“Man, I was just messing around. I swear—”
“—You swear? You swear? Isn’t this what you wanted? You wanted to see the freak? You know,” I dig the lighter out of my pocket, keeping my hand around his throat, then flick it on. The flames dance in the breeze and I grip his chin, keeping his head still. His eye widens in terror and a single tear falls as the flame becomes too close. “You want to know how I became this ‘freak’ you call me? Do you want to be a freak too?” I whisper creepily and lick my lips, my muscles itching to burn his fucking eye out.
“Come on, man,” he sniffles, a tear running down his face.
What a fucking coward. He isn’t even fighting me.
“I’m sorry, okay? I was just messing around.”
“Messing around? You mess around with people who have clear issues? Insecurities? Disabilities? I was strung up. My eye was burned out and then carved out with a knife. Think about what people go through before you fuck with them about what you know nothing about. Do I make myself clear?”
He nods quickly. “Crystal. Crystal clear. I’m sorry, man. I’m sorry.”
I shove him and he flips over the rail into the water. “I don’t give a fuck about your apology.” I place my eye patch back on and walk away, leaving him to his friends to help get him out of the water.
My heart is pumping with adrenaline, and everyone has their gaze on me. Then I see Kimmy. I expect tears, maybe fear, it isn’t often people see me without my eye covering. She bolts from Scarlett’s hold and runs to me, that classic big smile on her face.
I lift her into my arms, nervous about what she is about to say.
“That was awesome! He was such a big jerk, and you were like ‘you can’t mess with me!” She karate chops the air. “And then, you showed your awesome survivor wound and shoved him into the water. I hope he swallowed something gross, like seaweed, maybe something slimy.” She sticks her tongue out in disgust. “He was so mean. I’m glad you’re okay.” She throws her arms around my neck and gives me a hug.
My brows dip in confusion. Behind me, I hear a round of applause from everyone else, but I roll my eye.
I hate attention.
I give a curt nod, and everyone goes back to what they were doing.
“My survivor wound? You mean my ugly hole in my head?” I joke, skimming my finger over the patch.
“It isn’t ugly,” she pouts, leaning away to look at me in the face. Her green eyes are stern, just like her mother’s, and that damn bottom lip of hers is killing me. She isn’t happy with me at all. “That isn’t nice to say about yourself, Quin. You should be proud of that hole in your head.”
I snort at her using my words. “That so? Why is that? It isn’t exactly pretty.” My feet pound against the pier and I see Boomer talking to the cops.
Fuck.
He sends me a wink and nods his head to the left. That’s when I see the police officer arresting the soaking wet bastard that gave me a hard time.
“Ride is free,” the guy on the Ferris wheel says as he lifts the rail for us to enter.
“Thanks, man.”
“Anytime. I hate that prick. He terrorizes everyone.” He lifts his pant leg and shows a prosthetic. “Why do you think I wear pants now? Even in the summer when it gets hot. It’s miserable.”
“Man, I believe that.” I keep my arm around Kimmy to make sure she stays safe and the rail slams into place.
The wheel begins to turn, and we climb into the sky slowly, the air suddenly cooler.
“So why do I need to be proud of the hole in my head?” I ask her again, really needing to know.
She lifts her tiny hands and tugs my eye patch off and I turn my head, covering my face with my hand. It’s habit.
She yanks it away. I’m left exposed, my most vulnerable insecurity on display. She’s seven and somehow, at this moment, she’s the adult.
“Cause it isn’t so bad and you survived. If you didn’t, I wouldn’t have you. You wouldn’t be here. I’m okay looking at the hole in your head because I love you lots, and it doesn’t matter to me. Stuff like that doesn’t matter to people who love you.” Her head plops on my chest and I place my chin on top of it, the bubblegum scent of her shampoo hitting my face from the wind.
I hate the smell of bubblegum, but right now, I don’t mind.
Kids can be so… pure and innocent. Full of love and without the cruelty of the world. I don’t know how Kimmy has been able to come up unscathed from the shit her father pulled, but here she is, stronger and kinder than ever.
“I love you too, Squirt.” I slip the patch back on just as we stop at the top. While I love she doesn’t mind my ‘hole in my head’, I’m not ready for it to be on display.
“Quin,” Kimmy whines when the breeze sways the component we are in.
“It’s okay. There’s no reason to be scared. I know it’s high, but look. You can see all the tall buildings, the ocean, and everyone down below. Look how small they look.” I point just as the metal of the Ferris wheel groans and something trembles under us.
“Quin!” she screams and the fear in my name has me clinging onto her.
The ride jerks and the smell of smoke drifts up into the air.
Now, I’m a liar.
There’s every reason to be scared.
I didn’t want to take his money. I plan on repaying him. I can’t take his offer. It’s sweet and generous, but it doesn’t feel right.
Even if it did buy her clothes that fit, a new backpack, school supplies, food in the kitchen—real food. Fruit, vegetables, meat in the drawer, bread in the cabinet.
I paid a few small bills too, like Wi-Fi and water.
I even might have bought her a new bedspread because hers wasn’t warm enough. I thought I was doing good, I thought we were okay, but the money just helped us out so much. I’ve never felt like more of a failure.
I need another job, a better job. Maybe I can go to school.
No, I can’t go to school and work. There’s no one for Kimmy. I just need another job. Maybe I can be a waitress. They bring in good tips. She’s my daughter. I have to do better. I have to. She isn’t Quin’s responsibility. At the end of the day, she’s mine and I have to make the life I want for her.
I look around the small apartment and I’m disappointed in myself.
The sink drips, the refrigerator is old and makes a loud humming sound. I have to kick the toilet for it to flush and the shower is always lukewarm for one minute before it’s ice cold. I can’t even open the windows because they are painted shut.
It’s an old, run-down apartment.
It’s embarrassing.
I wipe the first tear that falls, and the second, but they just keep coming. I sit down on the couch and hold a pillow to my chest as I sob, letting the strong façade I’ve had to put on over the years fall. My shoulders sag and I wail, letting the pain and exhaustion free.
It’s a huge animal that’s been dying to get out.
How am I not better? My ex is dead. I’m not being abused anymore. I’m out of that godforsaken house. That situation. We are safe.
But I still feel like my ex is suffocating me. I’m scared all the time.