Dirty Tactics by Emma Salah

Author:Emma Salah
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Carina Press
Published: 2020-04-30T15:57:38+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

Zac’s eyes flew open.

He didn’t know what woke him. Was it the sound of heavy breathing? Was it the sound of loud whispers in the air? Or was it just the heavy feeling in his gut? He crawled out of bed and out of his room. He knew where he would find them: in the kitchen. It was always the kitchen.

Dread had him walking slowly. Had his heart beating too fast and his thoughts a jumble. He stood outside of the door, hand on the doorknob. I should go back to sleep. He had practice in the morning and then school. But he didn’t. He never did.

He could hear them now. Louder and clearer.

“I’ve told you! Over and over again!”

“Please—”

“Fucking hell, I mean look at this.”

Zac flinched as something shattered. A plate or a cup.

“I can make something different if you—”

Laughter cut off the woman’s words.

“You say that every night, bitch, and every fucking night, it’s the same. What do I gotta do to teach you how to do it right?”

“I’m trying—”

Skin slapping against skin. A body thudding against tile floor.

Zac didn’t hesitate; he pushed the door open. His eyes swept past the man heaving in the center of the room and the woman crying on the floor. Instead, he noticed the time flashing on the microwave: 2:16 am. The same time every night. He noticed the shards of glass and the remains of the destroyed dinner on the floor. I’m going to have to clean that up, he thought.

He couldn’t look away from it. His father grabbed his shoulder in a punishing grip. His fingers were going to leave bruises. Zac looked up at the sheriff. His spit turned to dust in his mouth. His father was apparently a good-looking man and apparently, he shared his features, but, to him, he looked like a monster. More so because of the blood splatters on his face, the hard look in his eyes and the sneer of his lips. And the smell—the stink of whiskey and beer—clung to him like a second skin. It bled out of him.

His father shook him to get his attention.

“Clean this shit up,” he spat. “You hear me, son. I don’t want to see any of this tomorrow.”

And then he left, pushing past him.

Zac didn’t care about the glass on the floor or the splattered food. He walked across them to the only thing that mattered. His mother was curled into a ball, sobbing silently to herself. She was bleeding from a cut across her forehead and a few other places. She didn’t notice him standing there.

“Mom,” he whispered.

He fell to his knees and gathered her up in his arms. But suddenly she stopped crying. She looked up at him and his heart stopped. Something was in her eyes that he had never seen before.

“Zac,” she said in a flat voice.

“Mom.”

“I want to die.”

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