black bird.
Send me “black bird” for a darker memory of my muse’s past
He’d had a hard day at work again. They could always tell from how strongly the house smelled of whiskey.
“Paxton!!”
Thump, thump.
“You open this door right now, Paxton! I ain’t foolin’ with you!”
Thump, thump, thump.
“You in there crying again, huh? Like a little bitch baby?”
“No!”
“Don’t you lie to me! I’ll take this door right off, so help me I will!”
“No, you won’t! You’re drunk!”
Silence.
“The fuck did you say, boy?”
“…I said you’re drunk, Dad.”
There was another beat of silence, before it was all at once broken by the loud bang that came with Paxton’s father kicking his bedroom door open. The door didn’t come off its hinges, but the lock was broken. The sound made the teenage Paxton jump.
His father laughed, ignoring how he stumbled a little as he stepped into the room.
“See? Couldn’t do that if I was drunk, now could I?”
Paxton said nothing. He just stared at his father from where he was seated on the floor, knowing things would only get worse if he showed fear.
His father crouched down until his gaze was level with Paxton’s, and even as glassy as his eyes were from the alcohol, he still looked amused.
“You were so crying, too.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“What’d I say about lying, huh? Look at yourself. You’re sixteen years old, for Christ’s sake. You’re a man, Pax. You see your old man going around crying like a little girl? D’ya see your brothers doing it? No.”
Paxton didn’t say anything. He just kept staring, knowing that his father was far from finished. It was a lot better to just let him get it out until he was satisfied enough to leave him alone.
Better him hear it than his mom, anyway. Not for the first time, Pax was thankful she wasn’t home to try and intervene, she’d only put herself in the line of fire in the process.
“What’s your problem now, anyway?” his dad went on. “Huh? Kids at school again? You gonna just let ‘em laugh at ya, call ya a fag, then come home and cry like a bitch about it? The hell you are. Ain’t no son of mine gonna lay down like a dog and take it, you hear me? You better toughen up, boy. You ain’t gonna amount to nothin’ if you’re soft.”
Again, Paxton just stared. He wouldn’t allow himself to show any sign of weakness in front of his father.
“Not talkin’, huh? Fine. Be like that.”
He got to his feet as he spoke, staggering slightly as he regained his bearings.
“Don’t go shuttin’ your old man out, Pax, alright? I’m tryin’ to help ya. Remember that.”
So saying, he slowly walked out of the room, no doubt headed back to the kitchen in search of a fresh bottle.
Paxton didn’t cry, even after he was gone.
The next time his dad had drunkenly barged into his room, yelling at him, Paxton had punched him in the face, so hard he’d knocked him to the floor and nearly broken his nose. There’d been a white hot moment of fear right after, fear that his father would retaliate, but he didn’t. David had just laid on the floor and laughed.
When he stopped laughing, he’d said, “Now that’s more like it.”
