Closed Doors [#Wattys2016]

Telling Smith

"The best index to a person's character is how he treats people who can't do him any good, and how he treats people who can't fight back."

― Abigail Van Buren

I wait for Smith to return for what seems like ages. I just want to tell him, take whatever abuse he wants to give, and get it over with. I've already told Jena. She's happy and excited about it, but also as scared as I am about what he might do.

I watch as she goes through the bags of clothes. Surprisingly, there are a lot of nice things to wear. Dylan was pretty good about guessing our sizes too, and like he said, whatever doesn't fit I can always use the fabric for something useful. I won't let any of it go to waste. It makes me slightly less nervous to start school on Monday, knowing we won't be going in rags.

Jena and I eat a few more buns before I hide what's left behind a panel in the wall of our bedroom. I give Mom one too; though she doesn't really even acknowledge it. I manage to get her to eat at least one, having to tell her to chew and swallow constantly. She's so skinny from not eating very much that I'm afraid she's going to waste away into nothing. I'm actually surprised she hasn't already.

My hands start to shake when I finally hear his truck outside. This is it. This is the moment of truth; no avoiding it. What happens will happen, and I'll have to deal with the consequences.

He staggers in and slams the door behind him. I stand in the doorway of my room, fidgeting with the hem of my shirt a little. I don't make eye contact with him. In fact, I try to avoid looking at him all together. It's easier that way. Jena tucks herself into a corner of our bedroom; her knees are brought up to her chest, leaving only her wide, nervous eyes visible over them. She's scared of what might happen, and so am I.

I jump as he throws his keys onto the counter with force and turns to me. Before he can start yelling at me about something else, I just tell him what I need to. No use in dragging it out, right? The sooner I tell him, the sooner I can deal with whatever he wants to dish out. It's like pulling the bandage off of a wound.

"I got a job today. Please don't be mad?" I tell him quickly, my voice barely even a whisper. I close my eyes as soon as I say it, ready for him to hit me or worse.

He reacts harshly, as expected. Though, not as angrily as I thought he would. He must still be a little high, because all he does is pull me by my braid and toss me to the ground.

"The roof over your head not good enough, you little bitch? You trying to say I don't give you enough?" He bellows in rage. Of course you don't, I want to say. But I don't. Smarting off is never a good choice to make with him. He will make you regret every word that you talk back, and then some. It's best just to lie.

"That's not it! I just want to help out." I scramble up against a wall, but I don't stand up. Best to just stay as close to the ground as possible; he'd just knock me down again anyway.

He kicks something across the room and I hear it break against the far wall. I protectively wrap my arms around my head.

"Who the hell would hire someone as useless as you anyway?" he asks harshly. I feel a little relief as he walks away and sits down on an old metal fold-out chair.

I'm afraid to answer. I don't want him to insult Mr. Parker, or worse. I never know what to quite expect from him, so I stay silent. He tosses a glass jar at me and yells again, "I asked who hired you! You gonna answer, or do I need to beat it outta you?" The jar hits the wall beside me, missing me by a mere few inches. It bursts into tiny shards.

I close my eyes tightly, feeling my body shake from nerves and terror. I feel like crying, but I don't. It'll only make things worse if I show weakness. I answer, knowing that he'll find out anyway, "The Parkers."