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I’m not strong like Caleb or brave like Adam. I’m no match for my giant of a father. All I have to fight with are my words and those can’t protect me now. So, whatever happens next is going to hurt. I know that much.
Once we reach the office, he tosses me inside and slams the door, closing us in together.
I expect a lecture first, but he doesn’t waste time with words. At least none more eloquent than, “Ungrateful little brat.”
Suddenly, I’m hit so hard against the side of my face, it knocks me off my feet. It’s the blow of a lost temper. And it’s followed by more. Fury-filled and rampant, as if beating me is something he needs to get out of his system.
“You will listen to me, boy,” he barks through gritted teeth.
“I don’t have to listen to you!” I shout defiantly through tears and rage. My face is on fire, red and throbbing.
“Oh, you don’t think so?” he snaps back. “As long as you live in this house, you live under my rules, and I will not tolerate your rebellious bullshit!”
“I’ll never be a bigot like you!” I shout. I’ve never yelled at my parents. I hardly even yell at my brothers. But I’m thirteen now. A teenager. Nearly a man. And I’m drunk on it.
I want to scream my way out of this family. I want to punch and yell and fight until I’ve dismantled the entire house. Until there is nothing left of the Goodes.
He picks up the Bible from his desk and waves it at me. “You will learn some respect!” he shouts.
Then, I feel the blunt end of the book crashing against the side of my head. It’s a dull thunderous feeling that rattles my brain and makes my eyes feel like they’re going to fly from the sockets.
It shuts me up fast.
I’m holding the side of my head, looking for blood, and still in shock. It hurts so bad I can’t think straight. Can he do that? Is he allowed to hit me so hard? Spankings and smacks I’m used to, but beaten with an object… This is new. It never even registered to me that parents could do something so awful to their own kids.
My vision pulses and throbs and my hearing is deafened by a ringing noise. Am I dying?
Would he kill me?
He’s angry enough. And he hates me enough.
But surely my mother would stop him. Or Caleb.
But no one comes. I’m sitting on the floor of his office alone without any strength left to fight.
He won. He always wins.
“You think you’re so smart,” he says. He sounds breathless and almost remorseful. “You think the rules don’t apply to you. But trust me, son,” he says with a bite of anger. I slowly trail my eyes upward toward where he stands over me. “I will break you.”
My teeth are pressed together so tightly I’m afraid they’ll shatter.
“I hate you,” I whisper.
“I know you do,” he replies. “And you can hate me all you want, but you’ll serve the Lord eventually, Lucas. To save your very soul, I’ll be sure of it.”
He slams the book on his desk and storms out of the room. I’m still holding my head when I glance up to the door. Caleb is on the other side, glaring at him with rage in his eyes.
“Leave him in there,” my father bellows. “He’ll sleep on the floor tonight.”
I hear my mother argue, but my dad shuts her down immediately. As the door slams, shutting me inside alone, I slump against the floor and cry into the expensive rug.
It’s the first night I’ve spent away from Caleb, and it’s all my fault. Why couldn’t I just be quiet? What good did it do to argue with him? It scared my baby brother and upset my mom. Not to mention, I probably have a concussion now.
From now on, I’ll never speak up. In fact, I may never speak to him again.
Then, when I’m old enough, I’m gone. For good.
First Trimester
