Page 2 of The Fractured

Because what I want more than anything is to mug a schoolboy for his geometry textbook.

From what I overheard, they were heading to the burger joint down the street.

All except one.

She looked around twelve or thirteen years old, probably only four years younger than me, and wore round glasses that kept sliding off her small, freckled nose. Stray hairs from her messy ponytail clung to her face as she concentrated on her watch, furrowing her eyebrows.

My eyes dropped over the heavy tote bag of books, the art folder tucked under her arm, the violin case in her left hand, and the large backpack on her back. It was a lot for one kid to carry. She also had a small Band-Aid under her arm, peeking out from her short sleeve.

I couldn't help myself when I began anticipating the moment she mistook her next step in her hurry and sent everything flying. It wouldn't be so bad if her violin case knocked the self-absorbed nerd walking a couple of paces in front of her on the back of the head. He had looked at me judgingly one too many times already.

Or I could ask her for the case and whack him anyway.

I focused on the girl again as I drew back on my cigarette.

She wasn't with those other kids. None of them bothered waiting for her, and she showed no sign of following them. Instead, her steps began to slow as she got closer, before her blue doe eyes flicked to me.

I expected to receive the same snobby treatment from her.

She was shy and gentle and offered me a smile. “Hi.”

All I could do was blink. I was left stumped by the polite interaction and watched as she took herself into the courthouse.

Suddenly, I wanted to know why she was going to the courthouse and why she bothered saying hello. Did her parents not teach her about stranger danger? At least in the city? Outside a courthouse, of all places? She didn't know me, so why be polite?

No one ever just said hello to me.

She lifted a hand to the door but stopped short when it swung inward, revealing my father on the other side. He plastered an overly generous smile on his oily face as he held the door for her, acting like he was the politest fucking man in the world.

The girl thanked him and then continued on her way.

Gio dropped his smile before he marched for me. Once in reach, he grabbed me by the hood and steered me to wherever his truck was parked. At the same time, he batted the cigarette from my fingers. The gesture came across as a disappointed father giving a shit about his teenage son’s health, but Gio only did it out of spite. He wanted to remove even the simplest things that might bring me joy.

The entire two-block walk to the side street consisted of him complaining about how long it took him to find a parking spot and how I was an ungrateful piece of crap. Or how I would never amount to anything, and that prison was my future if I kept going the way I did.

I learned at an early age to stay quiet when he went on these rants.

When we arrived at the truck, Gio grumbled, "I work my fuckin' ass off for this family," but climbed into the front seat before I could hear the rest.

I hesitated outside the passenger door, unable to reach for the handle.

Run for it. Get the bus home. Go anywhere but in the truck.

Gio's voice was a muffled yell from within the cabin as he glared at me with dark brown eyes. "Get in!"

I hated that I did as he said.

My shoulders were tense as I sat there, anticipating his next move. When he shoved the keys into the ignition, I flinched but was beyond prepared for what came next.

The first punch stung my left cheekbone before my head hit the window. I covered myself with my arms as the hits kept coming. Each one was angrier than the last as he spat hate through his teeth. I begged him to stop, but my voice was too quiet — a broken whimper as tears stung my eyes and blood dripped from the split in my cheek.

He grabbed my shoulder and elbow and shoved me against the door as I shielded my face. It was his final bout of frustration before the violence stopped, and he casually turned back to the steering wheel. Smoothing a hand over his black hair, he composed himself and put the truck in drive.

I remained low in my seat for some time, wondering if it was safe to move yet, as if any sudden movements might start him off again. It wasn't until we were halfway into the drive that I carefully tugged my hood up and slowly rose in my seat. Every inch of where his fists had landed throbbed painfully. It felt like they would bruise to the bone this time.

I lowered my head but stared out the windshield. Glassy-eyed and focused on nothing but the thrum of the heartbeat in my ears and his voice echoing through my mind.

You are worthless. You’re an embarrassment. You will never amount to anything.