Chapter Twenty-Five
Aiden
We stop to gas up and get snacks.
“We should make it through Phoenix tonight,” I say.
Emma’s using the squeegee to wipe the dead bugs off the windshield. She has to run around to the other side because she can’t reach all the way. I put the coffees on the hood and take the brush from her.
“I’ll finish up, Cooper.”
She takes a sip of her coffee. “Oh my God, this is so good.”
It’s just gas station coffee, but I agree with her. We’ve both been craving caffeine since we hit the Arizona border.
“Yeah, it is.” I pull out the pack of peanuts I bought and throw it to her. “We’ll stop for dinner in about an hour, sound good?”
She nods, coming over to my side of the car. She opens the package and aims a peanut at me. I open my mouth and catch it.
“I wish I could cook for you.”
“You want to cook for me?”
“We’ve been eating out so much.”
“It’s unavoidable. We’re on a road trip after all.”
“I know, but I’d love to make you something.” She stands on her tiptoes to kiss me.
“You like to cook, Cooper?”
“Sometimes.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I gesture to the highway. “We should get going.”
“Can I drive for a while? You’ve been driving this whole way.”
“I’m not comfortable with someone else driving.”
“I’m a good driver, Aiden.”
“I’m sure you are. The thing is, I’m not a very good passenger.”
“Okay,” she says, turning away.
This is such a small thing, but I’ve always had a hard time not being in control of every situation. I grab her arm before she heads to the passenger side. “I’ll try it, though. You can drive.”
I put the keys on her hand.
While Emma’s driving, I look up a place with a kitchenette, make reservations, and tell her where it is.
She acts as if I’ve booked us in a five-star hotel when the reality is it’s the cheapest place we’ve stayed. James Taylor sings “Something in the Way She Moves.” I’ve heard it a ton of times, but I actually understand it now. Emma hums along. The smooth black road rushes under us.
“Go to sleep, Aiden. I’ll get us there.”
As if I can sleep with someone else driving.
…
It’s been a few years since Amy left Harlan…and me. Harlan went and got himself a dog. She’s a German shepherd mix with dark brown hair interspersed with black spots. I hate her. It’s my responsibility to make sure she’s fed and walked. If she tears up his shoes, it comes out of my backside. If she barks at night, I get barked at. And worse, if she shits in the house, he rubs my nose in it.
Not that he’s nice to her, either. He named her “Bitch” like it’s her real name. I can’t exactly say, “Bitch, heel,” in the middle of the sidewalk when I’m walking her. I would get odd looks, and I already get enough of those. I name her Sassy. Because she’s smart in a way. Whenever Harlan beats her, she doesn’t fight back or growl or anything stupid, but she does hold her head up. I admire that about her. For the most part, Harlan ignores me unless I do something to make him angry, or Sassy does.
Even though I hate Sassy, she seems to like me. Whenever I come home from school, she rushes to greet me, jumping on me, setting her paws on my chest until I pet her. Harlan makes her sleep outside, and it’s been very cold lately. On especially cold nights, I sneak her into the house and she sleeps with me. I find myself talking to her during our walks, telling her how much I hate life. Sometimes I cut myself. It gives me a sense of control like I’m in charge of my own pain. Ridiculous.
I’m sitting in bed, reading my books on mythology, when Harlan comes home. The door slams tonight. That’s never a good sign.
He’s at my door before I can hide.
“What the fuck, you little bastard! Mr. Arnold called me today.”
He saw my cuts. But worse, he saw the burns. The burns can’t be explained.
“I…I don’t know why he did that,” I stammer.
“Did you tell him I beat you, you little shit?”
“No,” I insist.
I didn’t. I swear I didn’t. Not that Mr. Arnold isn’t right.
Harlan grabs my T-shirt and lifts me off the bed. I close my eyes, getting ready for the inevitable. I’m so skinny he can wave me around like a rag doll. I think about crying and pleading, but I know those things never work. My weakness fuels him.
“You like to cut yourself? Let me show you what a real cut feels like.”
I feel the gash on my arm. His knife is sharp, the incision a tiny line at first until it seeps blood. The pain is numbing, though. I feel light-headed as the warm stickiness of blood oozes down my arm. The way he holds the knife I know he isn’t done with me. I’m going to die tonight. I’ll drown in my own blood.
Harlan screams in pain. “What the fuck!”
Sassy stands between us, a low growl in her throat. Harlan’s on the floor. His hand is bleeding from her bite. The blade of his knife glints on the carpet. The tip of it is stained red.
The dog walks between us, never taking her eyes from him. I have no idea what Harlan sees in her eyes, but it must scare him because he mutters a few more obscenities about how I’m not worth it and backs out of the room.
My feet are unsteady. I barely make it to the bathroom, and when I finally do, I throw up. Sassy still waits at the door, keeping guard on me. I find some rubbing alcohol and a few butterfly bandages. The alcohol burns my skin, and I bite down on a rag to keep from crying. I don’t want to remind Harlan I still exist. I contemplate finding another knife and finishing what he started. I sit on the floor, studying the way the tiles interconnect, counting them. Counting always helps me calm down.
That’s when she comes toward me.
Sassy.
I pet her. “Thank you, girl.”
She lays her head on my lap.
I’m not sure if it’s her voice or my own telling me not to do it, but it gets me through the night. When I wake up in the morning, still on the tile floor, she is there with me.
I didn’t think Harlan would keep her after that, but he does. She becomes my dog now. She gets me through many nights for many years, until I finally find the courage to tell Mr. Arnold the truth. Mr. Arnold is the gym teacher for all the schools in Linx, so he has stayed with me over the years. He never makes me run when I tell him I feel sick, which is a lot of the time. He doesn’t yell at me when I can’t climb the rope or swim laps like the other boys. It takes me a long time to trust him.
One day, I notice the drop of blood on the brown carpet in my bedroom. The stain has been there for years, but seeing it this morning does something to me. I tell Mr. Arnold the truth.
Too bad I overestimate Mr. Arnold and way underestimate Harlan.
I get called down to the principal’s office. I almost run when I see Harlan there in full uniform. But it’s the look on his face I’ve never seen before. He looks ashamed.
“You said I wouldn’t have to face him,” I stammer at Mr. Arnold.
“I’m sorry, son. This wasn’t my idea. The principal called him.” Mr. Arnold is clearly pissed. But he’s also tame. He won’t fight for me. He’ll tell someone, but he won’t go against the grain. And in Linx, there is plenty of grain.
Principal George Blake was Harlan’s science teacher. They play poker together. George is old as hell. He keeps a bottle of scotch in his side drawer. On his desk calendar, he writes a number every day in thick black marker—the days until a retirement that should have happened years ago.
He and Harlan exchange pleasantries as if this is a social call. Everyone in this town is connected. I fucking hate it. They talk about George’s grandchildren for a long time. Harlan has always had this ability to put people at ease, whereas I make them uncomfortable.
I take a seat, swallowing down the bile threatening to spill out of me.
“George, you know I would never harm my son. What kind of man do you think I am?” I have to hand it to Harlan. He sure can act.
“I don’t doubt that, Harlan.”
“Then why are we here?” he says, shaking his head.
“Aiden has some marks on him that can’t be explained. It’s my job to report this.”
“I told you, he did that to himself.”
I can tell old George doesn’t believe him…but he wants to. He wants to real bad, and that puts me at a disadvantage I won’t be able to overcome.
Harlan continues, his voice thick as if something is choking him. “Ever since Amy ran off, he’s been like this. I’ve tried everything. I even took him to therapy. And you know how I feel about shrinks.”
I want to tell ol’ George I’ve never been to therapy, except they are talking about me like I’m not in the room.
George laughs at the therapy remark and nods. There is a picture of his grandkids on the desk. They all have matching toothpaste commercial smiles. I want to knock it down. I force myself to stop shaking. Mr. Arnold told me I’d talk to a social worker. This isn’t how it is supposed to go down.
“Harlan, I don’t think you did this. I mean, Aiden has always been an odd kid, but I can’t explain it, either. I brought you in here to give you warning of what’s going to happen.”
Warning? Why did he get what I didn’t? I got no warning when he decided I didn’t deserve to eat for two days or sleep in a bed—my hand goes to my throat—or breathe.
Harlan takes his sheriff’s hat into his hands. “George, you know me. Remember how I caught the man that terrorized your daughter.” The way Harlan describes a peeping tom would almost be comical, except for the look on George’s face. He’s buying the bullshit like there is a bullshit shortage in the world. “That was me, buddy. Remember how I fixed your ticket last week? Also me.”
“I will never forget what you did for this town. Or for me personally. That’s one of the reasons I’m telling you this. You know how it works. It doesn’t mean you’re guilty. It just means that someone will be looking into Aiden’s accusations once I make the phone call. You’ll have a chance to explain yourself.”
Harlan nods, his eyes trained on me. “You’re right, George. I don’t know why Aiden is doing this to me, but it’s obviously a cry for help. I love my son. I’ll do anything for him. You know that.”
What? The hairs on the back of my head stand up. Loves me? Harlan hates me. He loathes me. He tells me life would be better if I never came into this world.
“I tried to do everything in my power to help him. I even got him a dog. He loves that dog. You should see how they are together. I’m really proud of the way he takes care of her.”
“I’ve seen him walking it,” George turns to me with a wide smile. It’s a weak attempt to gain my trust.
Fuck you, George.
“I suppose the state will take him away?” Harlan asks.
“It’s not up to me. I’m just making the call.”
“Don’t worry, Aiden, everything’s going to be all right. I’ll take real good care of Sassy. I promise.” He smiles wide, showing a row of tobacco yellow teeth.
His meaning is not lost on me. He’s going to torture my dog. Maybe even kill her. It’s like the games he’d play when Amy lived with us. He’d barter one of us against the other. Amy always took the punishments meant for me. Harlan got some sort of sick thrill out of the deal.
I grip the wood armrests of the seat so hard that my fingers hurt. I won’t leave you, Sassy. You saved me. You gave me a purpose when I had none. Now it’s my turn to save you.
“Mr. Blake, don’t call.”
“What?”
“He’s right, I do it to myself. I need help.”
Old George lifts an eyebrow in surprise. Harlan had pulled a Hail Mary, just as George hoped for.
“You burned yourself, Aiden?”
I force myself to look him in the eyes.
“Yes sir, I did. I took my daddy’s cigarettes and burned myself with them.”
The look of relief on George’s face makes me want to hurl. But it’s the smug expression Harlan throws me before he fixes his face back into its mask of fake melancholy that causes my fists to clench.
I no longer want to kill myself. I want to kill Harlan.