The Boy with the Whiplash Tattoo

Twenty one

We pulled up outside the house. The light in the porch was on. The silhouette of a man was hunched over, perched precariously on the front step.
I looked, confused, at Aaron. He shrugged nonchalantly and got out of the car. But his brow was furrowed. His concern was contagious.
"Stay here," he said.
I didn't intend to obey. Whoever it was we would face them together.
Gently I opened my car door and climbed out after him, walking a few steps behind so he didn't notice. His eyes were fastened on the figure by the house, and his shoulders were hunched, determined.

He stiffened suddenly as we drew closer, and his breath caught in his throat. The man stood up, he was very tall and very broad and his dark eyes flashed meanly.
"Aaron," he said, and his deep voice was what I finally recognised.
It was his uncle.

Aaron was frozen to the spot, as if his feet had sprouted roots, and his entire body quivered with what could only be fear. His nostrils flared and his pupils widened, like a deer caught in headlights.

"Well?!" Uncle Ben bellowed good-naturedly, although the cruel curl of his lips betrayed him, "Are you gonna let your old uncle in, or not?"

Aaron was still standing stock still. His throat made strange gasping sounds as if he'd forgotten how to breathe.

I decided to take action. I hooked my arm through Aaron's, dragging him along behind me, and fished in his pocket for the keys.

"Come in, come in," I said, my voice falsely sweet, my gaze darting around as I enter the hall, to look for a weapon. Just in case.
Uncle wiped off his feet on the welcome mat and then took off his shoes. He was being unusually polite.

"Would you like a drink?" I asked, after I had helped Aaron out of his coat and sat him down at the table. He was in a daze, his fingers and lips trembling, and didn't seem to be able to do anything for himself.
"What is there?" He asked.
"Coffee?"
"No. I wouldn't drink anything you made for me. Might poison me from what I hear."
That startled me. I looked at Aaron, but he was staring at his hands. His ears were flushed and his head down, as if he were ashamed.
"Got any beer?" The obnoxious man asked.
I nodded, and grabbed him one from the fridge. He snatched it from me, opened it, and gulped it down with his head thrown back.
As I stalked past him to get another, hoping it might help calm Aaron down, he swatted at my backside.
"Guess you're good for something,"he said. "You've got a nice ass on you too."

My skin prickled and began to heat up. I wasn't embarrassed. I was angry, burning angry inside. Who did he think he was coming here, into my home, and treating me like this.

"Stop it," Aaron mumbled.
"I don't know why my nephew married you," he said, as if he'd had a choice and he hadn't forced him to, so he could take my family's money. "It's obvious he's not attracted to you and thinks you're completely useless."
"Stop it." Aaron said again, louder.

There it was, that scrunched up snarling face, that dark mean glint in his eyes. His fist bunched up, and he stood suddenly, knocking the chair to the floor.