Supernovas & Escapism

Chapter Fifty

     It seemed short-lived though, as just seconds later, I felt tight hands grip my messy mane. His cold fingers looped through my curls and held me against the ground tight. My nose became crushed underneath the concrete. A knee placed squarely on my back prevented me from moving, not that my limp ass would do so anyway at this point in time. The chill that had been so prevalent before returned with a vengeance, making every thought in my head stutter with absolute uncertainty. It was only made worse when I could feel his cold breath on the back of my neck, eyes boring into the back of my skull.

     "Did you really think you could run from me ya little queer?" The word doesn't affect me as much as it should. I hear these sorts of insults all the time, and for the longest time I've imagined him saying them to me. It makes it hurt less when I do. "Did you really think you had a shot in hell of making it past me."

     His words have that glossy varnish to them, like he's been thinking this for the longest time. My escapism, and his need to keep me here are in direct conflict, so it wouldn't surprise me if he had been saving this speech.

     I squirm a little, trying to wrestle my hands out from under his imposing grip. The more I fight, the stronger he becomes.

     The eyes of others are the only things I can feel so vividly. For years they've done their best to ignore the Vega's because it was always behind closed doors. This time though, it was under the moonlit night, practically in the middle of the street. Dogs barked from somewhere off in the distance, as light flooded windows softly. Those silhouettes I could make out in the past seemed less rigged and more concerned this time.

     They wouldn't openly interfere. This was my worry.

     As it turns out, I didn't need to worry much about that. In the distance, I could hear it. A few faint hurried footsteps. And then they became louder. And louder. And even louder still. And then it felt like they were right over me. Ad finally a completely different, but still recognizable sound—bone colliding against bone. The mere sound of it made me wince in pain, despite me not being the punching bag for once in my life.

     Suddenly, his grip lessened. A pained roar left his mouth as now his knee fell off of my back. "Sunova..." he started, muffled between his hands. The sound he made as he fell back a few yards was almost satisfying.

     I rolled onto my back, looking at the scene which had just unfolded; a boy standing inches in front of me with fists curled tightly, and my father a certain instance away, looking almost the definition of 'knocked the fuck out.' My father's eyes were so dark and venomous, almost like two giant black holes ready to suck in any sort of hope that I might have had. With a single movement, he swiped at his nose, leaving a red trail across his face.

     "What the actual fuck kid," he said, staring up at the figure. His frown was serious but his body language remained calm for the time being.

     Without even pausing for a moment to think, the boy had his finger pointed down at my dad. "You do not get to do that," he spoke with a quivering tone that seemed to betray his rock-steady posture. "You do not get to put your hands around him like that," Xavier said a little louder, the voice now ringing loud and clear in my skull. 

     When he tried to assemble himself back together, pulling everything that he was back onto his feet, Xavier slipped back a pace. Amateur and sort of Rookie mistake with my father. There was something about him that fed on that instinct of fear; it allowed him to grow stronger and stronger. That dangerous look in his eyes seemed to say it all. The wheels in his head were turning quickly, probably imagining how many bounds it would take to clear the gap.

     "You don't know who you're dealing with here kid," he mused, steadying himself once back on two feet.

     Xavier chuckled to himself softly. "I'm dealing with someone who can't pick on someone their own size."

     "Xavier," I hissed. "What the fuck are you doing?"

     "You spend the majority of your life keeping the people who you should care about bubbled in fear," he said, a confident foot forward. The trap was now pulling into effect. "God knows you can't stand anyone who might actually stand up to you. And that's because you're the 'big man.'" God, he was using air quotes and everything. "But I'm telling you right now, you will never lay a fucking hand on him again," he practically demanded. Now he was standing face to face with him, and realistically, there wasn't that much difference height wise between the pair of them.

     "And what are you going to do about it?" he questioned in that snarky, bitter tone that seemed to fit for a telenovela villain.

     Xavier smiled, before frowning and loading his fist back. Due to inebriation, or perhaps just not expecting it in that moment, he managed to land a gut-punch square in his chest. I honestly wished I had a camera to capture that moment. That sheer unadulterated moment where for once my father had gotten the wind knocked out of him.

     "Coming?" Xavier said after a moment, extending his hand out to mines. "The next step of our lives awaits."

     And the funny thing is that I don't need to think about taking his hand, I just do.

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