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Dave lurches and his fist connects with my right eye. I fall onto my back, throwing my arms over my face.
“You never learn, do you?” His boot sinks into my ribcage that’s still sore from yesterday’s beating.
Sometimes Arlene tries to stop Dave from hitting me, but she’s too high to care right now.
I should be crying from the pain, but all I can do is laugh. Provoking Dave fuels me. “Are you winded already? You should really lay off the Twinkies.”
Dave balls my shirt in his fists, lifts me up, and slams my back against the wall. We’re nose to nose, the odor emitting from his greasy skin mixing with the stench of his breath. His unkempt beard holds onto remnants of his lunch.
“You don’t talk to me like that. I’m in charge here. I put the roof over your head. You do what I say. You got that?”
I wave my hand in front of my nose. “You should take some of that money and go see a dentist. Your mouth smells like gum disease.”
He pops me in the jaw and pummels my stomach, again and again. I take it and wait ‘til it’s over. Dave is obese. He tuckers out quicker than most.
Most high schoolers play a sport or an instrument. Maybe they have dinner with their families, or see a movie with friends. For me? A kick to the gut and a few punches to the head is a typical Friday night.
Dave isn’t the first monster I’ve encountered. I’ve endured worse. In the past year, I’ve met several different kinds of monsters. Dave doesn’t scare me.
Nothing does.
Fear doesn’t control me anymore.
“Who gave you that shiner?” Woods asks.
I look down at his shoes. Shiny as always.
“Look at me, Thomas.”
“I told you not to call me that anymore.”
Woods sighs. “Who gave you that shiner?”
“Why do you ask questions you already know the answer to?”
“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”
“You couldn’t help me even if you knew.” I dip three French fries into a glob of ketchup and shove them into my mouth. McDonald’s tastes as good as Mom’s home-cooked meals when you haven’t eaten all day.
“Is it someone at school? Are you being bullied?”
I glare at him before taking a bite of my cheeseburger. As if I’d let another kid do this to me.
“Then who? Because if it’s your foster parent, you can come down to the station with me and file a report. Or I can come with you to social services and you can tell someone there.”
“What’s the point?”
“The point? You’d be placed in another home where you don’t get beat.”
“Another home. Great.” I give Woods a thumbs-up and go back to eating.
“I know you’ve been bounced around a lot this year, but you can keep trying until you find the right home.”
“Don’t you get it? There isn’t going to be a right home for me. Nice, loving couples don’t want to adopt a troubled fifteen-year old. Just ask your wife.”
His jaw works under his skin. “That’s not fair. You know I’d take you in if I could.”
Woods was the police officer to arrive at my house every time I’d call when I was growing up. He’d let me sit in the front seat of his car and turn on the lights and sirens while Mom got checked by the paramedic. A few years ago, Woods made detective. Still, he was always there for me whenever I called for help. He’s the only friend I have.
