A New Beginning

Prequel II - Bath Time, The Sequel, part II

Deep down, you had known. You had known. But it had been so easy to make up excuses or just close your eyes altogether from the ugly truth. Until you and your family are the ones to suffer. Arthur promptly lets go of your father's shirt and takes two steps back. The frail man falls to the floor and crawls on all four away from his attacker and up to where you are standing. Dumbstruck, you stare at the crimson streaks running down the assailant's hand. The hand that only a few days ago had been caressing you so fondly is now smeared in your father's blood. An overwhelming wave of shame and revolt has you nearly throw up. You kneel beside your father, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. The blood seeping from his nose makes your eyes burn and you choke down a sob.

"Forgive me, angel," he cries through gritted, blood-coated teeth. His eyes are wide with fear and remorse. "I just – wanted to secure your future. You should be away from here, at university like you always dreamed. Not working at that place, touching these men..."

Your cheeks go hot, and your gaze unwillingly shifts to Arthur. The brim hides his face, making him impossible to read. Your father, however, reads you just fine.

"Him?! He's one of'em?"

You don't respond. You are too mortified, too embarrassed, too hurt. At this moment, you can't believe you ever found him the slightest attractive. That you had let him touch you. Shame, anger and disgust course through you as you think of how you had touched him. Kissed him. Pleased him. As much as you try to fight it, tears start streaming down your burning cheeks. Unfortunately for you, your lack of response is all the response your father needs. He turns to Arthur, a burning anger in his marble-round eyes.

"Stay away from her, you hear. You can punish me all you want, but don't you dare lay your hands on my child!"

The beating he just received has his words coming out slurred. The man responsible for the beating turns away, deflated.

"I ain't gonna touch her."

You use your shawl to wipe away the blood under his nose. The slightest touch has his face contort in pain even though you are gentle, and with your vision growing more and more hazy, you end up smearing the blood across his face instead. The only sounds you hear are those of your own muffled sobs and your father's uneven breaths. No footsteps and no creaking of hinges means Arthur's still in the room, silently watching you, but you rather not think about that now. You'll deal with him in a moment. Through your foggy vision you notice clear streaks in your father's blood-smeared face, and you realize it's your own tears, washing the blood away. You help the battered man to his feet and escort him to the closest chair where he leans over the table, resting his head on his folded, trembling hands. You swipe your hand across your face.

He will be okay. Physically.

"I'll get you the money," you say coldly, scowling in Arthur' direction.

"No, angel. Please, it's for your future. Let me-"

"How can I possibly accept this money now?!"

You hadn't meant to shout. The despair in your father's eyes has you immediately regret your outburst. But you nonetheless stand by your decision. You don't know by what means he'd intended to pay back this large loan, or even if he had intended to pay back at all.

He wasn't supposed to come until tomorrow.

I come back here tomorrow and you'll be long gone.

Realization hits you like a blow to the stomach, making your chest ache. Whether he meant to sell the house and his earthy possessions, take the beating or run away, he had every intent to sacrifice his own future in order to secure yours. As admirable or reckless or foolish that might be, depending on who you ask, there is no way you can let him do that. You find the money securely tucked inside your bag after throwing out most of what you had already put in. Eight hundred dollars meant to cover a full year at St. Denis University. You march out to the living room and, despite your father's protests, throw the money at Arthur's feet. The debt collector stands idle and apathic for a moment, as if trying to come up with something to say. Failing that objective, he picks up the money and leaves without a word. You turn your back to him the moment the bills leave your hand so you don't see it but you hear the stretching of fabric, then the sound of paper shifting against paper followed by hinges screeching and a door closing.