I walked over to the couch. he pulled out a computer chair and sat across from me. “Nah, I’m staying around here. I’m working full time while we’re on break, so there’s no point.” He lifted the cup and took a sip. “Why are you still here?”
“The drive home sucks, and my dad isn’t the best person to be around.” I exhaled and took another gulp.
“Care to share?”
I pointed to the liquor bottle and motioned for him to hand it over. “I need more of that if you want the ugly truth.” His gaze met mine and he raised one eyebrow. “Oh,” I said sarcastically. “Don’t think I forgot about your ugly truth. If I give you mine, I need yours.”
“I guess you can kiss that bottle good-bye then, because my ugly truth isn’t ugly. It’s horrifying.” His voice was laced with seriousness and my heart clenched.
I filled my cup to the brim and handed him the bottle. I took a few big gulps and let the rum burn my throat going down. “My dad is an asshole.” I shook my head, I couldn’t believe I was finally about to admit to someone how fucked up my life at home really was, but there was something about Nate. He made me feel safe. Or maybe it was the alcohol, but if I had to guess, it was him.
“When I was five, my mother was diagnosed with Eisenmenger syndrome, a rare heart disorder. All of my parents’ savings went to pay her hospital bills. Since she was in and out of the hospital a lot for treatment, she was let go from her job.” I paused, not knowing if I could continue. I closed my eyes for a brief second and looked up at Nate. In his gaze I saw compassion.
“My dad worked two jobs to cover our mortgage and we eventually had to downsize from my mother’s dream home. She felt it was all her fault because she couldn’t find work, and my father turned to women and liquor as a way to relieve his stress. It wasn’t until much later that I learned my mother turned a blind eye and ignored that my father had affairs with countless women. She felt he resented her because they’d wanted a big family and she had a hard time getting pregnant with me. After her heart ordeal, they simply stopped trying.”
With a shaky hand, I brought the cup to my lips and took another sip. “We had to downsize again when my father stopped paying the mortgage.” I swallowed back the knot in my throat. “He pissed away my college tuition that my grandparents left me. My mother now works three odd-jobs to keep up with the household bills, and they live in a tiny two-bedroom home in a shady area. Any extra cash she has she gives to him because she feels he saved her. My mother will never see that the man she loves is a monster.”
My eyes closed for a brief moment and I felt a lone tear drop from my face. His finger brushed away the moisture and I gasped. I opened my eyes and found Nate crouched down in front of me.
“I’m sorry.” He spoke for the first time. I nodded and he returned to his chair. We sat in silence as I gathered my emotions.
“You might need more liquor for my story.”
I scoffed and kicked up my legs onto the coffee table. “Lay it on me, Wright.”
He poured more into his glass and took a few gulps before he began to speak. “My dad left my mother when I was two.” Confused, I felt my eyebrows pinch together. “Shortly afterward, she began using drugs and sex to cope with him leaving her. That’s what the foster system told me, anyway.
“When I was six years old, I went to live with a family in Mississippi. It was there I met Julian. He was four at the time, and he was a tiny kid. The people we lived with had five foster kids, and they beat the living crap out of us any time they had a shitty day. The first time Roger, my foster dad, hit Julian, was the first time I began to fight back. I was big for my age, and older than Julian, and if Roger wanted to hit one of us, I wanted it to be me. Julian was new to the system. He didn’t know that the people who were asked to care for him were worthless souls. And when you have an innocent child crying on your shoulder, it does something to you. So I stood up for him. From that point on, I became Roger’s punching bag. We lived with them for two years, and eventually the beatings didn’t bother me. I learned not to do things to piss them off, and the other kids, including Julian, were on their best behavior most of the time.”
Nate held his head low, his hands wrapped around the plastic red cup. His gaze was locked on the floor. “When I was eight, Roger was working on his car while we all played in the yard. He called out for me and asked me to go to our neighbor’s house to get him a Phillip’s head screwdriver. The second I placed it in his hand, he clenched his hand shut and slammed it across my face.”