Don't Hurt Me

Chapter 4

I know it's him even before he walks in.

I recognize the heavy rhythm of his footsteps. I even recognize the shape of his shadow, which hovers over me as he comes up behind my back. I take a glance over my shoulder. Sure enough, it's my father.

I watch silently as he makes his way to the fridge and yanks its little door open. From my place at the table, where I'm eating dinner alone, I can feel the cold air pouring out, creeping over the bare skin of my arms. It makes me shiver.

I find myself staring at my father's back as he bends over and peers lengthily into the dangerously overstuffed fridge.

About a month shy of his forty-fourth birthday, my father is a man who looks pretty good for his age. He is taller than either of my brothers, clearing six feet. He's also the biggest among them, burly and broad-chested.

He tells me sometimes about how he used to work hard to stay in shape, maintaining daily sit-ups and push-ups, and going for five-mile runs. That's probably true, because he isn't paunchy now like Alex's dad, and he doesn't complain about things like pains in his back or his leg the way a lot of other old people do.

But he isn't active anymore now, that's for sure. In fact, he looks more and more worn out by the day, like life has finally caught up to him.

"So, Clare," he pipes up in his low, gravelly voice. "How are things at school?"

I blink at him in surprise. When was the last time my father bothered to ask me about school? Or anything in my life for that matter?

I watch as he extracts a bottle from inside the fridge. He kicks the door shut, then turns to face me with dark eyes.
"Well, girl?" he prompts me. "I asked you a question, didn't I?"

"Yeah, yeah," I answer quickly. "I'm sorry. Um, school is fine, I guess."

I'm into my second week now, and nothing much has happened. I lost twenty smackeroos to dear old Rob that first day (I had so much trouble finding my second class that I was actually late. I mean, geez, how I could have thought that that it was on the third floor?).

And one more thing. A couple of days ago, I saw someone at school - someone I recognized from a night I can't seem to forget.

The boy from the gang.

Which shouldn't be weird. He's a kid. He has to go to school. It's perfectly feasible that I would catch a glimpse of him in the halls. As for whether he noticed me, I'm not sure. I think he might have looked at me, but I could just as easily have been imagining it. We brushed right past each other without a word, and that was that.

To be honest, I was a little disappointed. Seeing him gave me this feling like I was expecting something to happen. I'm just not sure what.

"Yeah?" my father asks. "Not too tough? You know, the homework and tests and all that?"

He sounds like he barely remembers what school even is. "No," I say with a shrug.

"Good. You need to do well in school, you know? Otherwise, you're gonna end up a freakin' nobody,"

Oh, you mean you like you? Working year after year in the same old place, fixing other people's cars and pumping their gas? But I just nod and answer, "Right. Got it."

He doesn't respond, instead gazing down at me, looking like he isn't sure what else to say. I really hope there's nothing else. I feel nervous, being around him. I just want him to go away.

"Well," he sighs finally, tearing his gaze from mine. "I guess I should get back to the movie."

"Right."

"You can come watch with me if you want to. It's Blade. Wesley Snipes. Vampires. Lots of fighting. It's an old one but still good."

"No, thanks." I love action-packed vampire movies. I just don't want to watch one with him.

He pauses, giving me a long look. "OK, fine. Another time."

"Sure. Another time."

Yeah, right, I think to myslf as he leaves. My shoulders droop, releasing a tension I didn't even know was in me. He's gone, and I'm OK.

I listen to the TV blaring in the other room, and his little sigh of contentment. It's strange to think that he and the man I'm so afraid of are the same person.

But we all have different sides to us. The side that hates. The side that lashes out. The side we don't want anyone to see, but can never truly hide.