5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Roman

I smile to myself in the dark as I make my way down the driveway. Kissing Beck was a dream. The whole night was, if I’m being honest. From the way his eyes lit up as he talked to all the animals, to the warmth of his hand in mine, to the fear and excitement I felt at the top of the Ferris wheel. And then, of course, the kiss. I press my fingers to my lips again, almost convinced I can still feel the ghost of his touch there. Who knew kissing could feel like that?

As I approach the dilapidated porch, the light turns on. My stomach drops, and I stop dead in my tracks when my dad’s voice booms around me. “Didn’t I tell you not to hang out with that kid?” he growls, and I flinch.

“I didn’t do anything wrong, Dad. I was hanging out with a friend,” I say quietly, purposely keeping my voice low. No reason to piss him off further.

“You did do something wrong, though. You hung out with that pig’s kid after I told you not to. His daddy’s had me locked up twice. You think that’s the kind of kid that needs to be around us and our family? You think he’s going to want you around when he finds out you come from bad stock? Your mother was a piece of shit, and you’re exactly like her.”

I try really hard to keep myself still and not react. Saying anything right now will not be in my best interest, and I know that. I focus on dragging air into my lungs, willing myself to stay calm, to not let the panic that’s starting to rise overwhelm me.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

He steps off the porch and stalks toward me, and I have to fight the urge to run. My heart pounds in my ears, fear slithering up my spine. “Nothing to say for yourself?” he snarls.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

I shake my head, my eyes downcast, but suddenly, he’s in my face. “You’re a fucking disgrace,” he sneers, hatred burning in his eyes. The putrid scent of his breath fans across my face and I flinch. His arm darts out, surprisingly agile for someone who has whiskey seeping from his pores, and his hand clamps around my throat. He’s not actually choking me, but that doesn’t stop the panic rising in my chest from making me feel like he’s cutting off my air supply. Tears well up in my eyes as my throat convulses under his hand.

You can breathe, Roman. Just breathe. Just breathe.

“You’re such a fuck-up,” he growls, and I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to keep myself calm. Something wet hits my face. Did he spit on me? Shame burns in my gut. Shame that I let him do this to me, shame that I don’t fight back, and most of all, shame that I don’t just leave. That I keep coming back here, letting him do this to me, hoping one day it will be different, that one day the apologies I’ll no doubt receive tomorrow will actually mean something.

His hand tightens on my throat, and with a harsh movement, he shoves me to the ground. My eyes pop open right before I collide with the dirt, and I bring my hands up to catch my fall. A sharp jolt of pain shoots through my wrist at the contact with the ground, but I ignore it. I jump to my feet and take off running, stumbling and nearly falling as I make my way up the porch and into the house.

I don’t stop until I’m in my room. I slam the door closed behind me, my hands trembling as I reach up to lock the deadbolt I installed on the door. Only once I’m locked safely in my room do I allow myself to collapse to the ground.

I cradle my hurt wrist in my hand, but it has nothing on the pain in my heart. Sobs tear from my throat. Fuck, I can’t keep living like this.

After what feels like hours, my tears finally dry up and all my energy leaches from me at once. My body feels heavy and wrung out, but I somehow manage to drag myself to my bed. I climb under the blankets, pulling them over my head. All the good feelings I felt today are gone, and a familiar numbness is all that’s left in its place.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and when I pull it out, pain shoots through my wrist, making me gasp.

Beck

I had so much fun tonight. I hope we can go out together again soon. :)

I stare at the message until it’s blurry, and I realize that I’m crying again. I toss my phone down beside me and sniffle, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. It does nothing to stem the flow of tears. I know I should text him back, tell him I had fun too, and make plans for another date, but I can’t.

When the sun shining into my room wakes me up, the house is quiet. My eyes feel swollen and sore from all my crying last night, and my wrist is still throbbing, a dull ache that reminds me of everything that happened. I groan and bury my head under my blankets, trying to get some more sleep. I’m dozing off when I hear a loud thump from the hallway outside my door.

I freeze, my heart rate picking up. I dart my eyes to the door, making doubly sure that I locked the deadbolt. It was one of the first things I bought when I started working. Dad doesn’t come into my room often, but I couldn’t sleep knowing that he could . I needed at least one place in this house that I was safe in. I still don’t feel completely safe, but it’s better than it used to be. At least I can sleep now.

Another thump, followed by a groan, echoes from the hall. My chest tightens with fear, but I force myself to climb out of bed and unlock the door. When I peek out, Dad is slumped on the floor, his head cocked sideways against the wall, his body sprawled across the ground. It’s obvious he fell. I can’t believe he’s still up—or maybe he’s up again. It doesn’t really matter either way.

“Rome?” he slurs, blinking up at me slowly, his eyes bloodshot and glazed over. I open the door the rest of the way and step into the hall.

“Come on, Dad. Let’s get you into bed.” I reach down and help him up, gritting my teeth against the pain that shoots through my wrist. As I help him stand, I notice a puddle on the floor and a dark, wet stain on his pants. I ignore it for now, focusing instead on getting him to his room. The scent of alcohol and piss is so strong that I have to fight back a gag as I half-drag him down the hall.

We stumble into the room, and I lead him to the bathroom. He’s leaning heavily against me, his eyes dull and unfocused as he watches me strip his clothes off so I can get him cleaned up. I reach into the shower and turn on the water, waiting for it to warm up before helping him step in. His legs are shaky—barely holding him up—and I have to support him the whole way. He looks weak and vulnerable in a way that does nothing to ease the conflicted feelings I have about him.

I sigh heavily as I help him rinse the piss and stench of alcohol off his body. There’s no way he’s getting a full shower. Not in the state he’s in, but at least this way, he won’t be sleeping in his own filth.

Once he’s as clean as he can be, I help him out, and dry him off quickly before leading him to his bed. I leave him sitting on the edge while I go find some clean pants for him. After helping him get dressed and tucking him under the blankets, I make sure to flip him on his side. It’s anybody’s guess if he’ll stay there, but at least I know I tried. If he chokes on his own vomit? Well, that’s on him.

I’m walking out of the room when his slurred voice stops me in my tracks. “Rome?”

“Yeah?” I ask, my back still turned to him.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep and the remnants of his drunkenness.

It’s not the first time he’s thanked me for taking care of him in his drunken stupor, and like always, it makes hope flare in my chest that things will be different. That maybe this time will be the time that he changes. Deep down, I know better, but a small part of me still holds out hope. I start to walk away when his voice stops me again. “Rome?”

I sigh. “Yeah, Dad?”

“I’m sorry. I love you.”

My body burns with the familiar ache of wishing that was enough.

After cleaning up the mess in the hallway, I head to take a shower. I avoid looking at my reflection in the mirror as I strip down, feeling disconnected from my body. How can I be the same person this morning that I was last night when I held Beck’s hand, when I watched him sweet-talk animals, when I felt the warm press of his lips on mine?

As I gently scrub my face, tears start to sting my eyes again as the memory of Dad’s spit on my face flashes through my mind.

Once I’m clean, I step out of the shower and dry off, tying the towel around my waist. I stand in front of the mirror for a long time, trying to gather the courage to look up at myself. I take a few deep breaths and lift my gaze. My eyes look lifeless and dull, the spark that was there last night completely gone. I’m so fucking tired of living like this. So tired of being terrified to even move or breathe. Home should be a safe space, but it’s not. The fucked-up thing is, I felt safer on that Ferris wheel, with Beck’s hand in mine, than I ever have here.

I look away from myself and slowly walk back to my room. After I get dressed in some old sweats and my favorite holey shirt, I climb back into bed, content to spend the day buried in the blankets. I really want to disappear for a while, to forget everything that happened after I got home last night.

My phone buzzes and I grab it. There are two messages from Beck, sent back to back.

Beck

Good morning. I hope you slept well.

Beck

I feel all giddy and happy inside. :)

Despite all the bullshit I went through last night, a smile forms on my lips. His words, much like him, are the ray of sunshine I need to cut through the darkness, reminding me of the happiness I felt last night. With him. I wasn’t in the right headspace last night to respond to him, and I feel bad that I didn’t. I don’t want to leave him hanging. This feels like it could be something . And I don’t want to fuck it up for myself by blowing him off simply because I’m not feeling the greatest today.

Dad’s voice echoes in my head, telling me that Beck is too good for me, that he won’t want me when he finds out the state of my life. But I shove it down and text him back.

Me

I had a lot of fun too. I’m happy as well.

His response is immediate, and it pulls me a little further out of the pit I’ve been sinking into.

Beck

Is tonight too soon to see you again? I’m definitely ready for another date.

Before I can even respond, another message comes through.

Beck

Actually, no. Ignore me. I’m trying to be cool, but I really like you.

A laugh escapes me, surprising me. I’m not so sure that Mia’s assessment that he plays it cooler than me is right. It may seem that way on the surface because only one of us is a bumbling idiot, but I think he’s as messed up over me as I am over him.

I smile at my phone and text him back quickly.

Me

I’d like that. What do you have in mind?

I hit send and then realize I left out an important piece of information.

Me

Oh, and I really like you too.

Within seconds, I have a response.

Beck

Really?

A giddy laugh falls from my lips before I can stop it, my stomach flipping with excited nerves.

Me

Yeah. :) What do you want to do?

Beck

Well, I wasn’t actually expecting you to say yes. I figured you’d tell me to chill out. Haha.

Beck

We can go to dinner? I can pick you up later. :)

Me

Perfect.

The little Italian place that Beck took me to is absolutely delicious. I’ve never been here before, but I have to admit, I’m not mad at it. What surprises me the most, though, is how easy the conversation has been between us. I’m usually struggling to get my words out, or stumbling over my sentences, but tonight isn’t like that.

I shove my plate of spaghetti away with a sigh, patting my stomach. “That was so good, but I can’t eat another bite, or I’ll literally explode.”

He smiles at me, his blue eyes twinkling in the dim lights. The atmosphere here is quite romantic. Despite the happiness I feel, there’s still a dull ache in my wrist, a constant reminder of last night. The thought of going home after this weighs heavily on my mind.

He leans back in his chair. “God, me too. It was so good, though. I’m glad we got to go out again. Do you wanna take a walk or something?”

I’m nodding before he even finishes his sentence, excited that he doesn’t want our night to end, either. He laughs, but honestly, I’m having too much fun to be embarrassed about it. He pays the bill, despite my arguing, and we both stand up to leave. He slips his hand into mine, and the contact makes me feel all warm inside. He tugs me forward gently, and it twinges my wrist, sending a sharp pain flaring up my arm and down into my palm. A pained gasp escapes my lips before I can stop it.

His eyes snap to mine, concern radiating in the blue. “Are you okay?”

I nod, trying to downplay it. “Yeah, my wrist hurts a little. I, um, fell last night and hurt it catching myself.” It’s not entirely a lie, but the words feel like ash on my tongue as I say them. He stares at me for a second, his gaze intense and assessing, and I have to look away, too scared of what he might see if he looks too closely.

He continues to study me—I’m not sure that I like how intently. “Do you fall a lot?”

I hesitate. “No, I had a clumsy moment last night, that’s all,” I murmur, hoping that he’ll drop it. He hums, like he’s considering my words, then he drops my hand. Well, that sucks. My disappointment doesn’t last long, though because he simply takes my other and pulls me along. Tension drains from my body at his easy acceptance.

We walk hand in hand out of the restaurant and down the quiet street. The moon is bright tonight, casting a silvery light, and the streetlights illuminate his face. The pale, almost white strands of his blonde hair seem to glow in the moonlight, giving him an ethereal quality.

“You know,” he says. “I’m glad you’re feeling a little more comfortable around me now, but I have to admit, I do miss the blushing and stammering.”

Like his words alone trigger it, my cheeks heat up instantly, and he laughs. “Yes! That blush!”

I laugh along with him; unable to help myself. His joy is infectious, sinking into my chest and making a home for itself there, erasing some of the bad from before.

“I don’t want this night to end,” I blurt out, and then cringe at how stupid I sound. This is literally only our second date. I should not be acting like this.

“It doesn’t have to,” he says with a shrug, surprising me. “You can come to my house, and we can hang out there if you want. I don’t really want it to be over, either.”

I definitely don’t want to go home, but more than that, I want to spend more time with him; bask in his sunshine a little longer. “Yeah, that’d be cool,” I say, unable to keep the smile out of my voice.

He stops and turns around, spinning me with him, so we’re facing each other in the middle of the sidewalk. A huge smile lights up his face, and the sight of it makes my stomach flip. He gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “Let’s go, then.”

Fuck, I may be in some trouble here.