The Education of Sebastian & the Education of Caroline(297)

By the time I reached the park, my lungs were burning and my legs were giving out. I slumped down onto the first bench I found and sat there, shaking, as the adrenaline left my body.

Now what the fuck was I going to do?

I’d never hit the bastard before, although I’d wanted to, many times. I couldn’t go back there, he’d fucking crucify me. Maybe I could go to Ches’s? I knew Mitch and Shirley would take me in, but I also knew the bastard would come and drag me back. I didn’t want to involve my friends in my shit.

I really didn’t understand that part—the part where my dad would drag my ass back home: you’d have thought he’d be glad to see the back of me. Instead, it was some sort of family honor that I stayed, for fuck’s sake. No matter how fucked up we were, he painted this picture of a happy, fucking family. Sick fucker.

Ches’s family knew the truth. Others might guess, but nobody ever said anything. Real fucking closed ranks. There was a saying in the military: snitches get stitches and wind up in ditches. That was pretty damn close to the truth.

I stared down at my hands: they were still shaking.

What the fuck was I going to do now?

I jumped when somebody spoke my name.

“Sebastian?”

It was Caroline. Her hand hovered over her mouth when she saw me. I knew she was looking at my bruises and split lip. I probably looked like shit. I couldn’t face her. It was too hard to see her standing there, so shocked and upset.

“Oh, my God! Are you alright? What happened?”

I didn’t know how to answer that. What could I say? My father is a sadistic bastard. I love you.

I felt her soft hand on my face and jerked away. I didn’t want her to see me like this.

“Don’t look at me.”

“Did your father do this to you?”

I nodded slowly.

“Sebastian, let me see. I want to make sure you’re not hurt too badly.”

“I’m okay,” I mumbled. “I’ve been hurt worse than this.”

Which was true—but hitting him back had stirred up a load more shit than I knew how to deal with.

She touched my face, the tips of her fingers so gentle.

“Don’t cry, Sebastian. It’ll be okay.”

Had I been crying? I hadn’t realized.

She stood in front of me, forcing me to look at her.

“Come back to the house: I’ll fix you up and drive you home. Okay?”

It took a moment for her words to sink in. I didn’t know how she could help me, and I really didn’t want her driving me home, but it was soothing to hear her voice. So I followed her, my body and brain numb.

She kept talking in a low, quiet voice, as if she was trying to calm a wounded animal. I wanted to smile, but it caught behind my lips and my mouth refused to move.

When we got to her house, it was dark. I was glad her husband wasn’t there: I couldn’t face one of dad’s good ole buddies right now.

She opened the door, switching on lights as she drifted through the house, her footsteps as soft as dreams. When I saw she’d taken me into her kitchen, I managed to pull myself together enough to sit in the chair she pointed me towards.

A loud noise made me jump, and my head jerked up.

“Oh, sorry!” she said softly, picking cubes of ice out of a tray. She passed me a hand towel full of ice to hold to my cheek. It felt good. She was taking care of me: no one had ever really done that for me before. I liked it. A lot.

Before I realized what she was doing, she pulled the hood of my sweatshirt down and gasped. At first, I couldn’t figure out why. Then I remembered my dad shearing off chunks of my hair. From her reaction, it must look pretty bad. Not that I cared anymore. Not about that.

I closed my eyes.

“Your father?” she whispered.

I looked up for a second, meeting her beautiful, sad eyes. I nodded, and looked away.

“Because of the surfing?” she said, softly.

I nodded again.

“Because of me?”

There was a terrible sadness in her voice, and my eyes blinked open. She thought it was her fault? How could she think that? I had to try and explain.

“No, it would have happened anyway. I’d already planned to go out with Ches and Mitch today. It’s not your fault…”

She took a deep breath, and I looked away again.

“Do you want me to fix it for you?”

Fix it? What? My life? How could anyone fix that fucked up mess?

“Do you want me to turn it into a buzz cut?”

Oh. She was talking about my hair. What a fucking joke.

“Okay.”

She gestured for me to follow her, and led me upstairs, into her bathroom. She pushed out a chair for me to sit on, but it was facing the mirror. I didn’t want to see the mess the bastard had made of my face, and I couldn’t bear to see the pity in her eyes anymore.