. He's hell bent on sending you to a school so you can better yourself. There's not a point in you trying to argue."
It was a funny speech and both Shawn and I stared at him. He was angry at Shawn himself, but he didn't want me to argue with him. He didn't want me trying Shawn, was that it? Shouldn't he be trying to convince Shawn that it was a stupid idea? I didn't get it. I couldn't work out his feeling and his attitudes and it burned me.
But Shawn wanted to send me to school? I looked at him in amazement. "You're really serious?"
He nodded, though his teeth chewed on his lower lip. "Yes, I think I am. There's not use growing up in a world where you're uneducated, though you seem smart enough to me. And besides, I think you'd like something to do with your days, no?" He smiled at me and my heart almost broke.
He wanted to send me to school! Oh, how I had yearned for that! School had been always one of the things I had enjoyed. It was a haven from the fists and shouts of my foster homes and thought all the kids grumbled about how mean the teachers were, I knew how kindly they were in comparison to the darker people of the world. And the freedom! Oh, the freedom to talk, to snap, to do whatever I had wanted, knowing that while I was at the school, no one could touch me.
And the knowledge. How I missed that knowledge. I had been the teachers' pet at my school. Though I was resented for that, I had taken satisfaction and particular pride, something I didn't feel much at my home, when I found the correct answer. It wasn't easy to me, I had to work for it, but I enjoyed it. I enjoyed the literature most particularly. When the hands of my captors had rained upon me, I would nurse my bruises and my anger in the capable hands of a book. I had lost myself in the fiction of dragons, of fairies, and most often in the literature of olden periods. Shakespeare had called out to me most; I had spent more nights than I could count rereading the lives of Julius Caesar's assassinators. I loved to read, I loved it direly and I wanted to read more.
But I didn't tell Shawn that. Instead, I turned my eyes away from him, so he couldn't see the emotion on my face, and I replied in a voice that trembled, "I think I'd like that. I think I'd like that very much."
I kept my head down, so Shawn couldn't see my face, but I saw his hands go to the brace on my leg. I refused to look up. The emotion on my face was too clear. If I looked up, they would both see how badly I wanted this. And that could be a weakness, if they so chose to make it one.
"How's your leg?" he asked, totally off the subject.
Keeping my head down, I replied, in a voice that trembled slightly, "its okay. It's better than it was yesterday. I was going to try walking for real tomorrow without holding the wall."
"Shall we try two weeks from now, then?" he asked, gently, and I turned my face to him. He was looking at me with intense eyes, eyes that were predominantly compassion and pain. "You'll still need the brace, since the doctor said you'd need it for a couple of months, but you'll be able to walk. You'll need some physical therapy, though."
I didn't say anything.
Shawn sighed. "Chris, you don't have to do this if you don't want to. I just thought it might be a good idea." He paused. "Really, you don't have to-"
"I do!" I burst out, surprising myself. I saw Hunter's back straighten. "I really, really do! It's just . . . it's just . . ."
"It's just what?" Shawn pressed soothingly.
"It's just that it's like you've adopted me or something. It's like I'm really your kid." I regretted the words the moment they left my mouth and I lowered my head even further in embarrassment. If I could have run from the room, I would have. I didn't need their stares, their exclamations that I was indeed really their child and they loved me as much as so. If they did that, they'd turn around the next moment and hit me. I closed my eyes in pain. Why couldn't it all just leave?
__
*"Can you move?" Samantha asked me, her voice a tiny squeak.
I tried to smile at the little girl, tried to assure her that everything was alright, but it wasn't- oh God, it wasn't. They had never used the iron before, he had never used his belt like a whip. I hadn't even thought they would try to use the iron. I hadn't thought that their type.
Never underestimate those you cannot trust.
But at least I had saved Samantha from a beating. The bastard had tried to rape her. I had saved her, at least for now. When I recovered a little, I'd call the cops. I had tried to stand it for as long as I could. The beatings had been small at first, a backhand that sent me tumbling to the floor, but they had increased steadily. First it had been the belt across my neck and back. The bruises on my neck had stood out. And then, after weeks of the belt beatings, he had finally used the iron, the belt, and his fists. He had been going after Samantha when I had gotten home. She was screaming her lungs out, but did the shitty neighbors care? Or course they didn't.
I knocked him to the ground, ran upstairs, and tucked the little girl in a closet under a pile of clothes after enforcing her that she had to remain quiet, no matter what. Samantha was the brightest girl her age I had ever seen, but she was scared. She stayed quiet while I ran out of the room, down the hallway, and started to make it seem as though I was making for the window. I hoped his attention would be diverted from my foster sister, and it had. He had found me in his bathroom.
He hit me, over and over, until I was unconscious for a few minutes. When I came to, he had tied my hands over my head tightly with his belts and was sitting on my legs. In his hands he held the iron, blinking its red light. And then he had used it again and again. I had tried to stop the screams, but they had leaked out, and that enraged him. He slapped my head against the metal floor and I was gone.
Samantha had revived me and untied my hands. I lay on the floor, trying to breathe. I was burned badly in many different places, with too many bruises and hurt ribs to count.
"I can move," I whispered to the little girl. "Where is he?"
"He left," she said back, touching my burn gingerly, but her cool, small hand was a welcome. "Can you get up, Chris?"
"No," I said, coughing, wracking my body with pain. "Sam, I need you to run downstairs and get the phone. Are you sure he left?"
"I think so," she said in terror. "But I don't want to go, Chris. I'm scared."
"I need you to, Sam. I need to call the cops and get us out of here. You're a brave girl, Sam. You're the bravest I've ever seen. If he grabs you, yell for help." I knew it was weak. If he was downstairs waiting, it didn't matter. He'd grab Samantha, make her scream, and then I'd have to make my broken body move and rescue her. This time, he'd kill me, but I would save Samantha. We had to take the chance before I passed out again and left her to face his wrath when he returned.
"If he grabs you, yell and I'll come down. This time, run across the street to Mrs. Smiths' house and use her phone. Tell her he's beating me up and I need the cops. Can you do that for me, brave little girl?"
She smiled bravely and my heart ached for a youth corrupted so young. "Okay Chris. I can do that." And she ran downstairs. I counted to ten, let out my breath, and counted to ten again. If she was caught, I'd never forgive myself. I'd die damning myself.
But she returned and with the phone, I called the police. They came immediately, took me to the hospital, and Samantha went to the Child Protection Services. I never saw her again. The next month, I lay in the very same predicament, only this time, there was no one to help me but myself.*
__
"Chris?"
Shawn shook me from my revere.
"Samantha," I whispered.
"What?" asked Shawn in a confused voice. "Are you okay, Chris?"
"I'm fine!" I yelled suddenly, surprising myself. "I'm fine!"
I had frightened myself badly. How had I let the memory taken hold of me? I had shown my weakness in front of them and now they could use it. They knew I was weak. They knew I was helpless. And I had proven both the facts to myself as well.
"Chris?" Shawn asked again, gently, his eyes wide in concern.
"I'm fine," I said, closing my eyes in pain and turning away from them so they wouldn't see my face. "I'm fine. Just leave me alone."
Please, just leave me alone. Just let me deal with it.
"Chris, talk to me. What's wrong? Do you need a doctor?"
"No, Shawn, I don't!" I was yelling again, tears jamming behind my eyes. I swiped at them angrily, furious at myself for letting myself cry. "I'm fine! Just leave me alone, okay?"
"Chris," Shawn insisted. "There's something wrong."
"Why don't you just leave me alone?" I screamed at him, struggling to move from the couch. "Why can't you just leave me the fuck alone?" The tears were falling from my face now, falling faster than I could wipe them up.
How could they care so much? How could they throw their hearts into me? Hunter had, even though he adamantly refused it. Why else would he be sticking around? How could they?
"Chris, what's wrong? Chris!"
He grabbed my shoulders and spun me around to face him. I lowered my head and thrashed with my arms. "Leave me alone? Can't you leave me alone?" I was struggling, but his arms held me tightly and I was unable to move. My voice was high, falling as fast as my tears were. I was crying, sobbing, shaking in his arms.
"Chris? What's wrong, buddy? Please tell me."
His voice was gentle.
He couldn't be gentle. He'd hit me the next moment. I cringed thinking about it. He couldn't care. Nobody was capable of caring.
I heard Hunter's footsteps. NO! Not Hunter too! They'd both see how desperately weak I was. They were both seeing it now. No, they couldn't! They'd hit me the next second!
I continued thrashing, but now I felt Hunter's hand on my middle, holding me gently too. I felt their stares and then Hunter's soft voice, "its okay, kid. We've got you."
I went slack.
Why? Oh why, oh why were they doing this to me?
My tears fell faster, dropped onto my pants, and then Hunter's arms were around me, hugging me to his chest.
What was he doing?
I sobbed into his shirt, not knowing why, not caring. I felt safe in his arms. I wanted that safeness. I craved it. It didn't matter if the next moment he spun me away and started to hit me. It didn't matter. I was safe now, safe in somebody's arms, when I hadn't been safe in my entire life. I was sobbing and I was ashamed and they were seeing my weakness and I was going to be hit the next second, but I was safe.
Slowly I stopped. I stopped shaking and went limp in Hunter's arms. He was cradling me, holding my head. My breath came out shallow.
"Chris," Shawn said behind me, his hand touching my back. I flinched away, but Hunter's hands held me steady. "Chris, please. Talk to us. Tell us what's wrong."
It was another minute before I allowed myself to speak and when I did, my voice was raw and muffled against Hunter's chest. "You care about me. You really care. And I don't know why."
The words that tore from my lips tore more painfully than I could have imagined. I felt more liquid heat at the corners of my eyes but I clamped them shut hard and trembled in Hunter's arms. I could feel them looking at each other, pondering what to do. I had shown them my weakness. Would they capitalize on it now?
Hunter's hand on my back moved away and I burrowed deeper into his chest, preparing myself for the strike I knew was coming. I heard the soft whistle of air as his hand came back down . . .
He started to rub my back.
And that was enough to send my tears off again.