Safe

-15- My Kid

Holt Jacobs

They're bickering back and forth, Mr. Lincoln's voice strained. I think they may have forgotten that I'm here, just a few feet away.

"We can't let him keep protecting these people Kendra." Mr. Lincoln is a notch below shouting. "What's gonna happen the next time? It might not just be a couple broken ribs and some stitches."

He folds his arms across his chest, back straight making him look all the more dominant. I shrink back slightly, thankful his attention is on Mrs. Lincoln and not me.

"Well how do you suppose we go about it then?" Mrs. Lincoln snaps back unfazed by his growing anger.

"I'm not gonna sit back and let this happen to my kid!"

My brain stops instantly, glitching over his words. Missing everything they say after.

My kid.

He said my kid.

Without thinking I interrupt them, mumbling, "Your kid?"

They both glance at the couch where I'm parked, a bag of ice smashed between my broken ribs and my arm. We got back to the house and this was where Mrs. Lincoln told me to sit. My butt barely hit the cushion when they started arguing.

Without so much as a look they turn back to each other, mouths open to go at it again when Mr. Lincoln looks back over like he finally realizes that I am in fact still here.

Right where they told me to sit. Breathing shallow because it hurts to do more than that.

He's still agitated but his shoulders relax and he perches his hands on his hips as he turns to me.

"Yeah. My kid." He says it like it's obvious but I'm not sure it is.

"Me?" My heart pounds hard in my chest and I swear the pain in my ribs intensifies with it.

"Yeah, you." He confirms.

I nod my head even though I can't quite process his words.

"Listen Holt, I know it's going to take time and I'm okay with that, take as much time as you need but you're my son as far as I'm concerned. I mean I know legally it's not official but it will be. Soon."

I stare down at my lap, waiting for something to happen.

"You got stuck with people who didn't do what parents are supposed to do. They did the complete opposite. If I could change all that for you Holt I would." Mr. Lincoln continues on, all the anger leaving his voice until all that's left is a gentle coaxing to his words. "But I can't. All I can do now is protect you the best I can moving forward. And I will. If you'll let me."

                              ————————

My heart slams in my chest, a chill spreading through my body as I feel his full attention land on me.

"Holt." He says my name, twisted and revolting. "Holt, Holt, Holt."

It's like he wants me to remember the way it sounds coming from his lips so that no matter what happens, no matter who says it, I'll only hear him when someone says it.

I mumble something incoherent even though I know better and he lashes back at me, voice dark and booming. I go to apologize, writhing where I stand.

"What did you say boy?" He barks at me.

But nothing I say comes out right, a string of compromised noises. My eyes dart around the room, desperately looking for anything that might save me but the only other person with us is her.

And she won't save me.

He leaps up from where he's sitting on the couch, the suit he's in half discarded on the chair. Whatever I've done, I want to take it back.

His face appears in front of me, so close I can see the fine lines jutting off from the crinkles of his skin. I can smell the stale stench of a smoked cigar linger on his breath as he spits words in my face.

I shake my head, desperately trying to apologize, to give him what he wants but the more I try the more garbled my words become until I've made him furious.

Fingers clutch my hair, yanking my head down. Pain erupts through my scalp as I reach for his wrists trying to ease the strain on it. But he's not fazed, dragging me the short distance to the basement door.

My stomach rolls, I'm a panicked mess, frantically trying to make him stop. To make him realize I'm sorry. That I won't mess up again. As if that all really matters.

I stumble and trip my way beside him, through the basement to the back corner, with each step the air grows colder, damper until a chill settles in my bones.

I'm shoved through the door, the sudden release taking me off guard and I collapse to my hands and knees just as I hear the door click shut signifying that my punishment has begun.

A sob bursts out of me but it's immediately cut short as pain sets fire to my ribs and I scream out in agony.

I jolt upright, tears spilling down my face as I gasp for air, hand gripped to my ribs, frantically searching the dark room I'm in for something to ground me.

It hurts so bad, stealing my breath straight from my lungs, leaving me cringing.

Footsteps pound into the floor outside the door, the handle twisting in the dark, light seeping through the crack below.

I shove myself away as fast as I can but I only manage to inflict more pain on myself.

"I'm sorry!" I shout just as the door flies open.

I'm waiting for it to be him, for him to wrench me from the bed I'm in and drag me flailing to the basement just like I had dreamt.

"It's okay. It's okay honey, you're safe." Mrs. Lincoln pleads.

I can't get my ribs to let up, rolling around desperately trying to find relief.

"Please don't." I sob as a form kneels beside the bed.

"You're safe Holt. Shh." She says gently.

"Please." I mutter, pushing my hand harder against my screaming ribs.

"I know, baby, it's okay."

A hand touches my shoulder and I jerk, sending myself writhing in another round of pain.

"It's Kendra, you're safe." Her hand doesn't leave my shoulder, gently rubbing the material of the shirt I have on. "Calm down."

I curl into a fetal position, trembling slightly as I recount the event from the afternoon. Tears fall in relentless streams down my face as I force my body still, allowing Mrs. Lincoln to continue to rub my shoulder.

"Oh Holt." She says sadly, her hand moving to brush my hair from my face. "I'm so sorry."

I'm so tired. I'm tired of the pain and the fear and trying to keep everything inside me.  And even though I'm trying to steady my breathing I let out another anguished sob.

"Shh." She's methodical, moving her hand to lightly push my hair back.

Her hands are warm, soft and I feel myself slowly give into it. My eyes growing heavy again as sleep threatens to pull me under. I don't want to close them in fear I'll see him when I do. But after a minute I can't fight it anymore, my breathing slow, my body heavy, everything calm.

I want to ask her not to leave, to stay, to keep doing what she's doing. For the first time since I can remember I feel content, almost safe, in the dark room with Mrs. Lincoln quietly whispering things to me as I drift off. I can almost forget about my ribs and Ian, his friend, about all the things I've done and regret, about how nothing is permanent and I'm just another number in the fractured system that is foster care.

But as I much as I wish I could, I can't forget about him.