Something Terrible by Wrath James White & Sultan Z. White

Author:Wrath James White & Sultan Z. White [White, Wrath James & White, Sultan Z.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: epub, ebook, QuarkXPress
Publisher: Blood Bound Books
Published: 2015-04-28T04:00:00+00:00

FALLEN APPLE

Sultan Z. White

“Open the fucking door.”

I hesitated, fingers around the knob, as I caught the scent of alcohol on my father’s breath, so strong it seeped through the thick cedar. Father banged on the door with his first row of knuckles, not knocks but punches. I slowly unlocked the door, standing on my toes to reach the top deadbolt and working down, because I knew that if I waited until my father was finally able to fumble the key into the lock it would make the beating worse. I opened the door, demolishing the barrier between us, revealing my father, ripe with the odor of a night of drowned sorrows. The stench of booze hit me hard, with a fist behind it.

I fell to the floor, my bloody nose dripping down my face, like the putrid fluid that saturated Father’s piss-stained jeans. Father got completely shit-faced that night at the local bar; he had been kicked out by the owner and stumbled home muttering obscenities at mannequins in shop windows. I knew that tonight would be bad. I curled up into a ball, desperately trying to soften the ceaseless blows. Some tiny twisted thought told me to forgive Father, that he’s only doing this because Mom died, that he only became an alcoholic to cope with the longing. But as I caught sight of Father’s bulge, an erection straining against the zipper in his pants, getting harder with every strike to the side of my temple, I knew Dad didn’t actually miss Mom but was pissed off that he hadn’t gotten laid in more than a year. That’s when I knew I’d never forgive him. That’s when I knew I’d never give Father the satisfaction of taking out his sexual frustration through vicious drunken abuse.

***

The bus screeched to a stop, its brakes wailing as it decelerated the metal mass, crying out for the under-funded public transport in this area of town. I stepped onto the sidewalk, endless desert across the street; behind me a flickering neon sign, Master Toddy’s Muay Thai, struggled to stay lit. I was on the outskirts of Las Vegas. I walked toward the gym, less than a quarter-mile, yet had to ignore a drug dealer asking, “Hey, wanna hit?” and a block later a hooker asking almost the same question: “Hey, baby, wanna hit?” this time accompanied with the flash of a loose and overused pussy. I considered heading back home to the nice suburban area of Vegas, but that would be heading back to more nights of helpless assault. By the time I grabbed the door handle to the gym, wet with who-knows-what, I had already made up my mind.

“Four hundred a month,” the short man said. I wasn’t sure if I heard him correctly, maybe it was the accent. A thick Thai accent, with extraneous syllables and drawn-out vowels.

“Four hundred?”

“Yes.”

I considered. Where could I get that kind of money? I figured I could steal it from Dad; he’d be too wasted most of the time to realize anything was missing.

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