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I barely make out the glint from the shard of glass he’s fisting before it makes contact with my throat. I freeze. Solid. Unable to breathe. Tears well in my eyes as he pushes it further, leans down until his face is an inch from mine. “A life for a life, Isaac.”
A sob escapes, and my eyes drift shut, releasing liquid agony down my temples. “Enough, Grandpa,” I whisper.
He gets even closer, seething, “What the fuck did you say, kid?”
“I saidenough,” I beg.
“Fucking pussy.”
I gather all my strength and all my weaknesses. All the rage and anger that had been building for days…
Something’s wrong with me…
For the first time ever, I squeeze my hands between us and push.Hard.“I saidenough!” I yell, sitting up. Then I stand, slowly, my body screaming for some form of reprieve. But I ignore its cries. Its pleas for help. I look down at my grandpa, now lying on the floor, on his side. He looks so weak now, so old and frail and… pathetic. “How much more do you expect me to take?” I scream. “I can’t fucking do this anymore!”
“Fuck you!” he groans, rolling to his back, his arms out at his sides. His fists unfurl, releasing the shard of glass… and there’s blood in his palm. So much of it.
I drop to my knees beside him, wiping the tears from my eyes. “Grandpa,” I cry, ripping off my shirt and using it to stop the bleeding. I hold his hand to me, checking the wound every few seconds, but there’s so much blood—the same blood that flows through my veins, that makes up who I am. “Grandpa…”
I swallow the ache in my throat, bury it beside the pain in my chest, and run to his bathroom to get a towel. I use the towel to stop the bleeding and tie my shirt around his wrist. “I’ll be right back,” I tell him, my heart pounding in my chest.
He groans in response, and I run to my room, grab my phone, and call Jonah on the way back down.
It’s the middle of the night. There’s no way he’d answer.
Fear wraps around my throat, squeezes hard.
Jonah answers within seconds, his voice cracking from sleep. “Jace?”
“Is your mom there? My grandpa’s hurt, and he’s bleeding, and I can’t make it stop and I don’t know what to do.”
“We’ll be right there.”
He hangs up, and it feels like forever before headlights shine through my window. I leave Grandpa’s side long enough to unlock the door and return to him. He’s still breathing, still moaning, and I take his bleeding hand in mine. “Help’s here, okay?”
“No people in the house, Jace.”
“I know, Grandpa. I’m sorry.”
Jonah opens the door, his eyes wide at the picture in front of him. “Jesus, Jace,” he whispers, then gets pushed forward by his mom, Connie, who enters after him.
Connie takes stock of the surroundings before her pitiful eyes land on me. “His hand is cut,” is all I can say.
She nods, swallows, and then approaches us quickly before dropping to her knees, placing her medical bag between us. “Hi, Marty,” she says, her tone the only calm amidst the storm. She strokes his hair,seeing him for the man he once was and not the man he is today. “I’m going to take a look at your hand, okay?”
Grandpa groans in response.
Connie switches her focus to me. “And then I’m going to take a look at you.”
“I’m fine,” I lie.
Glass crunches beneath Jonah’s shoes as he approaches, squats down beside me. He settles a hand on my shoulder, but he doesn’t speak.
And I get it.
There’s nothing either of us can say to make my lies turn to truth.
Nothing isfine.