He looked fucking crazy.
“School,” I said, looking anywhere but at him. He was hard to look at, this shell of a man who used to be something big, someone important. At least, that was what he told me.
I never saw him like that, but what do I know? I was only fifteen. Ignorant and stupid. Again, things he’d told me.
“Fucking liar,” he spat out. “Tell me the truth.”
“That’s where I was,” I insisted. “School. I had football practice.” I focused on sports and school so I wouldn’t have to come home. So I wouldn’t have to deal with him. Most of the time he could give a shit where I was or what I did. I couldn’t get why he was acting like this.
Foreboding crept over me, chilling my skin.
He wanted something from me. I didn’t know what.
“In the summer? ‘Football practice,’ ” he mimicked, his voice in this high whine that made him sound like he was imitating a girl. Or me with a girly voice. Asshole. “Thinking you’re a big stud, playing football and basketball and every other fucking sport out there? Trying to get all the girls with that ugly mug of yours?”
I clamped my mouth shut, saying nothing. What the hell did he know? If I said the wrong thing, he’d backhand me. He might’ve looked like a lazy sloth sprawled across his bed, but the man could move fast when he had to.
I should know. I’d been smacked out of nowhere before.
“I have a new girlfriend,” he said, completely changing the subject. “I want you to meet her.”
My gaze finally met his and I didn’t like what I saw. Amusement burned in his dark-as-the-devil eyes and his lips were curled in a shitty smile. “When?” I asked warily.
“Now,” he announced, and at that exact moment, the connecting bathroom door swung open and a woman wearing nothing but a black bra and panties strode out, stopping just in front of me with her hands on her hips.
I stared at her, noted the faint lines around her thin mouth, the hardness in her gaze, just like my dad’s. Her hair was an orangey blond and looked fried on the ends. Her skin was pale and ashy in color.
She looked dead.
“Hi.” Her voice was rough, like she’d smoked a million cigarettes already in her lifetime, and she probably had. I could smell the faint traces of smoke on her, a smell I recognized since I snuck more than a few cigarettes a day myself.
My one and only vice.
“I’m Sammy.” She stuck her hand out, her pink dagger-like nails pointed at me like a weapon. “You must be Willy.”
I glared at my dad, hating that fucking nickname so much I wanted to scream. “Will,” I corrected her, shaking her hand quickly before I let it go like it was covered in disease. It might’ve been. “Can I go now?” I asked Dad.
“No.” He smiled and patted the spot beside him on the mattress. “Come here, Cookie.”
He called all his girlfriends Cookie. I wondered if stupid Sammy realized that. By the little giggle she gave and the eager way she hopped over to the bed, I’d assumed that would be a no.
“You like my new Cookie, Willy?” he asked, squeezing her close and making her giggle even more. “Isn’t she sweet?”
No. I hated her. She looked like an old whore off the street. They all did. She was probably addicted to meth or crack or whatever the fuck they liked to do and he was feeding her habit. He liked meth and crack and all that other shit, too. Sometimes. Other times he’d clean up his act and look good. My dad was a great-looking guy when he took a shower, brushed his hair, shaved his face, and dressed like a normal human being.
But right now was not one of those times. He’d slipped and fallen into that dark mental pit of his. I could tell. I knew what he wanted me to do. He’d made me do it before, when I was younger and felt too weak and scared to protest.
No more. I was stronger now. Playing sports, getting my ass clobbered out on the field, out on the court, toughened me up. I could take his ass if I wanted to. We were the same height. I hoped I’d gain a few inches on the asshole. Then what would he do?
I wanted him scared of me like I was once scared of him.
“Sit in the chair over there, Willy.” He waved a hand at the worn, pale green chair that sat in the corner of his bedroom. The chair supposedly once belonged to my mother.
The only evidence that remained in our house proving she existed. There aren’t any photos of her. He’d torn them all, burned them. Destroyed them, destroying her and my memories of her completely.
“Don’t call me that,” I said through clenched teeth, hating the nickname. Hating the name in general. It was his name. Aaron William. William Aaron was mine. Fucking sucked, being his namesake, even though our names were swapped.
I planned on changing it someday. Giving myself a name that belonged only to me, never to him.
“Willy,” Sammy called, tilting her head back like she was howling at the moon. Dad laughed and rolled her over so she was on her back, his hand on her tit, his mouth on hers for a brief moment before he lifted up and stared at me.
“Get in the chair.”
“Fuck you,” I told him.
“Get. In. The. Chair,” he commanded, his voice low and threatening.
“Come on, Willy. He just wants you to watch. He told me you like to watch,” Sammy said, giggling when he pinched her nipple to shut her up. But she wouldn’t shut up. She started cackling like a witch and he squeezed her hard, rolling over on top of her, his hand on her mouth. She started to scream beneath his hand, the sound muffled, and I took my opportunity.