I Am Chris by R. Kent

Author:R. Kent [Kent, R]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781635559057
Publisher: Bold Strokes Books
Published: 2021-03-03T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Michael slumped onto my cot and pulled off his shirt to scrub at his face.

There were old cigarette burns dotting his shoulders. A gnarly scarred slash ran across his upper arm. And hash marks made long ago plagued his back.

I tried not to stare.

Michael knew what I saw. “The Sergeant,” he said. His shoulders rounded, hollowing his chest. “He’s my father.” Michael balled the T-shirt and tossed it to the mattress. “Bio donor really. I can’t call him a father. He doesn’t rate.” He folded his hands in his lap and waited.

His father?

I sat on the bed next to Michael. The mattress slouched more in my direction. Michael was too thin. Frail really. Light as a bird. I wondered how he had survived each assault, every time, year after year.

“I’m not like him,” he said when I hadn’t filled the still air. “I’ll never be like him. At least I can change that.”

A handprint glowed around his neck. The red-purple of a new bruise shined over his sunken cheek. He sniffled and ran his hand under his nose. It came away bloody.

And they had held his wrists.

“I’m so sorry,” I said in a whisper. “I never meant for you to get hurt.” I felt tears well behind my eyes. I thought I felt my face burn. I knew I was ashamed.

I hate myself for letting him get hurt. I hate myself more than I hate them. I hurt everyone around me with my selfishness.

Michael had always extended himself in friendship. Even though being my friend got him hurt. He didn’t have much, and still, he never thought of himself first.

“I’m sorry,” I said. I wished there was more I could have said. Sorry wasn’t enough. I wished there was something I could do.

“No big. I’m used to it.” He gingerly touched his swollen lips with the very tips of his fingers.

His face was hideous from the assault.

I stared down at my thighs. Stains marred the blue of my jeans. I wished I could have scrubbed the stains out to make them bright blue again. But all of the marks were permanent now. No amount of scrubbing would make the stains disappear.

Michael hiked a hip. A loud groan escaped his lips. He fished around in his pocket, then drew out a fist-sized lump of cash. “For you and your little sister,” he said.

Bills fell loose from the crumpled mass. Some landed on the mattress. A few hit the floor. Michael laid the bulk of them in my lap.

“Where did you get this?” I poked at the treasure like it hid a scorpion inside.

“I bet on you.” Michael laid his hand on my thigh. His fingers were long and thin. They stretched to cover the grimy stains on my jeans. “I’ll always bet on you.” He squeezed my leg.

I hugged him. It was a girly thing to do, but I threw my arms around him like he was my little brother. Like he was family. Like he was a lifeline. Like he was a tether to a better world.

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