Fighting the Fall ✔

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

Dustin King

The door closed behind Lydia. Dad locked it. He stared through a glass panel in the door as she walked away. But when the engine started, he turned to me.

"Dad... I thought you wouldn't be back until tomorrow." I knew that wasn't what he was looking for; he wanted an explanation. But he left it alone.

"What kind of welcome is that, huh?" he asked. He looked from Bishop to McKenna. They both stared back in anxious silence until he left us and headed to his room, slamming the door behind him. Pictures rattled on the nearby walls.

I continued standing by the door for what felt like an eternity, but leaned back against the wall, crossing my arms.

"I thought he was supposed to come home tomorrow night," McKenna whispered.

Just when my shoulders began to relax and I let my arms hang down at my sides, his door reopened. I stood straight; my back immediately left the wall.

He already had a blue can of beer in hand. He mumbled something I couldn't hear, then said clearly, "Almost forgot. Dust!"

I sighed at the old nickname, only turning to him when he said it again, louder this time.

He glared right back. "What? Does your name hurt your feelings? You think you're better than that?" He brought the can to his mouth and tilted his head back, apparently downing the last of its contents. "Isn't it in the Bible or something somewhere? From dust you came--"

I cut him off, laughing dryly. "From you."

Dad tilted his head, taking one step forward, toward me. He squinted as if trying to get a better look at -- or perhaps understanding of -- something. He dropped the can onto the floor and kicked it gently. It slid about a foot across the dark wood. "Bishop, pick it up."

"Yes, sir."

McKenna jumped off the sofa. "I'll do it, Bishop." And she did, all the while watching our father's hands, especially as she got closer to pick up his trash. His hands were made into fists at his sides, but they weren't intended to intimidate her. He didn't seem to notice her. His eyes were on mine.

"Now, what did you call me?" he asked. I didn't answer, not verbally. I knew my unwavering glare spoke on my behalf. "It would do you good to remember your place, son." He rubbed his chin and looked toward the front door. "That girl... Lydia, is it?"

"She's just a friend."

"Just a friend. Hm." Dad smiled, just for a second. "I was sure that's how it started with Rachel... No? In your mind, she was just a friend until you raped her. Or were you even friends yet?" I stared, shocked, for longer than I should have. He continued. "You disgusting little savage."

I marched toward him. "I didn't--"

"She was beautiful, wasn't she? Irresistible, even, huh?" He didn't flinch, didn't move no matter how close I stood or how loud my voice was. There were no signs of intimidation. Only humor. He crossed his arms. "Come on, Dustin. What girl would willingly let you touch her, not to mention--"

"We didn't do anything," I said firmly, although I knew it was useless to argue.

"My point exactly. Get in your room."

I hesitated, not wanting to leave Bishop and McKenna down here with him. My feet were planted at the bottom of the stairs. My hands gripped the railing.

Deep down, I wished it was his neck.

"Now," Dad ordered.

I started up the stairs, but only after he gave up and left the three of us in the living room. He went back into his room, slamming the door once again. McKenna flinched at the sound.