19. The Cuffs, Beau

Three months later

"Seriously, dude, how long you gonna be grounded?" Scott asked, quietly shutting my bedroom door behind him. After all these months of being back in Mobile, Scott was still the only person I was allowed to see outside of school and those visits were scheduled and timed.

I looked back over my shoulder at him from my regular seat beside the window. He wasn't the most intuitive guy, but I saw the real worry on his face.

"You're always so fucking sad. Are you suicidal? You look that way. Don't do it. Call me first," Scott plead.

Hmm. I didn't speak—I barely did anymore—and contemplated my death. It didn't elicit the fear it once had. My gaze shifted back out the window. I could see a pretty major Mobile road that allowed me to watch life happening for everyone except me. "Why're you still handcuffed?" Scott asked.

"You know why. It's to keep me from sneakin' out. Which I'd probably do." In my head, I added, " and run far, far away ."

Scott came to sit with his ass on my desk. "Someday you're gonna have to tell me what happened. All this ain't right. I feel like it's child abuse."

"It's not if the court says he's right." The tears just beyond the surface threatened to fall.

Scott leaned closer to my ear. "My mom talks to your mom. She's fightin' in court to get you back and says she loves you."

The only secret I had managed to keep from my father was the cell phone tucked in the floorboard of my closet, under a pile of shoes and gear. I plugged it in every once in a while, maybe twice since I arrived back in Mobile. Her messages were there, and those from Dash, promising to wait for me. I chose not to respond. I couldn't find the strength to tell him to go on again, live a good life without me. A teardrop ran down my cheek.

Scott's reassuring hand came to my shoulder.

The bedroom door burst open with force causing me to turn my head away to keep anyone from seeing me cry. It'd only make my life harder.

"This door remains open at all times," my dad barked. Not necessarily mean. That was the weird thing, he wasn't regularly mean to me even though I fully understood the beating waiting for me if I strayed off course.

My dad's entire focus was the constant surveillance of me and drinking more than was healthy. Which was the reason for keeping me handcuffed to whatever furniture I chose to stay in. Between the handcuffs and the newly installed security system, when he passed out, I was safely stuck inside.

During the school week, I trained six hours a day. Two hours in the morning and four after school. More on the weekends. He kept me busy every minute of the day. Since beer was the only alcohol permissible for the coaches while on the field, the cocktails continued once he got home. He and his girlfriend drank freely while they stumbled their way through reading the bible to me every night. My demons be damned.

The fun thing we were doing together now was watching free straight porn. He was so gross.

"Yes, sir. I forgot." Based on his expression, my dad clearly didn't believe him.

"Come on. You're done for today."

"I'll see you Monday," Scott said, then tried his best to divert my father's attention. "Pretty sure the Titans are going all the way this year."

"Are you nuts?"

It was then I saw the man following my father into my room. Scott's save had failed. I got an angry finger pointed at me. "I'm gettin' tired of the mopin'. Show me you're gettin' better, or we'll have to move to other options. You aren't gonna like 'em. This pastor's gonna talk to you and you're gonna respond. You hear me?"

Scott had to have heard, but I don't care. A set of blue eyes that remained just below my closed lids was my only happiness. I turned to stare back outside the window, knowing all he really cared about was this season's playoff games. If I performed, he wouldn't send me off somewhere to deteriorate.