Falling into Us

She tilted her head at me, her frown deepening. “Why? What did you think? That I was ignoring you?” I just shrugged again, knowing it was stupid at that point. “Hey, what’s up? You seem like you’re in a bad mood. Is it me?”

  I slammed the locker closed and wrapped my hand around hers. “I’m fine. ”

  “Bullshit. ”

  I gaped at her. “Becca, it’s fine, really—”

  She stopped and pushed me against a locker, heedless of the crowds still exiting the building. “Jason. Talk. ”

  I felt her body against mine, her br**sts crushed between us and her hips against mine, and I knew I couldn’t lie to her. “I just had a hard weekend. Dad was really drunk, and he was watching war movies. He’s…it’s never good when he’s in that kind of mood. ” I was barely whispering. I’d rather do a billion down-ups than talk about that shit. “I’m fine. ”

  Becca’s eyes filled with anger and hurt. “Jason…god. I’m sorry. I—”

  I cut her off. “Listen, don’t make this your problem. It’s not. It’s just the shit I got handed. I can deal. I’m fine. Just don’t take it personally if I’m sometimes in a shitty mood, okay? Just…smile for me, and maybe kiss me, and I’ll be fine. ”

  Becca didn’t hesitate, not even a single heartbeat. She pressed her lips to mine and smiled, and the feel of her mouth curving against mine in a smiling kiss lifted the cloud from my head, the weight from my shoulders, lessened the pain in my ribs and the hurt in my heart. I kissed her back, lost myself in her. She let me slide my hands on her hips, pull her closer, kiss her harder, and the silence extended around us as the building emptied. I kissed her, and I thought of that incredible poem she wrote about ghosts kissing her, and I tried my damnedest to kiss her so she knew I was real, I wasn’t a ghost anymore. It may have been arrogant or self-centered, but I was convinced that poem was about me; she just didn’t know it when she wrote it.

  “All right, you two, knock it off. Don’t you have practice, Mr. Dorsey?” Mr. Hansen, the biology teacher, barked out as he passed, a handful of goggles hanging from his fingers. He didn’t slow down or wait to make sure we split apart, which we didn’t.

  Becca giggled and rested her forehead on my chest. “We just got busted for PDA. We’re that couple now, huh?”

  “Which couple?” I asked, thrilled that she thought of us as a couple.

  “The kind that makes out in the hallways and gets yelled at for it. ” She had her arms around my neck, and she brushed a finger along my lip where a faint cut was still visible.

  I bit her finger gently, and she laughed outright, then burrowed closer and kissed me again. “You’d better go,” she said when we pulled away once more. “I wouldn’t want to be a bad influence on you. ”

  I laughed, and marveled that she was able to lift my mood within minutes, with just a few words and couple kisses. “Yeah, I should go. Coach’ll be pissed if I’m late again. ”

  She pushed away from me, hiked the straps of her backpack higher up her shoulders. “I’ll call you. I’ll try to get out to see you tonight, if I can. ”

  Practice was a blur. I went hard, that much I knew. My body was on fire, it felt, lit by Becca’s kiss. I barely felt the tackles, barely felt the burn in my legs as I strained for the yards. I got home, made dinner, and ate mine as fast as I could, leaving some covered for Dad. Mom sat opposite me, eating with me, quiet as always. She was stick-thin, with lank, long blonde hair usually pulled back in a messy ponytail. I got my eyes from her, I realized, bright green, startling in their vividness. Hers were tired and vacant and somehow sad, though. I sat scarfing the chicken cacciatore I’d made, idly running through things I could do with Becca if she was able to see me, and then I remembered Becca’s questions about my mom, and it made me realize I knew nothing about her.

  I stopped eating and stared at my mom, wondering.

  “What?” Her voice was quiet, scratchy with disuse. “I got something on my face?” She wiped at her mouth.

  I shook my head. “I just…how’d you end up with Dad?”

  Mom’s fork stopped halfway to her mouth. “How’d I what?” She peered at me as if I’d sprouted horns. “Why?”

  I shrugged. “Just curious. Realized I never really knew. ”

  “What brought this on?” I shrugged again. Mom finished her bite, washed it down with iced tea. She leaned back in her chair and stared out the window. “He was a patient. He’d just come back from his first tour in Iraq. Even in civvies, he was every inch a soldier. Wore a ball cap, you know the one, the old white Tigers hat? He had that one on, and when he saw me, he took it off and held it in front of himself, standing at attention like I was a general or something. ”

  Her face changed in the grip of that memory, softening, livening. I realized then, for the first time, that she must have been pretty at some point. Odd.

  “He was handsome then. Tall, big muscles. Seemed nice. I didn’t know anything about war or what it’d be like when he came back. We dated for the two months he had between tours, and it got serious, I guess. I told him I’d write, told him I’d wait. I did. ” She shifted her glance down to her left hand, to the small diamond on a thin gold band. The softness and liveliness faded, and suddenly she was more the Mom I knew, tired, reserved. “Didn’t realize he’d turn into…what he is now. It was gradual, not all at once. Started with a burnt dinner here, a stupid question or a bad day or a bad dream. PTSD, only he never did anything about it, never got help. Just got mean. ”

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  I wasn’t sure what to say. “Did you love him?”

  “Did I love him?” She twisted the diamond around her finger, not looking at me. “Maybe. I don’t know. Hard to say, I guess. I mean, it wasn’t like in those romance movies. ” She glanced up at me then, a sly look on her face, the most direct emotion I’d seen in years. “You in love with a girl, Jason?”

  I pushed the bits of chicken around on my plate. “There’s a girl. Not sure if it’s love, but I like her a lot. ” I wasn’t sure why I was telling her this, where this was coming from.

  She was quiet for a while. “Well, just be careful, I guess. It can be tricky. ” She met my eyes. “Wish I could meet her, but I’d understand why you wouldn’t want to bring her around here. ”

  I looked away. “Yeah. That’s not a great idea. Dad wouldn’t understand. ”

  “She know? About your dad?”

  I shifted uncomfortably, wishing I was in my truck, away from all this, wishing I’d never opened this up. “Yeah. ”

  “She gonna tell?” Mom’s voice was soft, but sharp.

  I shook my head. “Probably not. ”

  Mom didn’t respond to that. She got up and cleared her plate, finished her tea and set the glass in the sink, then spoke while staring out the window over the sink. “I’m sorry you were born into this, Jason. You’re a good kid. ”

  I had no idea what to say.

  “Did you ever think about leaving?” The question popped out unbidden.

  Mom shook her head. “Wouldn’t do any good. You know how he is. Nowhere to go, anyway. I’ve never lived anywhere but here, wouldn’t know where to go, especially with a little boy to take care of. ” She flipped her ponytail back over her shoulder with a hand, glanced at me. “Now you’re almost grown. You’ll be gone soon, and all this will be a bad memory. ”

  “You’ll stay when I’m gone?”

  “Of course,” she said, as if it were obvious. “Don’t worry about me. Just…focus on your grades and your ball game. ”

  A secret dared its way up and out. “What if I didn’t want to play ball anymore?”

  She spun in place and stared at me in fear. “Don’t say that. Go to college. Play ball on a scholarship. Decide later. Don’t cross him now, Jason. Less than two years left now. ” The fear faded, replaced by curiosity. “What would you do instead?”

  I shrugged. “I like photography. ”

  “Really
?” She nodded. “Well, I wouldn’t tell your dad that. You know how he is. ”

  A phrase to explain away everything: You know how your dad is.

  Neither of us had heard him come in from the garage. “Don’t tell me what?” His voice was low and hard and slightly slurred. He’d stopped at the bar, then. I could hear the alcohol in his words, see it in the narrow glare of his eyes.

  I stood up as calmly as I could, hit the reheat button for the plate I’d set in the microwave, then cleared my place. I glanced at Mom, but she was gone, the door to her craft room closing with a snick that was loud in the silence. I hunted for something to say.

  “Oh, nothing. Just…I…a quiz, in biology. I got C. But it wasn’t worth much, so it won’t matter. ” It was a lie; I’d gotten an A on that quiz, but it was better than the alternative.

  He took a few steps toward me, and I forced myself to stay in place, lift my chin, and meet his gaze. I tried to convince myself that what I’d said was the truth so he’d see the belief in my eyes. I had my mother’s eyes, but I was all Dad physically, broad in the shoulder, close-cropped blond hair, deep-set eyes, brown where mine were green, but our builds were identical. I was shorter, stockier than Dad, broader through the chest, and my cheekbones were higher and sharper than his, courtesy of Mom’s quarter-Cherokee heritage.

  He stared down at me, standing several inches taller than me, six-two to my five-eleven. “Don’t you know any better than to lie to a cop, son?” Another step, this one for pure threat value. “And how am I?”

  I knew better than to answer. I kept mouth shut and stared up at him, scared shitless but unable to show it. I never failed to be afraid, at least at first, even after a lifetime of this. The microwave beeped in the background, three beeps in the tense silence.

  He struck hard and fast, knocked the breath from me with two lightning jabs to the kidneys. I took them, waited till he drew back for another, and struck back. I’d aimed for his jaw, but he dodged the wrong way and took it on the nose, which broke in a spray of blood. I’d never done that before, made him bleed. He stumbled back, wiping his nose in disbelief. I didn’t let him get his balance, though. I hit him again, getting his jaw this time, and then he was upright and I didn’t have a chance. He didn’t hold back this time.

  He cracked me on the jaw, hooked a right to my cheek, splitting it open, and then another right to my face, releasing a sluice of blood from my nose. I stumbled back against the counter, swiping at my face with my forearm. He came at me with a straight left, and I ducked under it, slugging him in the gut hard enough to double him over.

  I darted past him, snatched my keys off the counter, and ran out the back door. The screen slammed closed behind me, only to creak back open as Dad lurched after me. I made it to my truck, scrambled in, gunned the engine. Gravel sprayed as the back tires skidded sideways, pointing my hood at the road. I glanced in the rearview mirror, watching Dad’s figure diminish, one arm across his stomach, the other wiping at his nose.

  I caught myself in the process of the exact same action, right wrist bent down, back of my forearm sliding under my nose. Just like him. I swore under my breath, then cranked the radio and screamed, slamming my palms on the steering wheel. My chest grew sticky, my chin warm and thick with blood. I didn’t care. I wasn’t sure where I was going. I just drove. I shouldn’t have been surprised to find myself at the entrance to Becca’s sub.

  Can you get away right now? I sent the text before I could second-guess myself.

  Give me a few min I’ll try.

  I wiped at my chin, then saw my forearm was crusted with tacky blood and gave up. He didn’t often let himself hit my face, because that always raised questions. I wiggled my jaw, testing it for soreness. He’d gotten me good on the jaw, so it was sore, but thankfully not broken or anything. I’d never had a broken jaw, but I didn’t think it’d be fun, or real easy to explain.

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  I was staring out the window at the deepening evening dark, and didn’t see Becca approaching the passenger side. I started when she swung the door open and hopped in. I didn’t even stop to think how seeing me bloody would affect her until I turned to smile at her in welcome.

  “Jesus, Jason! What happened?” She was shoving the center console up and out of the way before I knew what was happening, and her fingers were gentle on my face, a Kleenex from somewhere dabbing at the cut on my cheek and the still-dripping blood from my nose.

  “Got in a fight with Dad. ” I shrugged, going for a nonchalance I didn’t feel.

  Becca’s eyes were watery. “God. You’re covered in blood. ” She probed at my nose, and I winced at the pang of pain. “I think your nose is broken. ”

  “I’ll be fine. ”

  She shook her head. “You for sure need s-s-ssss-stitches on your cheek. ” A tear dripped down her nose as she wiped at the blood with shaking fingers. “You need to go to Urgent Care. ”

  I couldn’t figure out why she was crying. All I knew was I hated it. “Don’t cry, Beck. Please. I’m okay. It looks worse than it is. ” That was bullshit, since I could still barely see straight from the pain.

  She shook her head, and the tears were dripping faster now. “You’re not fine. Don’t f-f-fucking lie to me, Jason. ”

  “Sorry. You’re right, it hurts like a bitch, but I can’t go to a hospital. They know me around here. They’ll ask questions. ”

  “Questions th-that should be an-an-an-answered. ” She was blinking when she stuttered, which I was starting to realize was a sign that she was intensely emotional. “It’s not right, J-J-Jason. You shouldn’t—”

  I pulled away from her touch. “I can’t. I won’t. I know you don’t understand, but I won’t tell. It’d be bad for me. For you. For Mom. For whoever I told. ” I dug deep and told the truth. “I’m too scared to tell, Becca. Please. Just let it go. I’ll be fine. ”

  She shook her head again, wiping at her eyes. “I can’t let it go. It hurts too bad to see you like this. ”

  I swore, a long string of florid curses. “I should’ve gone for a drive instead of coming here. I’m sorry I involved you in my bullshit. ”

  She grabbed my arm in a sharp-nailed grip; I stared down at her fingers digging into my bicep, each nail long and painted with a white strip of polish across the tip, some kind of fancy manicure. “Well, you did involve me. I’m involved now, and you can’t t-t-ttt-take it b-back. You’re my boyfriend, and I care about you. ”

  “What do you want me to do?” I spoke to the window, snapping at her irritably and unable to reel it back in. “I’m not telling. This is my life, and yeah, it f**king sucks ass. But it’s the hand I got dealt, and I only got till I graduate. Then I’m f**king gone. If you can’t accept that I’m not telling, then…I don’t know what. Then this won’t work. ’Cause I’m not gonna. ”

  “Why? I just don’t get it. ”

  “No, I know you don’t. You want the goddamned psychology for why I’m too f**king afraid of what my dad will do if I told someone again? I can’t give you that. I’m not as f**king smart as you, okay? I just know he scares me. A broken nose, some bruised ribs, a cut face here and there, I can deal with that. If I tell, what will happen? I’ll get taken by CPS and put in a foster home? From what I know, chances are that’ll be just as bad or worse. Then he’ll start in on Mom ’cause I won’t be there, and she won’t tell, either—she won’t leave. She could’ve left before I was born and she didn’t, because she’s a f**king coward, just like me. You don’t know him, Beck. What we deal with now is better than the alternative. He’d deny it, and he’s got credibility to burn. No one wants to cross Mike Dorsey. You want to know why I’m all bloody today? I fought back. That’s why. He hit me, and I hit back. It ends faster that way, usually. It’s never gotten this bad before, though. I guess because he wasn’t as drunk as he usually is when he goes after me. I don’t know. ”

  Silence, thick, hard, and for once uncom
fortable, rose between us.

  “I’m sorry, Jason,” Becca whispered.

  I knuckled my forehead. “Don’t apologize. I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m sorry I got you caught up in this. I’m sorry I yelled at you. You deserve better than this shit. Than me. ”

  “Drive. ”

  I glared at her in puzzlement. “What?”

  “Start driving, please. Anywhere. Just drive. ” She sounded mad, which I couldn’t figure out.

  So I drove. Far, and fast. For once the radio was off, and we were each lost in our thoughts, hers inscrutable, mine a whirl of guilt and shame and confusion and pain. At some point, I hit the freeway and kept driving as evening turned into night. Still, neither of us spoke.

  Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. “Why are you mad?”

  “Why should you deserve better than me? What’s wrong with me that you don’t trust me to know what I want?”

  That made my head spin. “What? How…?” I stared at her sideways, then returned my gaze to the highway. “How can you turn this back on you? I’ve got so much bullshit, Becca. You don’t need it. You’re smart, you’re beautiful, you’re talented—you can be anything you want. I’m just a jock with Daddy issues. You should be with someone who’s…I don’t know…who’s got less problems than me. ”

  She shook her head, which I realized wasn’t a denial, a no, but rather an expression of disbelief or inability to express what she was thinking. “See? That’s what I mean. If I want to be with you, then that’s my choice. It’s my choice to be your girlfriend, in spite of the fact that yeah, you’ve got problems at home that are hard for me to understand or deal with. ” She was speaking as if she’d scripted this out, sounding rote and monotone, but I knew she meant every word, that this was just how she dealt with strong emotions while struggling to speak fluently. “Who you are is who you are, because of what you go through. I like who you are. I want to help you. I want you to tell me things. I want you to trust me. ”

  “I wouldn’t have told you a damn thing about my life if I didn’t trust you,” I said.

  “I know. But now you need to trust me to deal with it. ”

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  “Then you need to stop pressuring me to tell someone, okay? I know it doesn’t make any sense. It seems like I should want to get away from him, or stop it, but that’s not how it works. I don’t like it, but…I don’t know. I just can’t, okay?”

  She nodded. “I hate it, and it goes against everything I believe in to let it happen. ”

  “You’re not letting anything happen. There’s nothing you can do to stop it. ”

  “There should be,” she whispered, vehement and frustrated.

  “But there’s not. ”

  Becca just shrugged, and we lapsed into silence. Then her phone rang. She pulled it out and glanced at the screen, and her face paled. “It’s Father. ”