in tua voce

Righteous Anger

    I woke up to dusk and a weight on my shoulder. I got confused when I couldn't feel my arm. I looked over and jumped out of my skin when I saw a head on my shoulder. I leapt just so that she toppled over onto the nasty linoleum floor. Oops. "Shit!" I cursed as she groaned and shifted her weight. I held my breath please don't wake up please please please I did not want to deal with that right now. Praise the Gods, she remained unconscious. I made as if to leave, but something made me look back. Frick. I couldn't just leave her in a heap on the floor. I slowly went to her and placed her on the bed as gently as I could. She was light as a feather. I felt all the injustice of stereotyped gender roles as I lifted her minuscule frame. Her soft body was at such a contrast to my square head and massive everything else. I set her down and left in a hurry.

    I just wanted the privacy of my room, but to get there I would have to pass by my father's place of dwelling. No thanks. I looked back and realized the guard had disappeared. I wanted to just move on, not my problem, wash my face, go back to sleep. But no. I have to be responsible. At least I thought to wash the dried blood of my face before approaching the padre. Damn my masculine instincts to protect some girl I still don't know the name of.

    It never even occurred to me that no guard might have been a good thing. Then maybe she could've escaped or something. The door was obviously not locked, and if mystery woman could find a way in, it was very likely she could find a way out quite easily. Probably. Dammit.

    I heedlessly entered the faux trailer home that comprised headquarters. As I walked down the stairs that led to the underground complex, it became apparent that quite the crowd had waited up for me. Upon my entrance, someone yelled, "Ay! It's the man! Jack!" I attempted to walk to my father's office through the thunderous applause and backslapping, but I got caught in the sea of thugs. What the hell???

    "SILENCE!" My father had entered the scene.

    "What the hell is going on?"

    "We was just congratchulatin' ole' Jack for gettin some with that new chick ya got - he's only been in there all day."

    My father and I turned beet red at the same time; one from embarrassment, the other from (very righteous) paternal anger.

    "WHAT?!?" he screamed as I sputtered, "Wha-wha-what?"

    "Wait - let me explain," I spit out before he made it to me and backhanded me across the goddamn room. I cried out in pain and the assembled men ooohed in anticipation. My father turned his righteous rage on them. "Clear out or you'll be next," he snarled.
I remained on the floor, waiting for the pounding in my head to cease. Once the door slammed at the top of the stairs, my father asked menacingly, "What in all hell were you doing in that cabin?"

    "She fuckin punched me and then we both passed out," I groaned.

    "Why should I believe that?" he spat.

    I sat up a bit and mouthed off. "Do you even know your own son? I'm not some twenty-year-old pimp banging girls all day - I'm sixteen yea - "

    I got kicked in the stomach at that point and therefore was unable to continue.

    "She's a problem right now, but she is not some plaything to be raped."

    I was gasping for breath.

    "I can't believe you would do such a thing."

    "Then don't," I choked out.

    I heard his boots crunch across the floor until he was squatting next to me.

    "And why shouldn't I?"

    "Because. I...would never...do anything against...your intentions," I gasped.

    This seemed to satisfy him. He stood up and walked to the stairs. "Wait - " I rasped.

    "What do you want now?" He sounded tired.

    "I came down here.....to ask...about the guard."

    "Okay, Jack. Okay."

    I picked myself off the floor and crawled to my room as my lousy excuse for a dad left the room. Not that this wasn't new, but usually he just punched me and left me alone after that. I finally made it to the sanctuary of my room with no one else beating me up. I dragged my exhausted body into bed and hoped sleep would come. Of course, it didn't. My head was pounding too much for that to happen.

    After an hour of pain, I finally mustered the strength to get up and find some water and a shitload of painkillers. I even stuck my head under the sink to try and rinse off the blood before I threw up everywhere. Great. More painkillers. Attempted to wriggle out of my jeans. Not sure how that turned out. Finally in bed, actually under the covers, and feeling a tiny smidgen closer to normal, I turned my music on and the song that played was the last straw. Screw gender roles. I cried myself to sleep.

                                    ~~~~~~

    I woke up feeling disoriented for the second time in 24 hours. Jesus, what was with these violent people? I mean, for real. Who goes around kicking and punching and slapping their way through life? Don't you ever feel guilty?

    My thoughts shifted to the girl. I was surprised to find that I was worried about her. She was so small - so broken. I'm terrible with names. I shouldn't be, because I'm so particular about mine. I hate being called Jack. My name is Jackson, and that's my name. But I can't remember other people's names for shit. The girl was definitely in a class with Carlson last fall - sociology or psychology or something like that. I wanna say her name was Anne, but I know that's not right.

    I felt too scared to leave my room, but I also felt like I had to check on "Anne" (what I'm calling her for now). What if one of those guys did something to her? What if my dad, in all his rage, had something done to her? What if there wasn't a guard, but what if there was and he was entirely incompetent, or worse, a horny bastard. (I stole that phrase from a comic. Sometimes I have to narrate my life comic book style, just to remember to stay alive.)

    I shook my head. She's fine I told myself sternly. Normally, I would just hang out in my room for a day or two until either my father left for some trip or I heard him laughing. That indicated the storm had passed...or at least we were in the eye of the storm.

I had plenty of music to pass the time, what with my mom's cd collection she left behind and my laptop. That was the one nice thing my dad had ever done for me - buying me a laptop when I turned twelve. I don't know what else I would've done the past four years to stay alive. But now I couldn't find anything to do. Even pac man  (the most mind-killing game out there) couldn't take my mind off of "Anne".

    "You know what? Fine. Fine! I'll go!" I told myself angrily. I contemplated my escape routes. Door? Not so much. Window? Fuck. Well, here goes nothing.