Shift

“Now, you know I had to check out that ride of yours last night. I haven’t gotten a good look at that engine in years, and you were sleeping so peaceful on the couch.”

I lunge again, knowing I can overpower him. It’s the first time I’ve ever actually tried, and the move catches him off guard, his grip on me slipping, his hand falling away.

“You son of a—”

The cut is swift and stops my words. It stings at first, and I back up several steps in shock, my mouth hung open as I lift my sliced T-shirt to get a good look at the slit across half of my stomach and side. I’m too stu

“It’s about time you get on out of here, don’t you think? Maybe stay at that little girlfriend of yours’ house for a while. Hell, stay there forever for all I care. That pretty family you like to pretend is your real family, you think they’ll get sick of you being around too much? You think they’ll love you? Shit, all you ever was to me was a mouth I had to feed. Until, ya know, you started leaving cash around and bringing me things I could sell. Look around at this palace, son. You helped me build some of it, you know. You think you’re the only one who knows about your little races out on the Straights? I’ve made some nice cash off of you. Even better sales. You could have been something with me. You have no idea what I am—who I am. But maybe that’ll scar up nice and pretty so you’ll always remember who your daddy is.”

Undeterred by the pain, I growl and lunge at him again, but he whips the blade from his back pocket again and points it at me, a sinister laugh vibrating his lips, the volume growing in his chest, crackling in the shell of his drunken, drug-fueled body.

“Ah, don’t get sloppy, Dusty. You know better.”

I hate when he calls me that. Same with my mom. It’s not like the way Ha

Dusty, don’t upset your father. That’s what my mom would say. As if my mere presence and being alive and breathing wasn’t what upset him most.

I’m broken and helpless, still, even outweighing him by twenty pounds or more. I growl, my back molars pressing together so hard they might crack. I feel the burn on my face as the blood rushes to my forehead, my nose, my cheeks. I’m bursting with anger and so much self-hatred. I might hate myself more than I hate this man, and that makes me feel charred and empty inside. Who am I? I’m still the twelve-year-old boy who can’t stand up for himself and who stuck around way too long.

Colt ambles down the hallway, coughing out a laugh that’s the equivalent of spitting in my face. The moment the bedroom door creaks open and closed again, I rush toward the junked up kitchen counter and knock every last thing to the floor with a sweep of my arm. Dirty pans clang across the vinyl floor, pancake mix that’s probably so old it’s crawling with weevils puffs up in a cloud as it tumbles after it. My mom’s bong cracks into pieces, the glass burnt from too much use. I’m suffocating in here, my chest heaving with the need to breathe, my heart raging to leap from my body.

I rush through the door, shoving it with enough force that the wall cracks behind it. I don’t stop and I don’t care. I march to my car and fire up my engine, peeling out of this hell that clings to me, my tires kicking up gravel as I spin out. I don’t bother to peer in the mirror as I race away. I don’t need one last look. I don’t need to ever come here again. If this is how my mom wants to die, under the pathetic control of a madman bent on taking away anyone’s glimmer of hope or happiness just to get a fix or buy his way into small time, trailer park, drug kingpin status, then they can have each other.

They deserve each other!

I race to the only place that has ever felt like home. I rush through the Judge’s front door without knocking, taking the stairs two at a time, passing the worried faces of Ha

Tommy rushes in. I don’t know what’s next, and I know this won’t last—it can’t. But I do know that this family is all I need. It’s the only thing that has ever seen me through to the next day. And right now, Ha