A Bird in Flight | ✔︎

Chapter thirty-one: Six-feet under

Callan

MY FEET DRAG against the loose gravel as I enter the gates of school, struggling to contain my composure. The doctor advised me to rest for another week or more before coming back to school but I ignored him. After spending two weeks at hospital with a further two weeks at home, I felt like death was better than being locked in that house any longer. Besides, I needed to distract myself from the funeral this afternoon.

Eyes slide over to me and I see their mouths moving behind cupped hands. As though I'm stupid. As though I don't know who and what they're talking about. I know more about this world than hundreds of these morons put together.

Grinding my teeth together, I lift up my chin, glaring at anyone who dares to meet my gaze. Hands balled into fists. Feet moving stiffly. Eyes forwards.

"Hey, Callan!" I hear Jason Bennet yell out, knowing that nothing good can come out of this. "Should I take off my belt so I don't scare you? Did Daddy teach you those moves you used on me? I guess he also taught you to be a miserable coward. Face me, man! Fucking look me in the eyes like daddy-dearest taught you!"

Rage blinds me as I turn to face him and swing my fist, popping him right in the face and sending him sprawling. Before he can get up, I've pinned the heel of my shoe against his throat.

"You fucking bastard!" I growl, digging my shoe in harder. "You don't know what that hell it's like. None of you do. None of you give a shit. I see you all whispering and looking at me, judging me. Well, I've got two words to say to you: Fuck off. My asshole of a father was never any of your concern so why pretend as though you care now? Why pretend when you saw the bruises he made, when you all saw the belt marks, when every day you see the fucking scar when he tried to kill me—and you just accepted my lies and ignored it all? I don't want your pity, I don't want your arrogance or your smart-mouthed comments. My dad taught me some decent moves, so I'm warning all of you, don't fuck with me." I take my shoe off Bennett's throat and watch him roll onto his stomach, wheezing and spluttering.

Nobody moves an inch as I swivel around and march up the stairs into the building. Violence has suffocated me for so long, I don't know how to live without it. I feel the familiar urge to numb it all. Block out all the emotion, all the pain, everything.

Knees shaking, stomach rolling, I reach my locker and press my forehead against the cool metal. How the hell am I going to survive the funeral when I couldn't even manage not punching someone in the face before I entered the school building.

I'd debated the issue of the funeral numerous times with my mom and James, and told them how I didn't think we should even hold one. But then James made a valid point about how I had to rise beyond his cruelty and accept that he was influenced by a violent father and carries those traits through his blood. My dad made bad choices. He was sadistic and brutal but I suppose that was his childhood. That was what he'd grown up enduring.

"Hi," a soft voice says and I look up to see Sam staring up at me with a pained look on her face. I swallow my hateful words and my complicated emotions and smile warmly at her.

"Hey."

"You don't have to pretend to be happy, Callan," she tells me as she opens her locker and removes her books from it. "This is a very dark moment in your already dark life. You need to drop the facade and let these judgmental bitches see who you are."

I snort, although her words are considerably moving and I know she's right. "Who I am? Hell, you tell me who I am, Sam. Am I the popular bad boy or the kid with the abusive father whose now dead?"

"You are much more than that, Callan," Sam tells me. "You ask Enz and see what she says."

I frown. "So you two made up?"