Losers: Part I

I told myself I wasn’t afraid of my father anymore. Vincent and Jason were right behind me as I walked across the yard toward the gate, but even with them right there, the panic was closing in. Every step I took was too loud, adrenaline pumping through my veins as I forced myself to suck in a slow breath.

I’d memorized which floorboards creaked in the house. I used to know exactly how wide I could open a door before it squeaked. I’d trained myself to walk silently, to breathe softly, to lower my voice. Like my dad was a bomb and the slightest sound would set him off.

My hands were sweating. I hadn’t taken my pills yet because I’d woken up feeling calm for once, but now I desperately wished I had. Panic pressed up beneath my lungs, a slow-moving suffocation. I told myself I wasn’t afraid, but the closer I got to him, waiting there with a cigarette hanging from his lips, the farther I got from myself.

I was gone and what remained was a terrified child, small and alone. Looking for an exit, desperate for a place to hide, sitting with his back to his bedroom door with the hope that his own body could serve as a barricade.

I stopped about five yards away from him and the gate between us. Vincent and Jason came to a halt right behind me. They had my back; they’d fight for me without a second of hesitation.

Dad pulled the cigarette from his lips, the cherry flaring as he flicked it away and blew out a cloud of smoke. God, he’d aged. Years of alcohol abuse and smoking had forged deep lines across his face; his blotchy cheeks a few days past his last shave. Still, looking at him was like staring into a terrifyingly distorted mirror. Like those horror films where the protagonist sees their own reflection transform into something sinister.

Our resemblance was a curse, but it was also a warning. His path could have been mine, and I’d done everything in my power to ensure that it wasn’t.

“You’re not welcome here,” I said. My voice didn’t shake, but I kept it low and rough with the effort to steady it.

Dad chuckled, a slight wheeze coming out with it. “That’s the greeting I get? I come home to my boy telling me I’m not welcome? What kind of shit is that?”

That was all the greeting he deserved. No niceties, no small talk. He wasn’t fucking welcome, and I wanted there to be no doubt about it.

The sound of his voice felt like getting punched in the chest. My body flushed rapidly hot, then cold.

At least Jess was inside, out of his sight. Lucas was always the most eager for a fight, but I didn’t need that right now. I needed him to keep our girl safe, and I knew he would. I knew, but I still couldn’t stop the rising panic. But I kept it hidden. I masked it like I always had.

“This is my property,” I said. “And if I say you’re not welcome, then you’re not goddamn welcome.”

He turned his head and spat, the sound triggering something in the back of my brain. The feeling of hot, thick saliva hitting my face. Coiling revulsion in my stomach from the rotten tobacco smell of it. He stepped toward me slowly, his eyes never leaving my face. Like he was testing me, daring me to run. He used to call me a coward for running.

I lifted my chin and clasped my hands behind my back. It probably looked like I was at ease, but I wanted to hide how tightly my hands were clenched.

“Your property,” he drawled, glancing from me to Vincent, then Jason. “Is that how it is? No room for dear old dad, huh?” He looked up at the house, his eyes narrowing. To have him come here and look in on my family made me sick. “Well, ain’t that something. Got a place all your own, moved all your friends in, even got yourself a girl. Or one of you does. I can’t tell which one of you is fucking her.”

How long had he been watching us? Was this the first time he’d been out here? Or was this only the first time he’d made himself obvious?

“I’m not interested in chatting.” Rage blanketed my fear, drowning it out. “Leave, or we’ll make you leave.”

He stared at me, nodding slowly. His eyes kept flickering back to the house, like he was searching for something. “Big man now, I see. Got your own space and you think it’s right to leave family out in the cold? You’re lucky I’m not looking for a room tonight. I’m not looking for a goddamn handout. I want what I’ve got rights to.”

“There’s not a single thing on this property you have any right to. If Mom had wanted you to have this place, she would have left it to you. But she didn’t.”

In my mind’s eye, I could see myself slamming my fist into his face again and again — blood spattering, his nose breaking, teeth cracking.

How many times had I thought about killing him? I used to dream about it, how I’d stand up to him one day, how I’d prove he never broke me. I’d relish the shock on his face before he died. I even used to imagine what would happen after I killed him; what I’d say in court, how I’d survive in prison.

But that would have made me just like him, capable of the same violence. It would prove that the cycle continued, pain begetting pain.

“You’re wrong there, boy.” Dad rolled back his shoulders and cracked his neck. My stomach twisted at the sound. “You know your mother wasn’t right toward the end. Wasn’t right throughout most of her life. Gave me plenty of reason to suspect you weren’t even mine.” He snickered. “Can’t deny genetics though. Spittin’ image of me.”

He didn’t need to fucking remind me.

“What do you want?” I said. “Stop bullshitting and tell me why you’re here.”

“Heard rumors you’re fixing the place up to sell it,” he said. “You’re thinking smart. Thinking like me.” Not like him. Never like him. “I want a cut of the sale. Fifty-fifty. I’d say that’s fair, since you’re selling the property I raised you on.”

I stared at him blankly, his words churning in that oceanic rage inside me. Then…

I laughed. I laughed so hard it hurt. As the laughter died, I stepped forward, until I was right in his ugly face with only the bars of the gate keeping us apart. I looked him right in those yellowed bloodshot eyes that used to make me cringe in fear whenever they’d land on me.

“I, and everyone who lives in this house, will be dead and buried before you see a goddamn penny out of this place,” I said, venom in every word.

We stood exactly eye-to-eye. Same height. Same build. The same blood in our veins that made me want to cut them open and bleed them out, if only to be rid of any trace of him.

“You be careful, boy,” he said softly. “It’s a big dangerous world. Death walks real close. Ain’t we all just one poor decision from dead and buried?”

I looked him up and down slowly. “Death walks closer to some than others.”

“You’re right there. Walks close to some…runs to catch up with others. But it always comes around, one way or another.” He took a step back, and I flinched as he reached into his jacket. He didn’t miss it. It made him smile.

He took out a cigarette, lit it, and let the smoke waft over my face. Camel Crushes. I fucking hated the scent of menthol. He paused, narrowing his eyes for a moment over my shoulder before he finally said, “Vincent. That was your name. The boy from that big family. Four beautiful sisters…” He let the comment hang. “I’ll see y’all around.”

He took his sweet time strolling down the road. I waited, watching until he’d climbed into that familiar old truck and flipped a U-turn in the dirt, dust clouding up from his tires.

But the rage still sat inside me, shuddering like a beaten dog.