Falling Into Us (24 page)

I choked, shaking my head. “I—fuck. How?”

She visibly withdrew into herself. “We were…arguing. A storm, crazy wind. It…blew a tree down. It was supposed to be me, but he…saved me. Pushed me out of the way. Saved me. It should have been me, but it’s him.”

Neither Becca nor I knew what to say to that.
 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Becca finally ventured.

Nell physically flinched, but she didn’t respond. I watched her nails claw into her palm, digging in so hard I was sure I’d see blood trickle down her hand.

We sat in horrible, heavy silence until it became clear Nell wasn’t going to say or do anything else.
 

“We’re here for you, Nell.
I’m
here for you. I love you.”
 

Nell’s teeth clamped down on her lower lip when Becca said those last three words, biting so hard her pink lip turned white.
 

Becca led me out of the room, leaving Nell in the same position she’d been in when we arrived, eyes open and staring into nothing, a white scrap of paper clutched in her hand.
 

Mrs. Hawthorne pulled us into the kitchen. “How is she?”

Becca shook her head. “She s-said, like, three sentences. I don’t know, Mrs. Hawthorne. I’m ww-worried about her. She’s nearly catatonic.”

“Maybe she just needs time.” Mrs. Hawthorne was staring out the kitchen window.

“Maybe,” Becca agreed, but an odd note in her voice told me she didn’t exactly agree, although Mrs. Hawthorne didn’t seem to catch it.

“The funeral is Wednesday.” People were coming and going, bringing in dishes of food. I saw Mr. and Mrs. Calloway sitting on the couch, his arm around her thin, trembling shoulders. Mr. Hawthorne sat on the couch next to Mr. Calloway, offering a stony, stoic silence as comfort.
 

Becca took me home and slid into my bed next to me. I’d never been in my room with her before. We never came here because I knew my dad would be a dick and make a scene, and I didn’t want Becca to have see that. In this moment, though, I couldn’t summon the energy to care about my father. I just knew I needed her beside me.

I wasn’t sure how long we lay there in silence, Becca’s arm curled around my chest, her face pressed to my back. I felt wetness seeping into my thin cotton T-shirt, but she never made a sound.
 

My door banged open, slamming violently into the wall. “Who’s fucking foreign piece of shit car is parked in my goddamn spot?” He filled the doorway, huge, wild-eyed, not swaying but clearly intoxicated.

Becca shrank behind me. “It’s mine, Mr. Dorsey. I’m sorry. I’ll move it.”

“Fuckin’ right you’ll move it,” he snarled. “Get your car out, and stay out.”

“She’s not going anywhere,” I said, not looking at my dad. “Neither is her car.”

“Why the hell is she in your bed, boy? Don’t you know any better?”

“Kyle Calloway died.” I said it, and it broke me.
 

A tear fell from my eye, just one, and I couldn’t stop.

“Are you fucking
crying
?”

Becca rose to a sitting position behind me. “Kyle was his b-best
friend
, you know. His best friend is
dead
.” Her voice was hard and quiet, but I heard the tremor of fear. She was terrified of my dad, for good reason. “Give him a break.”

“Wasn’t talking to you, girl.” I saw the derisive curl of his lip as he glared at her, and it pissed me off.
 

Normally, I’d have been up in his face about it, but I didn’t want Becca to see us fight. “Please just leave us alone, Dad. Don’t do this. Not today.” I’d never, ever asked him for anything before.

“Shut the fuck up, boy. Don’t tell me what to do in my own home.” He took a step toward me, and I was instantly on my feet, fists curled, ready. He stopped, though, and gave me a long, hard look. “You know how many friends I lost? How many buddies I watched die? You think I ever fuckin’ cried like a pussy about it? I don’t think so. People die, and it fuckin’ sucks. Man up and deal with it.”

“This wasn’t a war. I’m not a soldier. I’m not you. I’m allowed to be upset about my best friend getting killed. I’ve known him since fucking
kinder
garten. So how about you just shut the fuck up and leave me alone.”
 

I heard Becca’s harsh, terrified breathing. If she didn’t have to go past my asshole old man, I’d tell her to go.
 

“I ain’t leavin’ till she does.”

I stepped closer to him, staring up at him, fearless and ready to snap. “I don’t want to do this in front of my girlfriend, but I will. Fucking
leave
. Just leave my room. That’s all I’m asking.”

His nostrils flared. “Yeah, you don’t want your little friend seeing you get your ass beat, that’s what.”

“Why are you s-s-such a bastard?” This was Becca, and my dad and I both stopped and stared at her. “What have I ever done to you, except love your son? Do you know how many times I’ve fixed up his bleeding face after you beat him up? What is your p-problem? Wh-why do you hate your oh-own son so-so m-much?”

My dad gave me an incredulous look. “You’re actually dating this stuttering Ay-rab bitch?”

Becca hiccuped in shock, and then sobbed when I hit him. I saw white, blinding rage. He didn’t have a chance. He got some hard knocks in, but I was unstoppable. I hit him, and I hit him, and I hit him until he stopped moving, and then I kept hitting him. I felt a hand on my arm pulling at me.

“Jason, stop! Stop!” She was hysterical, nearly unintelligible. “P-please! Please just
stop
!” She screamed the last word in my ear, and it finally broke through the wall of rage.
 

I came back to myself, shaking, feeling wetness covering me. Warm, sticky wetness. My hands were coated in blood. I was sitting on Dad’s chest, his face a wreck. I felt blood sluicing down my face, felt my jaw aching, my ribs protesting, bruised. Becca pulled me away, choking on sobs.

I lunged to my feet, grabbed her by the shoulders, and pushed her out of my room. “I’m sorry you saw that. I’m so sorry I let you come here.” As I spoke, a glob of bloody saliva dripped out of my mouth, and I spat it onto the carpet, beyond caring. “I’m so, so sorry, Becca. You need to go. I have to deal with this.”

“I’m not leaving you, Jason.” She jerked out of my grip and spun around to face me. “What are you going to do?”
   

“Call an ambulance.”
 

“Won’t they ask questions?”

I shook my head. “They know better. This won’t be the first time.”

She didn’t get it. “But…don’t they
have
to report domestic violence?”

“Report it to who?” I gestured at the badge on the table, the formal picture of my father in his captain’s uniform. “He
is
the police. He can have the report buried. Besides, I’d be the one arrested in this case, which would lead to questions neither of us want answered.”

“But, Jason—”

“NO!” I hated that I was yelling at her. I forced myself into calm. “I’m sorry, but no. There’s nothing to do. I’m leaving today anyway. I’m done with his bullshit.”

“Where will you l-live?”

“I don’t fucking
know
, Becca! My truck? A hotel? I don’t fucking know. I don’t care right now. I just can’t stay here another day.”

She nodded her understanding, knowing I just wanted her to drop it. “Let me get you cleaned up.” She turned away and ripped the hand towel angrily from where it hung off the microwave door handle.
 

She dabbed it gently on my lip, wiping away the blood, folding it and wiping again, then wetting it under the faucet and scrubbing at my chin. She hiccuped, sniffed, blinked hard, and licked the tear away from the corner of her mouth. I sighed, angry with myself for losing it at her.

I wiped at her face with my thumb, and she flinched away. “Beck, I’m sorry. I know you don’t get it. I
should
report this. But if I was going to, I would have, should have, years ago. It’s too late now. I’m eighteen, I’m legally an adult, and I’m moving out. I’ll never see him again after today. You’ll never have to see this again, okay?” She nodded, but didn’t answer, scrubbing at the blood crusting on my cheek. “Talk to me, please.”

I tried to wipe a tear away again, and she flinched. As if…as if afraid of me now. “And s-say what? I was so scared. For you.
Of
you. You weren’t…you w-weren’t
you
. You were…so violent. You were hitting him and he wasn’t fighting back, and you were still fighting him. It was so-so terrifying.”

“You heard what he said.”

She shook her head. “He can say what he wants about me. He’s a monster, and I don’t care what he thinks of me.”

“I won’t let him talk about you like that. He’s got no right. The last time you saw me like this? He’d said something just like that.”

The first thing Dad did every day when he came in from work was click on the radio, tuned to 99.5 FM, the country radio station. “Please Remember Me” by Tim McGraw was playing, and I was reminded all over again that Kyle was dead. I’d almost managed to forget for a moment.

It hit me in the gut harder than my father’s fist ever had. Kyle was dead.

I collapsed onto my hands and knees, sobbing. I’d never cried, not ever. Not since I was a baby, not for anything. I couldn’t have stopped it, even if I’d tried. I don’t know how long I cried, but I felt Becca beside me, still with me, touching my shoulder, letting me cry.
 

I heard a wet, choked coughing from my bedroom, forced myself to my feet. “Shit, he’s gonna choke on his own blood.” I stumbled into my room and shoved my father onto his stomach, and he sputtered, vomited, and coughed again. I dragged him away from the mess and left him on the floor, half in my room, half in the hallway. I noticed shattered picture frames, broken trophies, my desk cracked in half. I had no memory of the fight itself, and I hadn’t realized how bad it must have been. There was a huge hole in the drywall next to the door, another in the wall kitty-corner. My desk chair was tipped on its side, one of the casters snapped off.
 

“Jesus,” I whispered. I turned to glance over my shoulder at Becca, who was standing in the hall, staring down at Dad’s bleeding form. “I didn’t know it had gotten this bad.”

“I thought you were going to k-kill each other.” Her voice was tiny. “Should you do something for him?”

I glanced at him, moaning now. “Fuck him. Let him bleed. He’ll live.” Becca stared at me like she didn’t know me. “You know how many times he’s left me on the floor just like that? Let me pack some shit, and we’ll go. I’ll call someone when we leave.”

She just stood there, watching me pack. I stuffed clothes into an empty football gear bag, as much as would fit. I stuffed my laptop, charger cords for that and my phone, my prized leather jacket, and a football into the bag. I tossed a few toiletries into a gallon-size Ziploc bag, then dug my stash of cash out from under my mattress. Everything else I left. Books, trophies, my football card collection from grade school, posters of Jerry Rice and Barry Sanders and OJ Simpson and Emmett Smith, everything. None of it mattered. My camera was in my truck, and Becca was waiting for me. That was all that mattered.

I slung the bag onto my shoulder and stepped over my dad. He stirred and then rolled to his back, groaned, and sat up as I stood at the front door, about to leave. He wiped his face, peering blearily at me.
 

“I’m leaving,” I said, not looking at him. He just nodded, not answering. “I’m not coming back.”

He spat blood. “Fine.”

“You need an ambulance?”

“No. Fuck you.” He struggled to his feet, clutching the doorframe for balance, wiping at his mouth with his arm.
 

“Yeah, fuck you, too.” I slammed the door behind me.
 

Becca was standing on the sidewalk, waiting for me. “Aren’t you going to call an ambulance?”

I spat blood into the grass. “No. He doesn’t want one.”

“But does he need one?”

I shrugged. “Fuck if I care. That’s his problem.”

Becca opened her car door but didn’t get in. “He’s your father. What if he bleeds to death?”

“He won’t. He was on his feet when I left.” I probed my swollen lip and a loose tooth with my tongue.
 

She closed the door and stood behind me as I tossed my bag into the bed of my truck and bungeed it in place. “I don’t understand how you two can be so blasé about this. You’re hurt. He’s hurt. You both need medial attention.”

I whirled in place. “Two things,” I said, my voice calm, but my eyes blazing. “One, don’t
ever
lump me in with that fucking bastard piece of shit useless goddamn waste of humanity. I’m
not like him
. And two, I’ve been hurt far worse than this. I was hurt worse than this when I
 
broke the state record for most receptions in a single game. I don’t need your goddamn concern.”

She cringed. “I’m—I’m sorry, Jason. I just—I—I—” The worry and fear and sadness and exhaustion in her eyes threatened to break me all over again.

I slumped forward, my hands on my knees, doubled over, sick with myself. “Fuck, Becca. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s come over me. I shouldn’t have talked to you like that. You don’t need to know that shit.” I straightened, disgusted with myself. “God, Becca. I’m such an asshole. You deserve better than this. Better than me.”

I turned away from her, fidgeting with already taut bungee cords, just for something to do other than look at the stricken expression on her face. “Just go home, Beck. Find someone else, someone worthy of being with you.”

“You’re…breaking up with me? Just like that?” She whispered it, her voice broken. “I…don’t want to find someone more
worthy
. I want you. I want you to love me. I want you to let me worry about you.”
 

“I’m not—god. I’m not breaking up with you. I’m setting you free of my bullshit. You don’t have to be with me. I don’t—I don’t deserve you. I yelled at you. You could have gotten hurt in there.” I pointed at the house, choking on the hot lump in my throat, terrified of her doing exactly what I was telling her she should do. “I let that happen. What if…what if I turn into him? What if I
am
like him?” I whispered the last, finally admitting out loud the deepest, darkest fear inside me, the terror that kept me awake at nights, that gave me nightmares. I shook my head, finally looking at her. “Becca, I love you. But you shouldn’t be with someone you’re afraid of.”