Celo

Chapter 21

KYLE
"You seen dad lately?" I inquired.

"He stopped by last night."

"Oh?"

"He left though."

"Did he...um...say hi?"

"He said hi like he always says hi."

"Meaning?" Quinn took his right hand and raised the corner of his white t-shirt.

"Shoot."

"Whatever."

We pulled into the drive way and I got out trying to look better than I felt. We walked up the damp stone pathway that had been long overgrown by weeds and moss. Quinn was right about to open the door when it swung open itself and out fell my father swinging his fists like a maniac. He was silent but flailing wildly. Quinn caught him under the armpits right before he face planted. My dad slumped onto Quinn and was still for a couple seconds before he started swinging again. His fists made dull thuds on Quinn's lower back as he hoisted him up. I ran over to help. "I've got this Kyle, just hold the door." Quinn ordered and so I did. My dad was screaming and yelping. It was incredibly disturbing. He vomited all over when Quinn dropped him on the floor in the hall. I shut the door.

The two of us stood back and watched the old alcoholic writher and cry and scream into the stained carpet. Blood, vomit, beer, I tried to remember the color it used to be. I thought back to when we got the carpet. It was right after we moved in and Quinn and I were both younger than twelve. My parents had been dragging us around furniture shopping all day and the two of us were so fed up we decided to rebel. So while they were scrutinizing floor lamps, we stole some pens and highlighters from the abandoned customer service desk and covered the nearest piece of merchandise in black and yellow scribbles. What we had been drawing on was the back of the carpet and of course they made our parents purchase it. Who would've guessed it would end up like this? My reminiscing was disrupted when Quinn swung his foot at dad. It wasn't hard of anything but I was still shocked. I looked up at his face unsure of what to say. Quinn kicked again, harder this time, then again, and again.

"Quinn!" I yelled at him. I had no idea what he was doing. He didn't even look up. "Quinn what the hell? Stop!" Dad lurched with each impact letting a lose cough fall out of his lips. I ran and grabbed Quinn's arms holding them tight behind his back and pulled him away. He didn't say a word and he didn't resist either. I sat him down on one of our rickety, wood, kitchen chairs. As he leaned back in it it squeaked momentarily across the linoleum flooring. He just stared straight ahead so I said, "Why don't we go upsatairs?" He got up and I followed him to his room. He sat in the desk chair and swiveled around watching me struggle to ease myself down onto the low bed. I heard him get up and felt his arm squeeze gently around my shoulders as he guided me down and then helped me lift my legs onto the bed. A new wave of guilt and patheticness came over me as rolled my back into a laying position and placed my arm on my forehead. 

"It hurts huh?" Quinn said quietly. I nodded. I couldn't even distinguish one pain from the others anymore.

"It's not fair." Quinn said. I 'd never heard him say anything like that.

"We'll be okay."

"Kyle you're not eating." Shoot, he noticed.

"Rough month."

"Why'd you do it?"

"What?"

"Go drink."

"I'm sorry alright."

"I don't really care if your sorry. I just want to understand why."

"It lets me forget."

"I'm sorry"

"Stop saying that. You apologize too much."

"Sorry."