I was about to cross the threshold back into the March chill when I realized I left my AP Chemistry folder in Nate’s room. My homework for tomorrow was in it so I figured I should probably grab it before heading out. While Nathaniel would most definitely remember to bring it tomorrow if I texted him, I would feel better about life if I got it now. I closed the door and turned, taking one step towards the ornate staircase in the decorated foyer when the unmistakable crack of skin on skin froze me in my tracks.
“Explain yourself.” Nate’s dad. His voice held this low, deadly tone.
“It was a hard exam,” he stammered. “I was above the mean, I swear.”
Another crack. I heard Nate whimper. Was this about the physics exam? The mean was a 75. Nate had the high grade with an 87. He even beat me and I had been pretty pleased with my 84.
“But you still only achieved an 87. That is unacceptable.” Dear god, this was about the physics exam. Nate earned two slaps across the face because he didn’t get an A? No one ever gets an A on that exam! I wanted to vomit when I thought back on the time I accidentally walked in on him in the locker room. We had gotten back a pretty difficult AP Calc exam that no one did particularly well on, Nate included, the day before. The mottled blue and purple bruises and the pained movements of putting a t-shirt on were still seared into my mind. What had his father done to him?
“It was the high grade! You can e-mail my teacher and ask—” Another crack. At this point I wasn’t sure if I should do something or quietly slip upstairs, grab my folder and bolt out the door to my car.
“I will not tolerate excuses from you, Nathaniel. I raised you to be better than an 87. Now go upstairs and study the material so you won’t do so poorly next time.” The floor creaked as his father walked back towards the kitchen. I really needed to move. But I was frozen in place. I could hear Nate’s footsteps shuffling towards me but I couldn’t bring myself to run up the stairs and pretend I had been in his room the whole time searching for my forgotten folder. Remaining glued to the oriental rug, I could only watch as a swollen, red cheeked Nathaniel entered the foyer and stopped dead once he registered my presence.
“I forgot my folder.” The intonation was wrong and choppy. I brought my index finger to my mouth and chewed the nail as Nathaniel continued to stare at me wide eyed, though the one seemed to be a bit swollen. “I’ll, um, I’ll just grab that and head out…” I finally found my feet and slowly walked to the stairs, up to Nate’s room. I heard him scuffling behind me, seemingly over the initial shock of seeing me.
Once in his room, I dumped my bag on his blue bedspread like I had when I arrived a few hours before to work on our project. I walked over to his desk, put my hand on the blue folder and stopped for a second. The initial plan was to get the folder and leave, spare Nate the embarrassment of talking with me about what had just occurred. That would be an emotionally charged conversation and I was the last person on earth anyone would want to come to for that sort of interaction. Awkward and inability to empathize was my middle name. And yet…
“I heard your dad hit you. Multiple times.” I turned, deciding I didn’t care that conversation would most likely be the most painful thing I’ve ever done. Child abuse was under the list of things I couldn’t accept. “I can see it too. Your cheek is swollen.” Should I have started out with a lead in? Lysander always says I’m too blunt about things.
“Forget it, Breeja.” He lifted his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose but stopped short. Scrunching his tender cheek caused him to inhale in pain.
“Nate, you are in physical pain because your father hit you. I can’t just pretend I didn’t hear that.”
“I should have done better on that exam.”
“What?”
“It’s my own fault.” He crossed his arms and looked away. Apparently his alarm clock held the secrets of the world in the glowing analog numbers.
“What the hell!? That’s not your fault!” I cringed at my outburst. Shouting was not what he needed right now. “Sorry, I’m not good at this. Attempt 2. Nate, that’s not your fault. You did very well. I had second high grade and I only got an 84.”
“If I had done well, my dad wouldn’t have—” He stopped short.
“Say it.” He had to say it. Out loud.
“Breeja, you need to leave.”
“Not until you say it.” I crossed my arms.
“Say what?”
“Say it to me out loud.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He still wouldn’t look at me.
“You do. Don’t lie to me.”
There was silence for several minutes. Nate drew in a breath. “If I had done well my dad wouldn’t have hit me.” It was so quiet, I almost didn’t hear it.
“Does he only hit you?”
“No.”
“So your back? Your arms? That day in the locker room?” I probably didn’t want to hear the answer to this. But damn it, Nate needed to say this so I was going to listen.
“He pushed me down the stairs.” He turned away from me all together as I inhaled. Definitely didn’t want to know that.
“Nate…” I took a few steps towards him and wrapped my arms around his middle, burying my face between his shoulders much the same as I had done to Castiel a few months back. “He has no right to do this to you.”
“I j-just need to do better is all. S-study m-more.” His whole frame was shaking. I couldn’t tell whether he was trying not to cry or just overwhelmed by the whole ordeal. I pulled back, appalled by what I heard.
“Look at me.” He reluctantly turned, my hands skimming over the cotton of his t-shirt as he did. “No, you do not to do better. No, you do not need to study more. No, it is not okay that he hits you and no, it is not okay that you think it’s deserved. No one deserves to be abused by someone that should protect them.” I locked my mismatched eyes with his golden ones. They looked so old, so tired, so over it all.
“I…he…” Nathaniel never finished his sentence. He suddenly pulled me to him, wrapping his arms around me and resting his head on top of mine. After I got over the initial shock of Nathaniel voluntarily hugging me, I moved my hands from his side to wrap him securely around the waist, hoping I wasn’t being as awkward as I felt. I closed my eyes and rested my head on his chest, inhaling fresh laundry and new paper; definitely a Nathaniel smell.
The creaking of stairs pulled us apart.
“You should probably go. You heard my dad, I need to study.” He crossed the room and sat at his desk chair, staring blankly at the backpack next to him.
I shouldered my bag and walked to him, placing a hand under his chin. “You have my number. If you don’t feel safe, please, please call me. I’ll come get you.” I gently traced my cold fingers over his inflamed cheek. How were we here? Only yesterday I would have said Nathaniel and I were maybe friends and now I was tracing my fingers over his hot cheek, offering to pick him up whenever he needed me to.
He grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze offering me a small smile. I smiled back. As soon as I was in the hallway, the smile dropped from my face and walked on autopilot to my car.
His dad beats him.
I opened the door.
Dear god, he got pushed down the stairs for getting a B on one calc exam.
I jammed the keys into the ignition and twisted.
What else does his dad do to him?
I rested my head on the steering wheel, not hearing the rock music blasting through the speakers.
What the fuck was I supposed to do now?