If You Wanted Honesty (Kellic)

Chapter 15

Chapter 15 - Kellin - Sick Little Games

I pull my knees up to my chest and rest my head on them. I’m not crying. In fact, I’m not feeling much of anything except a dull pain that I know will hurt more once the shock dies down.

Jaime’s right. I shouldn’t be surprised, especially not since I was the one who told Vic to leave. He’s also right about me knowing that it would happen eventually…but I never expected to be notified about it. I guess I did dig my own grave.

I hadn’t necessarily called to apologize or try to fix things. I’d called to confirm that we were officially broken up, that my lips would never again touch his. I’d called to say goodbye.

I check my phone, which rang a few minutes ago—I was too distraught to pick it up—and find a voicemail that Vic left. I almost don’t want to listen to it, but I do, smiling a little at the last part. Automatically, I start to get excited at the thought of him coming back, but then I remember that I just kicked him out of his own house and that, at least from what Jaime says, they just had sex.

I shift my thoughts to my dad. I don’t know what’s going to happen to him. Will he be put in rehab for his addiction? Will Mom and I get our house back? And is it bad that I’m relieved he’s probably, hopefully, going to leave?

I’m lying on the bed, staring at the wall and contemplating these things, when I hear the door open and close. I don’t turn to see who it is, though I already know even before he says, “So it looks like your dad’s headed to rehab.”

I sit up as he paces back and forth. “Really?”

Vic nods. “Personally, I think he should be arrested, but your mom refuses to let anyone else know about the other stuff. But at least he’ll be gone.”

"Wait, why should he be arrested? What other stuff?"

"Well, let’s see." He starts to tick things off on his fingers. "There’s domestic violence, child abuse, plus his addiction. The guy doesn’t exactly have a clean slate."

"Whoa, what’s this about abuse and violence?" I ask. "It wasn’t that bad.” Or was it? “He just hit me sometimes. And, uh…Mom, too, I guess.”

"Kellin." Suddenly he grabs my arm, pointing at the assortment of black and blue marks. "I know that some of these are from Ian, but not all of them. And the black eye wasn’t from Ian, either. These were all from your own father, a man who was supposed to protect you from harm, not cause it. You act like it doesn’t hurt you, but I know it does."

I don’t respond or look at him. I’m too busy thinking about every time Dad has yelled at me and smacked me, every time he left welts and bruises on my body. I think about all the times I’ve hidden in my room, afraid of him—all the times I’ve blasted my music or shot at virtual people to drown him out. I think about how desperately I’ve tried to avoid him my entire life. Vic’s right. It’s not discipline anymore, not when it makes me terrified of my own father.

And then I remember that Vic wastes all his time worrying about me because of this, so I stand up, pulling my arm away. For the first time in what seems like ages, I feel dangerously brave. This bravery is what causes me to head for the door, not knowing what exactly I’m about to do but knowing I’m about to do something. Vic picks up on this—or at least figures out that something isn’t right—and calls, “Wait! Where are you going?”

"Somewhere," I reply shortly.

Vic stops abruptly. “Are you doing what I think you’re doing?”