My Life Sucks

Chapter 12--Beaten and bruised

    "I want to cook." he said, pulling out a frying pan.  

    I watched him pour a can of pinto beans into the pan and when they heated he mashed them with a bent-spatula looking thing.  Then he poured a bag of tortilla chips on a plate and sprinkled them with shredded cheddar cheese.  He put it in the microwave to melt the cheese and then put the warm refried beans on top.  Then he cut an avocado to make guacamole and scooped that onto the chips and beans.  After that he added sour cream and salsa and placed the huge plate in front of me, taking a seat next to me.

    We both picked up a chip stuffed with the toppings and shoved it into our mouths.

    "Wow!" I said, after swallowing.  "This is amazing!"

    "Thank you, thank you very much." he said in an Elvis voice, as he did a little bow.  

    I laughed and he flung a piece of a chip at me.  

    "Hey!  No fair!" I said.  I grabbed a chip off the plate and threw it at him.  He caught it in his mouth.  

    "Surrender!" he said, throwing another chip at me.

    "Never!" I yelled, laughing, ducking under the counter.

    He sat back down and started stuffing his face with nachos.

    "My plan to eat all the nachos is working!" he said in an evil voice.  

    "Nooo!" I said dramatically, getting up from behind the counter.

    It turned into an eating contest.  We stuffed our faces with the nachos until the plate was cleaned and then I helped him do the dishes.  

    "How about some ice cream?" he said jovially.

    "Sure!" I said excitedly.  I love ice cream.

    He got out five different flavors and lined them up in front of me.  

    "It's so hard to decide!  Uhm, I'll have cookies n' cream." I said with a smile.

    "Alright, me too then."

    We sat there eating our ice cream for a while before we heard a key turn in the lock.  Devin's back stiffened and he stood up quickly.  I turned around happily in my bar stool with a large spoon of ice cream in my mouth.

    "Dad." Devin said curtly.  Devin's father walked in, his tie was undone and his shaggy hair was a mess.  "What are you doing here?" he asked, tensely.  

    "I live here.  What are you doing here." he said icily.

    "Dad, you're not supposed to be home now.  Didn't you have somewhere to be?"

    "Don't lecture me!" he barked.

    "Hello Mr. Malone." I said pleasantly, slipping out of my bar stool and approaching him.

    "Who are you?" he asked, angry.  His breath smelled like alcohol and vomit.

    "I'm Roberta Kingsly, a friend of Devin's." I said, extending my hand.  He didn't take it.

    "Your parents should go to hell for giving you such an atrocious name."

    "Her name is perfect, and please don't treat my friend like that." Devin said, his tone getting increasingly icy.

    "You'd do well, boy, to stop telling me what to do."

    It only took a second.  Devin's father threw me to the floor and leaped on top of Devin, punching him repeatedly.

    "Stop!" I cried, tears stinging my eyes.  I tried to get in the middle and break them up but this time it was Devin who gently pushed me out of the way.  I had barely missed his father's fist.  It came crashing into Devin's eye instead of my face.  

    "Please!" I yelled, "Leave him alone!"

    Mr. Malone paused for a second, standing up to peer at me with hateful eyes.  Devin stood up shakily and then ran, grabbing my arm and hauling me out the door.  His father was close behind us.

    "Get in!" he yelled, opening the car door.  I could hardly see the door handle, the tears were blurring my vision so much.  I fumbled with it and finally got the door open, throwing my bag in and sliding in.

    He revved the engine and took off.  After driving for a few minutes he looked at me and asked, "You okay?"

    I wiped my eye and nodded.  "Are you?"

    "Yeah." he said, sighing.  "It's...not unusual.  I just thought he wasn't going to be home.  I didn't want you to see that." he said, clutching the wheel tensely. 

    His eye was already starting to abuse, and I could only guess what his arms looked like under his shirt.

    "When we get to my house I'll get you some ice for that." I said, shakily.

    "Thanks."

    "So.... where is your mom?" I asked.

     "She's dead."

    I gasped.  "I'm so sorry, Devin!  I didn't know!"

    "Yeah, well.  She died when I was nine.  I came home one day and saw her hanging from...her bedroom ceiling."

    I didn't know what to say.  I tried to fight back the tears but one escaped my eye anyway.

    "I guess my dad was just too much for her.  You know, I've thought about it so many times, hanging you know?  My mom did it to escape her misery, maybe it would work for me." he sighed.  "But I never had the courage to do it."

    "I don't know what to say.  But I can tell you that people would miss you if you hang yourself.  Don't do it, please."

    "I'm not going to, but it's not like I make much of a difference to anyone's lives.  You've seen what my father thinks of me."

    "That's not true.  I wouldn't know what to do with myself if you--"

    "Well, not to worry.  I'm here.  Beaten and bruised, but alive and well I suppose."

    "You don't have to go back home tonight if you don't want to.  We have a spare bedroom upstairs.  You can stay there tonight if you want."

    "I'd like that." he said with a smile.