Blood Boy

Part 1

Howie staggered out of the hallway and into the living room, his temple bleeding profusely, the left side of his face covered in bruises.

“Howie!” Mom screamed, bolting off the sofa in a blur. Dad, always the slower of the two of to react, blinked stupidly for a moment before saying, "What the hell...?" as though asking questions would help in some way.

Mom damn near teleported to him, hands hovering just above his skin, wanting to touch, afraid to touch. She stood five six-and-a-half, five nine in heels, but that was an action figure next to Howie's towering height. The top of her head came to his throat, meaning he always had a nice whiff of whatever hair product she'd used most recently. Today was some kind of strawberry and mango concoction, which made Howie think of smoothies, which made his stomach rumble.

"What happened?" Mom howled, and turned to Dad. "Don't just sit there! Call 911! Get the bandages--"

"Chill, Mom." Howie put what he liked to think were calming hands on her shoulders and pushed her slightly away from him. "I'm fine. I just needed to see if it worked."

"If what worked?" She goggled at him, exploring him with searching, terrified eyes.

"The makeup," he told her. "For Halloween."

Mom stared for a protracted moment. Behind her, still on the sofa, Dad rolled his eyes and grunted something noncommittal.

"This is your Halloween costume?" Mom's jaw twitched the way it did whenever Howie did...well, did pretty much anything, really. That jaw of hers got one hell of a workout.

“Gotta own it, Mom!” He stooped a little bit and checked himself out in the fancy mirror Mom had bought at a consignment shop. He looked suitably grotesque. Car accident, maybe. Or trip-and-fall-into-the-fridge-door. Something like that.

Shivering slightly, she stepped away from him, tears glimmering in her eyes. "Don't. Do that. To me," she said very quietly.

Howie shrugged. "I'm fine. What are you all worked up about?"

"You can't just traipse around like. Not with your condition. I worry, Howie."

"I'm sixteen, Mom. I'm gonna be out of here in a couple of years. What are you gonna do, put cameras in my college dorm to make sure--"

But she'd left the room already, rushing down the hall toward the bathroom.

"I did think dinner was a little rich tonight," Howie said.

"Don't be an idiot," Dad said, never lifting his gaze from his iPad. "Go apologize to your mother."

"I didn't do anything," Howie protested.

"You stabbed her through the heart." Dad's tone was casual. "Again. Apologize. It's the right thing to do."

Howie sighed like Atlas and loped toward the bathroom. Halfway there, his dad called out. Turning around, Howie beheld his father gazing at him from the sofa.

"Damn good job, by the way. Maybe you should go into special effects or something."

Howie pshawed. "There's no chicks in special effects, Dad."

********

Mom emerged from the bathroom after Howie threatened to knock on the door hard enough to bruise his knuckles. Which would not have been all that hard.

"You can't do that to me," she whispered. Her eyes were red and Howie felt like he'd just kicked a puppy, so he reacted the only sensible way he knew.