Mary’s voice pulls me from the path of my thoughts. “I’ll walk you out.”
I slip her hand in mine and follow her back to the door. With the front door open, I turn and kiss Mary’s cheek with my eyes locked on Jonah’s.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” I step out onto the front porch and turn to walk back to my truck.
What the fuck am I doing?
If I can make him hate me, everything will be fine. Mary will be collateral damage, but I don’t have a choice. Sometimes, to keep ourselves safe, someone else has to hurt.
With nowhere else to go, I head home. When I pull into the driveway, the lights downstairs are on. Fuck. Dad’s made it out of the study.
Squaring my shoulders, I mentally prepare myself for the shitstorm I’m about to enter.
I can hear Dad yelling before I get to the front door. As I open it, something big crashes to the floor and glass shatters. Momma screams, and I run toward the living room to find her cowering on the hardwood floor in a corner. Dad has thrown a lamp. Luckily his aim is off, so it didn’t hit her.
“Useless cunt!” he yells, stumbling toward her.
“Hey!” I roar to get his attention. “You’re a piece of shit!”
Momma is maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet and barely five-foot-two while this bastard is six-foot-six and 270 pounds. His hands are the size of baseball mitts and hit like a sledgehammer. She can’t take the beatings.
“Well, if it isn’t little Roman King,” he sneers, turning his attention to me. “Gracing us with his presence.”
“Momma, get out of here.”
Dad’s attention is trained so hard on me, he doesn’t notice his whimpering wife on the floor anymore. Watching this once-powerful woman picking her frail skeleton of a body up off the floor shatters my heart. She deserves so much more in life than this NFL flunky. This town has let her down, all willing to turn a blind eye to the abuse because her husband played fucking football and her son showed talent early on.
We only live in this town because her daddy owned and operated Kenton Meat Packing. It’s a few miles outside of town and most of the population works there. After he died, he left it all to Momma, including this stupid house. My father has been all too happy to walk around here like a peacock, flaunting himself. I don’t remember the man, but from what I’m told, he was a strict, but fair, man. My father is neither.
The last few years, the beatings have gotten worse. When I started playing football for the high school and quickly made it to the varsity team, this fucker had fallen farther into the bottle. I don’t know how this house hasn’t fallen from it all.
Momma makes it past me, tears running down her face, smearing her makeup. She hobbles out of the room and toward the stairs. I hope she remembers to lock the door this time.
Dad makes his way toward me, but I stand my ground, refusing to show him anything other than contempt. He’s such a fucking cliché, it’s disgusting. He got hurt playing pro ball and has become a fucking drunk, beating on his wife and kid to feel powerful. What a joke.
“You think you’re better than me?” he sneers in my face.
“I know I’m better than you. You’re nothing but a piece of shit who uses his fists to feel like a big man.”
That’s all he needs. His fist connects with my face; pain explodes across my cheek and my head snaps to the side. My knees give out, and my hand cups my cheek. Fuck, that hurt.
My eye is already swelling; hopefully I’ll be able to see tomorrow so I can drive.
“Fucking little pussy-ass bitch. You’re a stupid little cunt just like that idiot you call your mother. Keep your fucking mouth shut, faggot!” He kicks me in the stomach, taking the air from my lungs and knocking me onto the floor.
Groaning, trying to breathe through the pain, I lie there staring up at the decorative ceiling in our enormous house and remember how inviting the Cohen house was. I wasn’t there for long, but it was more welcoming in those few minutes then all the years spent in this gilded hellhole.
Chapter Six
Jonah
Mary has said little to me since Roman showed up at our house last night. My normally chatty sister has been locking herself away in her room.
I’m lying on my bed, staring out the window, when there’s a knock on my door.
“Come in,” I holler, sitting up.
The door opens and Mary steps inside, closing the door behind her and looking down at her feet.
“What’s up?” I ask since she doesn’t seem keen to start the conversation. I’m pretty sure I know what this is about, and I don’t want to talk about it either.
“I don’t want you to go with me and Roman.” She looks directly at me when she makes her declaration.
“I don’t want to go either, but I don’t have a choice.”
“You could act like you’re going to go, but don’t. I’ll text you when we’re done, and we can meet up to come home so it looks like you were with us.”
Surprise has me standing up and moving closer to her. “Are you serious? You’ve known this guy for all of a week and you already want me to sneak around for you? Are you listening to yourself?”
“Mary! Jonah!” Mom hollers from the kitchen.
Neither of us says anything more; we just head down the hallway.
“Wash up for dinner. You’re saying grace tonight,” Dad tells me when my feet hit the linoleum.
We’re dismissed with a turn of his back. Anxiety flutters in my stomach as I make my way to the bathroom in the hallway to wash my hands. Closing the door behind me, I stare at my reflection: brown hair the same shade as my father’s that needs a trim, hazel eyes, unblemished skin, lean muscle. I still look like me, but I don’t feel like me.
This move has changed me more than I thought it would. In Washington, most people are supportive of alternative lifestyles, but here? Not a chance in hell. If anyone finds out I’m gay, I’ll be shunned so fast my head will spin. I’m already not trusted simply for being from the west coast.
I just have to finish this year. Nine months and I’m free. I can leave the south and my family’s name behind. I will be free to be me.
A knock on the door has me turning the water on. “Just a minute.”
“Come on, Jonah! I’m starving!”
I smirk at Mary. She’s always hungry.
“All right, all right.” I open the door and sling an arm around her shoulders, leading her to the table.
The dining room sits right off the kitchen; the round oak table we eat every meal at has been in our family for years. I don’t remember ever having a different one. Between homework and birthdays, this table has seen it all.
The cabinets are also oak. The linoleum floor has been made to look like stone and has seen better days, but it’s still intact with no chips or tears. The only recent addition to the room is the big, white farmhouse sink. I have to admit it’s much easier to do dishes in that sink than the previous one.
“Sit.” Dad’s command brings me back to the present and I pull my chair out.
Everyone clasps their hands in front of themselves and bows their heads.
“Dear Heavenly Father, I would like to thank You for this beautiful day, the work my father does in Your name, my family’s health, and this amazing meal that my mother has prepared for us. Please bless the congregation and our town of Kenton. We ask these things in Your Holy Name. Amen.”