His Gymnast by Darcy Rose
5
Aria
Dammit.Why did I do that? Why did I chicken out?
Because he gave me time to think about it, to second-guess myself. Not only whether it was wrong to ask him for protection, but whether I can afford what Knox will ask me to pay.
I’m not stupid. I know people like him don’t do things for nothing. What if I end up going from owing Dale every cent I earn to owing Knox? It’d be like exchanging one devil for another. And Knox isn’t exactly a sweet, nice guy. Who says he won’t end up being just as bad as my stepfather?
It doesn’t help that he scared the hell out of me. How did he know where to find me? Maybe I don’t want to know the answer. Maybe I already do. After all, that’s probably what his family is best at—tracking people down, that sort of thing. He probably has all sorts of ways.
None of it matters now. I turned him down. I doubt he’d be okay with me changing my mind again.
Now that I’m on the way home and my stomach is in knots, I know I should’ve agreed to pay whatever Knox wanted. Nothing’s too much to escape the hell I’m about to walk into. What’ll it be tonight? I know better than to think I’ll escape to the basement without at least getting called every name in the book.
That would be a relief, considering how much worse things can get.
My feet are heavy as I walk the familiar street after getting off the bus. It’s always like this. When I leave, I feel light, free, even if that freedom can’t last long.
Turns out, it’s not as bad as it could be. Dale’s car’s not in the driveway, so he hasn’t gotten home from work yet. Maybe I can manage to avoid him tonight.
Mom’s already swaying on her feet when I walk through the door, holding a glass of something or other in one hand. It splashes over the rim and hits her shapeless T-shirt—more like one of those muumuu things. She doesn’t notice. From the looks of her clothes, this isn’t the first spill she’s had today. “What took you so long to get home?”
I want to ask her what time it is but know better. “I always take the first bus that comes along. You know that.”
“Don’t give me your smart-ass attitude.” I wasn’t trying to, but I’m not dumb enough to argue with her. I’ll end up with her drink in my face right before she slaps me. “You’ve got laundry to do. And look at this house! It’s a fucking pigsty.”
Right, and she’s the one who made it that way. Tears of rage threaten to blind me, but I hold them back. I won’t let her see me cry. It’s easier and safer to get to work and try to avoid her. If I work fast enough, I might still be able to hide in the basement before Dale gets home.
It wasn’t always like this. Sometimes, when I’m in the middle of cleaning the filthy bathroom I’m not even allowed to use except to shower, I go back to the old days. When life was normal. When I had hopes and dreams and a future ahead of me.
I think back on gymnastics, too. How simple my life was in those days. There was nothing but schoolwork and training. That was it. I didn’t have to be afraid, always looking over my shoulder, worrying about where my next meal would come from, or whether I would be able to escape without getting beaten and demeaned.
When I was healthy, I could fly. I miss that most of all. The feeling of taking off, defying gravity, twisting and turning my body through the air before landing with grace and precision. I was in control of every one of my muscles. Disciplined, focused. I could’ve been a champion.
Instead, here I am, scrubbing toilets and fishing hair clogs out of drains while trying not to throw up and washing my stepfather’s stained underwear. He’s such a fucking pig. Sometimes I wonder if he doesn’t leave them this way on purpose. Like he gets off on knowing how disgusted I’ll be. It’s not like there’s anything I can do about it, and he knows that, too.
I finish upstairs, then bring the mop and bucket and everything else downstairs. Mom’s in front of the television with yet another drink in her hand. Her head is nodding like she’s on the verge of passing out. I wish she would. Sometimes I wish she still smoked. That she would pass out with a lit cigarette while I’m not home, but Dale is. I wish he would already be in a drunken stupor and for neither of them to get out alive.
I know that’s wrong, but it’s nothing compared to what they do to me. It’s probably better than they deserve. Dying of smoke inhalation is nothing when I consider the pain and humiliation they’ve made me suffer, and all because of one false move. One injury.
She stirs when I enter the living room with a dust cloth in hand. “Oh. It’s you. I forgot you were even home.” She squints at me, then snarls, “You’re not finished yet?”
“Not yet.” I move as fast as I can, dusting the tables, the television—she gets annoyed with me when I get in her way, of course—and the shelves. There used to be framed photos everywhere, ones where I wore a big smile, holding up the medals I won in competitions, that sort of thing. Now? There’s no hint that I even exist.
I’ve finished running the vacuum when Mom snickers behind me. “Whoops.” I turn to find she’s poured the crumbs from her potato chip bag all over the floor next to her chair. “Sorry.” She doesn’t even bother to hide her smirk while I plug the vacuum in again and clean up her mess.
It’s getting late. Dale will be home any minute. I can’t help but keep looking at the clock, like I’m racing against it. Mom’s bad enough when she’s alone, but when he shows up, it’s like she makes it her goal to make sure I’m as miserable as possible. I have to wonder why she gave birth in the first place if this was how she treats her kid.
I’m about to finish the floor when I hear his car in the driveway. My insides turn to ice as always. The cleaning is done. He won’t have anything to complain about. I put away the mop and turn on the dishwasher, prepared to make my escape.
He comes in through the kitchen door, and I swear, it’s like the lights in the kitchen go dimmer. I keep my head down since that’s the only way to get out of this without things getting worse. My hands tremble as I tuck my hair behind my ears.
“Motherfucker.” He slams his fist against the kitchen table, making the salt and pepper shakers fall on the floor. I try not to jump when he startles me, but it isn’t easy to pretend I’m not affected by his arrival. “This place is a fucking wreck. What have you been doing since you got home, huh?” He sweeps an arm over the counter and knocks the flour and sugar canisters over.
“I was cleaning.” I stare at the floor, willing myself not to cry. “I just finished when you came in. I was on my way downstairs.”
“You were finished?” He barks out a laugh before shoving me into the fridge. Everything inside shakes and rattles, but I manage to stay on my feet. “You’re finished when I say you’re finished, you worthless piece of shit. Who the hell do you think you are? You think you set the rules around here? I’m the one who says when you’ve done well enough—and you haven’t. Not even close.”
His hand cups the back of my head, twisting in my hair. Has he already been drinking? I wouldn’t be surprised. His breath reeks like beer. “You’re worthless. A waste of oxygen. You can’t do anything right.”
He throws me to the floor. I bite my lip to keep from crying out because that’ll only make things worse. “Useless! A lazy, stupid bitch.”
I try to crawl away, but it’s no use. He gets on one knee next to me and grabs me by the back of the neck. “You can’t even mop a fucking floor, you piece of shit. Look at it! Up close.” He holds my face close to the floor. I can still smell the cleaning solution that’s barely dried.
“Look how filthy you left it. You lazy, worthless bitch.” I grit my teeth as he pushes my face to the floor, managing to turn my head so he won’t break my nose. I can see my mom’s feet in the doorway as she stands and watches.
And that’s all she does. She stands there and watches. Doesn’t try to help me. Doesn’t tell Dale to get his hands off me. Because she’s on his side, the way she always has been.
She doesn’t even hate me, I realize as my thoughts race and my scalp screams from the way he’s pulling my hair. She doesn’t feel anything for me.
“Lick it clean.” Dale leans down until his mouth is almost touching my ear. “You can’t learn to use a mop the right way? Then use your tongue. This floor is going to be clean one way or another before the night is over.”
I’ll do a lot of things. I’ll put up with the worst humiliation and even let them starve me.
I will not lick the floor. I will not let him win this time. If I let him do this to me, he won’t stop there. He will never stop.
Which is why I grit my teeth and glare at him from the corner of my eye. “No.” My voice shakes, but not with fear. With rage. Fury.
“Excuse me? The fuck did you just say?” His eyes narrow to slits, and I know I’ve done it. I’m outnumbered. Mom doesn’t care so long as there’s somebody to buy her booze. He could kill me here and now, and she wouldn’t do anything to stop him, and that hurts more than any punch to the face I’ve ever taken.
I don’t know why she hates me so much. I didn’t do anything to deserve this. I didn’t even ask to be born, but I know I have to fight back or I’m going to die here.
“I said no.” I press my palms against the floor and try to push myself up, but he shoves me down with an elbow in the middle of my back.
“Who the fuck do you think—” It’s not completely out of his mouth when a knock on the front door cuts him off.
Nobody moves. Even I’m frozen in place, waiting to see what they’ll do. The knocking turns into a pounding, and I think about calling out for help, something I’ve never done before because I don’t think anyone could help me anyway.
Before I can make up my mind, the door flies inward with a loud crash as somebody kicks it in.
No. Not somebody. Knox. It’s Knox who kicked it in. Knox who strides into the house with a murderous look in his eyes.
