Leather Kisses

Leather Kisses. 18

Thursday night, at dinner, we dropped the bomb.

Since my father had taken two days off in a row, he had to go in for work. I was stranded home alone for the day, tormented by the news I would soon deliver. I prepared for the worst, and hoped for the best.

Charlie was at a friend's house when we had dinner, so Dad and I seized the chance.

"Maria?" My father's voice was soft and gentle. "There's something we need to discuss."

"What is it?" My mother's smile soon faded, as we all exchanged dark, serious glances. "What's wrong?"

My father cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows at me. Obviously, he wanted me to start. I nervously looked down at my plate, and shifted a lonely pea back and forth with my fork.

"Mom, you know Blake, right?" I foolishly asked, even though I knew the answer. Ever since I was a little girl, I had the tendency to crack under pressure.

"Of course," she muttered, suspiciously.

I felt my lungs tighten, and my temperature rise. I lifted my eyes for a split second, only to see my mother glaring at me with brooding eyes. Now, I also felt nauseous . . . great.

"And you know how he was my boyfriend for a while?" I choked a little, beating around the bush.

"Yes . . ." she growled, as she grew more impatient with my idiotic questions.

With each pause, each breath, I became more terrified. May I remind you, my mother was not the most level-headed, understanding person. She was prone to break downs, panic attacks, and temper tantrums. God only knows how she would react to this news.

"And you remember how I used to fall a lot, and get lots of bruises and cuts?"

My mother crinkled her eye brows together. "What does that have to do with anything? I thought we were talking about Blake?"

She wasn't getting it, but I couldn't bring myself to spell it out for her. It hurt too much; physically and emotionally. My left temple, where Blake had last struck me days before, throbbed with aching memories.

"Well, what is it?" My mother urged, but I was in an everlasting tongue-tie.

"Maria," my father lowered his gritty voice, as he leaned forward. "She never fell, not once. Every time she came home all battered and bruised . . ." he paused, forcing the words out. "Blake did it."

She blinked her eyes a few times. "Blake?" She didn't sound surprised, just more confused. "I don't understand. Are you implying that he hurt Riley?"

My father sighed. "Exactly, yes."

"I don't understand. Blake is such a nice, well rounded young man."

I couldn't allow anyone, especially my mother, to think of Blake in that way. He was nothing but a sick bastard; a monster.

"Obviously, he's not," I snapped, an eruption of anger building inside of me.

"So he lost his temper, dear, and he hit you once or twice. Big deal," she shrugged it off, as she sipped her red wine. "Don't be so dramatic. It happens all of the time."

Now, I had really lost it. I slammed my fist into the table, causing the dining wear to tremble. How could she say that? Play it off like it was nothing. Was she that cruel, that naive, that goddamn ignorant? Who was she? She certainly was not my mother. A mother would protect her offspring, not turn a blind eye.

"Riley," my mother screeched. "Control yourself!"

"Are you that daft?" I asked, ignoring her order.