Whispers In The Dark

Reximus

Reximus

I was at the kitchen table, only just starting my Algebra two homework and conversing with my mom, who was cooking, when my dad stormed in. Johnny waltzed in behind him.

"Bobby, I told you I'm sorry, but I don't think you should be--"

My dad gritted his teeth. "Shut up, Johnny. Let's just forget about this and never speak of it again, okay?"

"Bobby, you can't--"

My dad silenced him by slamming his hand by slamming his hand down onto the table, next to my Algebra book. I froze.

From the corner of my eye, I could see my mom struggle to speak.

"Would you like to stay for dinner, Johnny?" she asked.

He shook his head, eyes still locked with my dad's. "No, thank you, Laura. I should probably be leaving." He didn't move, however.

"You're my best friend," he finally said. "We've known each other for thirty-one years, and you've saved my life. I love you like a brother, Bobby, but I'm not just gonna stand by and watch you beat on your son. I've known Reximus his entire life, and he's always been a good kid. You know that. Just because he leans towards guys instead of girls doesn't change anything except for the gender of the one he's going to marry. Why can't you see that?"

"He's a fag, Johnny! Why can't you see that!?" my dad shouted. I cringed. "We've been messing with them our whole lives! And you're just going to start defending them now?"

"It's called growing up, Bobby! We aren't fourteen-year-old assholes anymore. We'll both be forty this year! Us picking on kids is ridiculous!"

"How I treat my son has nothing to do with you!" he spat. "If you can't deal with that, then leave!"

They glared at each other with equal malice in their eyes.

"Fine," Johnny said, finally. He pulled a black hat over his head and tucked his hands into his pockets. "Tell me when you stop being an immature dick." He disappeared out the back door.

My dad's glare never faded, but when he got tired of glaring at the closed door, he turned it to me. He stalked towards me, hands in fists at his sides.

"You little shit." He raised one of his hands. His face was reddening more than ever.

I hadn't seen it coming. One moment, I was begging him with my eyes to just leave me alone, and the next, I was on the floor, clutching my cheek and tasting blood in my mouth.

"Bobby!" my mom shrieked, bewildered.

My dad even looked shocked at himself. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, the red slowly fading from his expression, paling instead. He held his hands out in front of him, as if to keep them away from him, like he was utterly upset.

My mom rushed over to me, but I pushed away her desperate hands and stumbled to my feet.

"I'm okay," I mumbled, because that was what she wanted to hear.

I hurried to the bathroom and slammed the door behind me. Immediately, I spit into the sink. I grimaced at the bit of blood that came out. My reflection was someone I didn't know.

My eyes were teary and wide, the brown that my mother had once adored now dull and tired. The skin on my cheeks was red, and the left corner of my mouth was slowly turning a sickly shade of blue. My teeth were pink and slimy with remnants of blood, the inside of my bottom lip cut and scraping painfully against my teeth. My hair was getting long and I had been neglecting to brush it for days, leaving it to hang over the top of my forehead and the tips of my ears. I was too small--only five feet and five inches--and I had nothing to be proud of, just a wimpy figure and a bit of weight that could always be lost.

He had never hit me, ever.

I was staring into the eyes of someone I didn't know, someone I didn't want to know. But there was no doubt in my mind that I would be getting to know them very quickly, and soon. I was becoming the image in the mirror, after all.