Sinner's Prayer

Family Ties

A hard blow lands, Jack fights the pain that erupts against his lips, flesh spitting over teeth and the tang of metal on his tongue. John fumes before him, looking in a threatening stance over the boy who sits at his desk.

Jack holds his face, a mist over his eyes as he applies pressure to the wound with the back of his hand. His father huffs, fury seeming to simmer in his eyes.

"Got the mare back in 'er stall," he spits with a hateful tone. Jack shakes a little, his gaze faltering.

It had been hell sitting in this room all night. Dawn had arrived with a red glow and Jack watched the sun rise with heavy eyes. He sat like he was awaiting an execution, hours ticking by and a storm of nerves brewing in his gut.

He'd paced and squirmed, fought back a river of tears and raked his hands through his hair, unknowing what the day would bring until the lock had clicked and his door had swung open.

John continues.

"You gonna tell me why she was out in the first place?" He growls. Jack swallows, feeling an ooze against his hand. He drops it away, inspecting the crimson that glistens over it.

"I took her out," Jack mutters, his voice hardly loud enough to reach his father's ears. John flares his nostrils, completely void of any patience.

"Speak. Up," he warns. Jack releases a deep sigh, matching the older man with a hard glare.

"I took her out," Jack repeats, louder this time and laced with venom. John isn't amused, he reaches for Jack, taking a fistful of his shirt up by the collar to drag him forward.

"You ain't in any position ta be givin' me attitude, boy. Yer lucky I don't knock yer fuckin' teeth out fer that."

Jack clenches his jaw.

"Jus' what were you doin' out with her?" John goes on to ask, shoving Jack away. There's no way he can give the man an honest answer. The boy continues to grit his teeth, hot under the collar with his rising temper.

"I jus' figured it was a nice night fer a ride," the younger Twist pops, dripping in sarcasm. He knows it to be a fatal mistake. John finds no amusement in his words, landing another slap that stings.

It's worth it, Jack thinks.

Though he can't help the glance to his doorway as he recovers.

"She ain't comin' ta save you," John sneers, knowing exactly what his boy was searching for.

Or, who, for that matter.

Jack shakes.

"I hate you," is all he can say before he drops his head into his palms, elbows resting above his knees and tremors shaking him to his very core. It's nothing he hasn't said before. Those words come up in the heat of arguments all the time but this time, Jack means it.

That doesn't take away from the pain inflicted by the words that come next, dripping from his father's lips in a loathful snarl.

"An' I curse the fuckin' day you were born."

Jack digs the heels of his palms into his eyes, every muscle tensing with that statement. Truer words have never left his father's mouth, Jack thinks, wishing he could melt into the floorboards and dissipate into nothing.

He can hear the shift of boots, the seething man coming closer, eyes skimming the surface of Jack's desk. Jack merely lifts his head out of curiosity, wondering what the older Twist could possibly be looking for.

It's not until John rips open the drawer, objects jerking, a pen rolling and an angry hand snatching a leather-bound book that Jack realizes his intentions. The boy shakes his head, watching his father slam the draw shut, returning that hateful glare and a commanding tone to his voice.