Pop had been drinking again.

Jack and Coke.

“Come here, boy,” he sneered as he stood in the foyer, his hate-filled gaze locked directly on me. “Seems you and I have something to talk about.”

I didn’t move or speak.

The moment he’d stumbled through the door, the smell of stale cigarette smoke surrounding him, I’d known that tonight wouldn’t end well for me. Pop disliked me most of the time, but when he’d been drinking, he hated me.

Add in the fact that I’d gotten in trouble at school two days before and it was a recipe for a beating—one that would only leave me bruised if I was lucky. Bloody if I wasn’t.

Knowing I needed to leave, I looked from the front to the back door. The front door was the closest, but I’d have to get by Pop to reach it. The kitchen door was further away. I’d never make it. Even drunk, Pop was fast.

Fast and strong.

He’d catch me before I made it ten feet, much less twenty.

Still, I wasn’t going to lie down like a dog and take a beating.

“Pop.” I stepped back, the back of my sneakers hitting the bottom of the stairs. “I didn’t do anything, I swear. You know Mrs. Miller hates me. She’s always looking for a reason to send me to the principal’s office.”

Pop hissed out a curse. He wasn’t buying it. It didn’t matter what I did or didn’t do, he’d believe whatever my teacher said. Partly because he hated me and partly because, if I got in trouble, it gave him a reason to hurt me.

“Bullshit. You’re always causing problems. Here. At school. It doesn’t matter. You’ve never been anything but trouble, boy.” He looked me up and down, disdain written all over his features. “But that’s about to change. Don’t care what I gotta do, Hendrix. Hell, I’ll beat it out of you if I have to.”

Sweat beads formed on the back of my neck and down the length of my spine.

I have to get out of here.

Pop took a step forward, his hands fisted at his sides. “Ain’t no wonder your bitch of a mama bolted before you could even walk.” He took another step. “Even that worthless whore knew what a piece of shit you were. What a little fuck-up you were gonna grow up to be.”

His words were meant to hurt me, but they didn’t. Not anymore. I’d heard them almost every day for the past fourteen years. I’d become immune to them. Besides, I knew the truth. My mama didn’t leave because of me. She left because of him. She left because he was an abusive drunk who used his fists instead of his words to solve his problems.

I probably should have hated her too, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I didn’t hold leaving against her. The only reason I held any ill feelings towards her was because, when she ran, she didn’t take me with her. Instead, she left me, her ten-month-old baby, with the monster she was running from.

Even as a kid, I didn’t understand how she could do that.

When I had kids of my own, I’d never do something like that to them.

“Are you deaf, boy?” Pop inched closer, the gap between us closing quickly. “I told you to get over here. It wasn’t a request. When I tell you to do something, you need to do it.”

Hands shaking, I crept up the next step. The floorboard creaked under my weight and Pop heard it. He looked at my feet. Where I was standing, he saw that I was about to make my escape, and smiled. He liked it when I tried to run or when I fought back.

The psycho.

“See, that’s the problem with you, Hendrix. It doesn’t matter what I tell you to do, you never fucking listen.”

“I listen just fine!” My voice shook with anger.

I clenched my hands into fists. I was sick of this. Sick of him. I was tired of being his punching bag. I don’t know what made him hate me so much, but it couldn’t have been anything I’d done.

Pop stopped mid-step and shook his head before raising his hand and pointing a finger in my direction. “That right there, that’s part of the problem. That mouth of yours. Always running. Never know when to quit, do you?”

It was stupid, and it was juvenile, but I couldn’t help but fire back. “I do know when to quit, Pop. Unlike you!”

Pop raised his chin, his eyes filled with rage. “What’s that supposed to mean, boy?”

I straightened my spine. I wouldn’t back down. Not this time. I couldn’t take him one on one but that didn’t mean I had to put up with his crap.

I wasn’t a pussy.

I raised my chin. Defiant to the core. “Exactly what I said. You’re the one who doesn’t know when to quit fighting. Don’t know when to quit drinking.” I watched as Pop’s eyes blazed with fire and hatred, a dangerous combination. “You say it’s my fault Mama left, but it isn’t nobody’s fault but yours. She left because you’re a bastard. Nothing more. Nothing less.” I continued glaring at him as my feet moved my body up three more steps. “And one day, when I can survive on my own, I’ll leave you too.”

Just like that, I threw the gauntlet down.

Pop was only too happy to pick it back up.

He smiled a big, full tooth grin. It was scary. Sinister. And it was directed right at me. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. “That right?” His voice was lower than I’d ever heard it before.

I nodded. “Yeah. That’s right.” I felt brave. Grown. Proud.

And stupidly confident when I had no reason to be.

As a kid, I was a cocky little shit.

Silence blanketed the room as my ears filled with the pounding of my heart.

Chest heaving, Pop’s nostrils flared.

He was pissed. Pissed with a capital P.

My spine tingled as my fight or flight response kicked in. My mind screamed at me to run, to escape, before it was too late. In the back of my head I knew if I didn’t get out of there now, I may not be able to later.

Taking one last deep breath, I made a break for it by turning to run up the remaining stairs. My plan was to make it to the hall bathroom and lock the door behind me. With the door locked I would crawl out of the window and drop to the roof of the porch below. From there, I could use the lattice to climb the rest of the way down.

Wouldn’t be the first time I’d done it.

Once on the ground, my bike would be within feet. And my bike was the key to my escape. I could ride faster than I could run.

It was a good plan. The bathroom door was heavy. Secure. It would have taken Pop a minute to break it down. By then I’d be out the window.

A window that Pop was too big to fit through.

By the time he made it back down the stairs and out the front door, I’d be long gone. Wouldn’t come back either. Not until night had long fallen and Pop was blacked out drunk in his favorite recliner.

Three steps away from reaching the top of the stairs, Pop caught me.

Grabbing me by my shirt, Pop pulled me backward. I tried to grab ahold of the stair banister to keep from falling, but it was no use. Down I went, smacking right into him. The back of my skull collided with his rock-hard collarbone, and the collision dazed me, slowing my senses.

Gripping me by the shoulders, Pop turned me to the side and tossed me down the stairs. His cold laughter echoed throughout the house as I tumbled head over heels all the way down.

It sounded like every bone in my body snapped as my back met the cold, unforgiving wooden floor.

I felt my insides shift on impact and I lost the ability to breathe.

My chest felt like it was collapsing. Pressure radiated through my torso, and my empty lungs burned.

I couldn’t breathe.

Terrified, I rolled to my side and clawed at the ground. Tears sprung to my eyes as the panic began to set in.

Why couldn’t I breathe?

Honest to God, I felt like I was dying.

Then, as quickly as it began, the vacuum receded. Gasping and sputtering, I sucked in as much air as I possibly could.

Relief washed through me, but it was short-lived.

Within seconds Pop stood above me, his big body looming over my much smaller and battered one. Hands clutching the front of my shirt, he yanked me off the floor, and brought my face to within an inch of his. He was uncharacteristically calm as he pressed his nose to mine and whispered, “Ain’t got nothing to say now, do ya, boy?”

Looking back, I know I should have remained silent, but my mind and mouth weren’t in sync with one another. In pain, beyond pissed, and tired of Pop’s crap, I was going to tell the soulless bastard exactly what I thought of him. “Let go of me, you drunken piece of crap!”

Pop let go of my shirt, dropping me back to the floor. My back bounced off the hardwood for the second time, and a fresh wave of pain ricocheted through my limbs. “You’re dumber than I thought.” He pulled his arm back. Eyes wide, I didn’t have time to roll out of the way—even if I could’ve—before he swung.

His fist met my face, and his knuckles slammed into my cheek. Hard.

On impact my skin tore open.

Pulling his hand back again, Pop repeated the motion.

Then he did it again.

Over and over, he hit me.

Blood ran down my face.

My teeth rattled in my head and my vision flashed white.

The pressure in my head grew. I didn’t know how much more I could take.

With one final hit, the hardest of them all, Pop suddenly stopped.

Disoriented, I felt like my body was floating above the floor. I didn’t feel much pain… just numbness. Though I knew that would change within the next few minutes.

How long I lay on the floor, completely dazed and still, I don’t know. But eventually my brain began to work again and my sluggish senses returned.

My eyes darted around the room, only to find it empty.

At least… I thought it was empty.

I had no idea where Pop had gone, and that wasn’t good. If there’s one thing I’d learned over the years, it was that I needed to always keep him in my sights.

On the other hand, his being gone gave me the chance I needed to run.

To escape.

Adrenaline surged through my veins and I used my shaking arms to push myself up from the floor. My body swayed as I stood upright and took another look around the room.

That’s when I saw him.

Standing in the corner with his back against the wall and little droplets of my blood staining his shirt and hand, he looked at me. The anger and hatred from before was gone.

What is wrong with him?

I used the bottom of my shirt to wipe away some of the blood that was splattered across my skin.

“Learn your lesson?”

Every part of me that was still able to move screamed at me to fight back, to tell him to go straight to hell. But the small part of me that still had an ounce of common sense urged me not to. Instead, I nodded. “Yeah, Pop.”

The words tasted like acid on my tongue.

“Good.”

He pushed away from the wall, turned his back to me, and walked towards the living room. He seemed more lucid than before. Guess kicking my ass helped sober him up. “Go clean your face and straighten up your room. You got school tomorrow.”

Silently, I turned towards the downstairs bathroom. But Pop wasn’t finished yet. “Oh, and boy, if anybody asks what happened to your face, you know what to tell them.”

I did know what to tell them. I’d told various versions of the same lie hundreds of times.

Slipped down the stairs. Fell out of a tree. Crashed my dirt bike.

Messed up as it sounds, I never minded lying about it either. People asked too many questions, and tried to stick their noses where they didn’t belong. They thought that by doing so they could save me and solve all my problems.

But they couldn’t.

I just wished I didn’t have to lie to her.

“Yeah,” I clenched my hands into fists, “I know exactly what lie to tell.”

I started to walk off but Pop still wasn’t done talking. “That’s good, boy.” A can hissed as he cracked open the tab. “I suggest you not get in trouble at school tomorrow. If you do, we’re going to have more problems. Understand?”

I stepped into the bathroom, flicking on the light. Placing my hand on the doorknob, I bit back, “Yeah, Pop. Trust me, I understand completely.” There was no missing the disdain and hatred that dripped from my voice.

Shutting the door, I flicked the lock. I didn’t hear Pop cursing or stomping towards the door, so I figured I was safe, at least for now.

Face throbbing, I reached under the cabinet vanity and pulled out the first aid kit. One good thing about having a fireman for a dad was we always had plenty of first aid supplies on hand.

Gritting my teeth, I hesitantly looked in the mirror.

The reflection staring back at me made me cringe.

The right side of my face, red and angry, had already begun to swell. It looked like a crushed tomato. It was going to bruise like crazy come tomorrow.

Then there was the cut, the one I knew would be there. It was about two inches long, running across the top of my right cheek. I wasn’t even surprised at how deep it was. The moment I’d felt my skin tear wide open I knew it’d be bad.

I needed stitches but that was out of the question.

I’d just have to make do the best I could.

Cracking my neck, I flipped open the first aid kit with trembling fingers and set to work.

Peroxide. Neosporin. Gauze. Steri-Strips. Ibuprofen.

It only took five minutes to clean, sterilize, and mend the cut before popping a couple of pills. I’d done this same routine at least a couple dozen times. Short of being shot or having a bone snapped in half, I was confident I could fix any injury Pop gave me.

When I was finished cleaning myself up, I glanced in the mirror, eyeing the cut one more time. The Steri-Strips would work to hold it together, but it would leave a scar. Not that I cared. I wasn’t a chick. I didn’t care how I looked.

I closed the kit and tossed it back under the sink, not bothering to stack it neatly atop the rolls of extra toilet paper. It’s not like Pop gave a crap. We could live in squalor and he wouldn’t mind.

Turning around, I pressed my ear against the door and listened for any movement on the other side.

I heard nothing but silence.

After taking a deep breath, I unlatched the lock and opened the door.

The sound of the television in the adjoining living room, followed by Pop’s laughter, greeted my ears. Both sounds grated on my nerves. I wanted nothing more than to go in there and slam my fist into his face until his cheek resembled mine. But I knew I couldn’t. If I did, he’d only beat me worse. I was still too young, too small, too weak to take him.

But one day I wouldn’t be.

One day, I’d be able to fight back.

And when that day came, I swore on everything, I was going to beat the hell out of him. Then I’d walk out the front door and never look back.

Just like Mama had.

Without wasting any more time, I crept towards the back door. It was the furthest away from Pop and by using it he wouldn’t likely hear or see me leaving. Not that he’d care. Now that he’d given me a good beating he’d leave me alone for the rest of the night. Long as I stayed out of his way and didn’t disturb him, he wouldn’t give me a fleeting thought.

Reaching the back door, I twisted the brass knob, pulled open the door and slipped outside. My sensitive eyes were greeted by the setting sun. I ground my teeth together at the pain that splintered through my head when a ray of bright light bounced off one of my mama’s old wind chimes and nearly blinded me.

Ducking my head, I shut the door behind me, crossed over the back porch and bounded down the steps. My head pounded and the torn and swollen skin of my face throbbed with every step I took.

I was almost to the garage and to the freedom my bike could provide when a soft voice called out my name.

I stopped mid-stride, frozen to the spot.

“Hendrix.”

That voice. Her voice.

I’d recognize it anywhere.

Maddie Davis.

I turned around slowly, making sure to keep my left side facing her, and looked towards her yard. I knew exactly where she’d be.

And there she was, wearing a yellow sundress and sparkly white flip-flops. Her hair was pulled back in a loose braid and her cheeks were tinged pink. She was standing directly under the dogwood tree that bordered the fence separating her house from mine. It was our spot. The place we’d spent countless hours over the years. Talking. Playing cards. Me listening to her read. All under the safety of the dogwood.

It was also the same dogwood I used to sleep under as a young kid when Pop was in a drunken rage and I was too terrified to sleep in my bed. I can’t tell you how many times that’d happened over the years. Probably fifty. Maybe even a hundred.

My stomach flipped as I stared at Maddie.

Damn, she was pretty. Prettiest girl I’d ever seen.

Unlike some of the other boys at school, I never paid girls any attention. Didn’t see a reason to. But with Maddie it was different. There was something about her, something that made me notice everything. The way she braided her hair with ribbons, the clothes she wore, the foods she ate, and the colors she painted her nails… I noticed it all. And her freckles, the ones dotting her nose and cheeks, I had those memorized, knew the many patterns they created.

Blowing out a breath, I shoved my hands in my pockets. “Hey, Maddie.” I smiled at her. “What are you doing home? I thought you were going to church with your Grandmama.” Every Sunday morning and evening, Maddie spent time with her family at Kissler Baptist Church out on Highway 320. She was involved in the children’s choir and was a member of the church youth group.

Maddie was good. Pure. Innocent.

I wasn’t. At only fourteen, I wasn’t sure I had a whole lot of good left in me.

I’d seen too much hurt, experienced too much betrayal. Jaded and full of anger, I was the exact opposite of her. Still, despite our many differences, Maddie still cared about me.

I don’t know how she did it, but somehow, she’d found a way to see past the bad in me, and notice only the good. It was one of the many things I loved about her.

“I am, but I wanted to bring you something first.”

Just seeing her made the pain in my head lessen.

After sucking in a deep breath, I turned towards her. Ignoring her gasp of shock at the sight of my face, I headed her way. “What have you got for me, pretty girl?”

Maddie blushed.