Dead Hearts

Chapter Four

From my hiding spot behind the wall, I can hear my mom talking to somebody on the phone. At first, I wasn’t sure about who the person was on the other line, but then Mom started calling the person by their name.

            “John,” she pleads, “please come home.”

            She sits at the kitchen table, waiting for my dad to respond. I can hear muffled yelling, but I can’t make out any of the words from where I’m located. After everything that he’s done to us, I don’t understand why she wants him back. But then I remember that, oh yeah, she doesn’t care about me. She just cares about her ‘perfect family’ image.

            We’ll never be a family, let alone a perfect one.

            “Just…,” Mom trails off, thinking of ways she can convince Dad to come home.”

            I hear more muffled yelling, which is probably Dad hollering at Mom, encouraging her to go on with her sentence. He was never patient with anybody.

            “The kids,” she settles on. “They need you. Logan has been in his room all day, and Presley can’t stop crying. Come home for them.”

            The only two words I can think are bull and shit. Logan’s been in his room all day because he never comes out otherwise unless it’s to watch-but-not-really-watch TV downstairs. I’ve been crying because the memory of him hitting me keeps replaying in my head over and over. The more it replays, the more the tears come streaming down my face.

            And isn’t it pathetic that mom hasn’t bothered to ask if I’m okay once? Well, mommy dearest, I’m far from okay.

            Mom’s hopelessly blubbering about how she loves him and how he needs to come back for her, but soon enough, the phone gets slammed down on the table.

            “Fuck,” she curses, leaning her elbows against the table and pulling her fingers through her hair in frustration. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

            I remain leaning against the back of the wall, not daring to move an inch. I know she’ll hear if I do.

            Suddenly, mom looks up. “I know you’re there, Presley,” she says scornfully. “I know that you’ve been listening ever since the beginning of the phone call.”

            Still silent, I pray that she’s only hoping that I’m there so that she’s not crazy instead of her actually knowing that I’m there.

            “I’m not mad at you,” mom says, speaking to nobody in particular since she can’t see me. “I’m just angry that you let this happen.”

            I lean my head back against the wall, trying my best not to burst into tears all over again. How can she blame me for dad walking out? It’s her fault that she started the argument in the first place. If she had just let dad tell me I wasn’t allowed to go out instead of arguing, then he wouldn’t have slapped me and wouldn’t have walked out.

            But honestly, I’m glad that he walked out. Even though things have been strained in this family – not that they weren’t before – I’m just glad that he’s not here to remind me of my measly existence. He always tells me how I’m worthless and how I’ll never amount to anything, and I swear every time he says something, more of me dies inside.

            “How?” mom gets out in her crackly voice. “How could you let this happen? How could you just let him walk out on us like that? We need him, Presley. Without him, we’re nothing. Without him…I’m nothing.”