The ring wouldn't come off.
Amy was thirty pounds too heavy, and eight months too pregnant, for the ring to come loose, but she'd pulled at it until her knuckle bled, fingers slick with soap. What a cheapskate. What a con man. Probably wasn't even a real diamond. Belly swollen and back hurting, Amy bent over her bleeding hand and cried, chair creaking beneath her at the cheap kitchen table, bills piled in one corner, empty take out boxes in the other. Soap slicking the middle.
She was alone in the ugly apartment. Alone and alone and alone. He'd taken her mother's earrings, and all of her credit cards.
He'd left the bills and the television and the baby with her.
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"EWW! God. No! No Todd!" She winced, picking the baby up off the ground and sticking her fingers in his mouth. Todd twisted, and squirmed, and tried to swallow, but she caught it between two fingers, pulling the cockroach out by its head, its hard body squirming in the dark confines. Amy made a face, looking around quickly for a place to put the cockroach, but that ugly green strip of a tongue lashed out and around her fingers, sliding down her knuckles towards the squirming insect. Amy froze, mouth open, sickened, as the baby's tongue slid down and around, tugging weakly at the insect's abdomen.
Amy shrieked and threw the cockroach, putting the baby down QUICKLY on the dirty couch and running to the bathroom to gag. Todd, old enough to crawl and old enough to babble, began to cry.
The cockroach righted itself, and scattered beneath the refrigerator.
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This made twelve men. Twelve that Todd knew of. Four she'd admit to.
They came at night, on her days off, when she'd sent Todd to bed; they came reeking of cigarettes and beer and hard labor. They'd talk for a while, they'd laugh and they'd drink, and then there would be noises, and Todd would pull the pillow over his head and press down over his ears and try to block it out. Sometimes it would work.
Sometimes, when Todd got up for school the next morning, they'd still be there, eating breakfast or watching television in their underwear, spending a night away from their wives or girlfriends, grunting at him as he got ready for school.
Usually, they were gone by the time he came home.
Sometimes they weren't.
Sometimes they were still there when his mother left for work at night, weekend leftovers that hadn't moved from the couch, sending Todd to fetch beer, to fetch food from the fridge, to microwave some waffles and bring them in. And some of them were there when bedtime came, still parked, still present, still drinking. These men became 'uncle'. Uncle Carl. Uncle Steve. Uncle Rich. And they'd sit, unemployed and immobile, drinking beer and smoking cigarettes on the filthy couch, dominating the television.
And then one day, a month later, Todd would come home and they'd be gone.
The process repeated.
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"Come on, frog boy, show us!"
"No!"
Todd twisted, writhed, tried to get out from Ryan Berghoff's grip behind him, the boy's arms twisting up beneath his armpits, holding him. Danny Hopewell leaned into his face, Tom, Adam, and Nick behind him, grinning.
"Come on. I saw you catching flies out at the bus stop, stick it out for us, freako." His hand, his hand which had broken Todd's nose last February, grabbed Todd by the jaw and tried to force his mouth open.
Todd lunged, and bit him.
Danny howled. "Fucking—! Little cocksucker bit me!" he cradled his hand to his chest, shocked as much as hurt. His eyes flashed up, furious.
The punch caught him in the diaphragm, forcing Todd's breath out with a wuff, doubling him over in Ryan's arms. Ryan jerked back and forced his straight, giving Danny a clean shot at Todd's face. Todd wheezed, pulled a leg up, and kicked Danny Hopewell in the stomach.
Danny stumbled back, eyes bulging, face falling towards his knees with a ragged sound of air escaping. The rest of the posse started shouting, Kill him, Danny! Kick his ass!
Danny, still doubled, gave a short, wet gasp. He started coughing.
The asphalt spattered with spots of red, red blood.
A sudden silence as Danny fell backwards onto his ass, trying to cough, arms wrapping around his middle as blood splattered around his mouth, onto the legs of his jeans.
"Oh fuck….Danny?" Ryan said, loosening his grip on Todd in shock. Todd twisted away, grabbing his backpack from where they'd knocked it to the ground, and bolted. No one chased after him.
Danny slumped over onto his side, wheezing, hacking.
Blood.
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She'd looked so old today.
So many nights drinking, so many nights with cigarettes stuck between her fingers, staring out at the television screen, exhausted. So many nights with strange men, they paraded through like an assembly line, all identical, all interchangeable.
She looked so old.
Todd could see it in the lines of her face, deep, lonely crevasses made of too many nights alone, too many nights working at the diner, too many years spent watching him, feeding him, protecting him, caring for him while all the good men left her, chased off by her mutant son. Chased off by webbed, needy fingers, grasping hands, a mouth that needed fed, yellow eyes that watched them when they wanted to be alone.
She was too old to be so alone.
He knew she needed things, things Todd couldn't give her. The hundredth man, or maybe the thousandth, Todd had lost count ages ago. He was the only one to ever own a suit. The only one to come with no attachments, the only one to leave each morning and come back each night, the only one she went with in return.
They were on the sofa together, him in his nice polo shirt and pressed trousers, her sprawled half in his lap, her head on his knees, his hand combing gently through her mouse colored hair.
She'd said this one was different, Todd. This man was real, this man was for keeps.
'Uncle Steve' wanted to have children with her. New children. Fresh, bright, unruined children, children without the webs between their toes, children who called him Daddy.
He was in the way again.
He was keeping her alone, again.
"Todd?" his mother asked sleepily, glancing up from the television. "Where are you going? It's late."
"I'm going out, ma." Todd said quietly, shifting his backpack on his shoulders. He had three changes of clothes, his personals, and fifty dollars. Fourteen years in one bag.
"Well don't be gone too long." He mumbled. "You've got school tomorrow."
"I know, ma." He said, looking at her, the only mouth that had ever kissed him, the only arms that had ever held him. "I won't."
She settled back against Steve, watching the television, letting him pet her hair.
Todd left. And he didn't cry.