Last Chapter: "Stop it Steven." Jackie ordered from across the room. I didn't want to stop. It felt good to hit her father.
Default: I don't own That 70's show or anything else said in this story.
I held my arm next to my side and looked at the man I was hitting. He was begging for me to stop. Begging. It made me think of a dog whining for food. I knew what I was doing was wrong and that I should stop, but I couldn't help but think what he would do if I ended his punishment right now. Jackie was standing near the wall watching me. Wyatt was watching me too. I was never quick to blame people, but when I was told Wyatt was abusing Jackie, I quickly believed it. Why? I didn't love her enough to believe every word she spoke. I probably would never believe every word she spoke, but maybe one day I would love her. I knew what we had right now was an infatuation that is being questioned, but maybe one day everything would be all right. One day.
I let go of Mr. Burkhart's shirt collar and took a step back. He kneeled there for a minute before standing up, looming over me. "Smart boy." He muttered walking past me. The brush of air created when he walked by was refreshing. I took my right hand and reached up to wipe my brow and realized I was sweating. It could have been a nervous sweat, an anxious sweat, or a tired sweat. It had to be one of them. The doors closed with a slight slam and a sigh was heard from Wyatt's direction. He chuckled and stood up from the chair. "Wow." His voice crackled and he coughed to clear his throat. I looked over at Jackie and noticed the gash on her forehead was considerably smaller then what I had made it out to be and the scratched on her arm were tiny and barely noticeable. That was comforting.
My feet wouldn't move as I heard Jackie and Wyatt shuffling around. He went to turn on the light and I got a good look of the room. It was a dark maroon color with brown leather couches and chairs. A broken mahogany table sat between two couches. Before it was broken, a set of nice glass coasters sat on top, accompanied with magazines of Golfer's Weekly. They now sat shattered and ripped on the ground in a heap. Pictures were hanging on the dark colored walls. They were of him and Mrs. Burkhart when they were younger. A picture of Jackie was positioned on a side table by the chair Wyatt was near. She looked to be around the age of 7 or 8. Her smile was captivating as she posed for the camera like a model. The model she still wanted to be.
Jackie walked over to me and took my hand. She led us me out of the room and down the stairs into the kitchen. I sat on a stool as she busied herself with the first aid kit located above the fridge. She took out a gauge and some tape, and then walked over to Wyatt, who was sitting next to me. Medicine was applied, followed by the gauge and the tape, which held them in place. She then did the same thing to her forehead, but used a large band-aid. I watched her treat herself and Wyatt like an expert and wondered if I could ever stop this from happening. I didn't mind taking care of her. Was this love? I think it's just my instinct to protect people who can't protect themselves. Of course this didn't meant Wyatt. He was probably just caught off guard or something and then kept getting knocked down. I felt like I wanted to protect Jackie. I really did.
We ended up sitting on the couch watching some television show I had never seen before. Wyatt had left to go home. He said it would be a while before Mr. Burkhart came home again. Jackie sat next to me with my arm around her. We hadn't talked since Wyatt left and I knew we had to talk about this. If she wasn't going to take the first initiative, then I was. "What happened?" I asked gently, not wanting to upset her. "He just came home drunk. I'm sorry you had to see that." She replied. I looked down at her and she looked back up at me. There were no smiles.
"I'm glad I showed up when I did. You could have been seriously hurt." I said with some feeling. It was an unwanted feeling in my voice that I coughed to cover up. "He never really hurts me, but I'm glad too." She whispered the last part. "Have you thought of some place where you could stay?" I asked. "What do you mean?" She looked confused. "Well, obviously it's not safe to stay here, so you must've thought of somewhere else to stay." It seemed so easy. "Not really." She said. We sat for a while in silence before an idea struck me. "Can I borrow your phone?" I asked not waiting for an answer. She watched me in awe as I dialed a number and stepped out of the room. I heard her get up and move to the kitchen. Then the ringing cut off my hearing.