CW: domestic abuse (physical, verbal, parent on child, spouse on spouse),
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James could tell from the moment he woke up that the day was a waste.
Two floors down from the attic-turned-bedroom was Jamesās father, ranting and raving about something or other that managed to make him lose his temper. He was unable to make out his mother's soft voice attempt to assuage his rage, though he knew it was there.
There went the vase his mother had happily brought home from a farmer's market.
An annoyed huff drifted over from the bed on the other side of the cramped room. Rising like a corpse from its coffin, his twin sister, Jamie, was all tangled curls and scowls. She glared at nothing as their father's screaming got louder and more ceramic broke against the floor.
āIt's seven in the morning, what could possibly have him wound up at this hour?!ā Jamie frowned down at her cell phone.
James laid back in bed with a frown. āWho knows? Or cares. I woke up when he started yelling about a parking permit. His boss probably emailed him and it pissed him off.ā
Standing up from his bed, James padded over to the attic door and popped it open, letting his fatherās screaming come into their bedroom at full volume.
āI work day and night for those ungrateful fucksā I am on call for them! Fixing their fuckups so the company doesnāt drown in litigation, and this is what I get?! Only a 25 percent raiā get the fuck off of me, Carolina!ā
āJames, baby, pleaseā!ā His motherās pleas were cut off by another plate (it was definitely a plate) smashing against the floor. āJames!ā
James the son shut the door, thankfully muffling the anger of James the father. He covered his face and groaned. āIām supposed to have a date with Damien todayā¦ā
āGood luck going out there,ā said Jamie. āIām holing up in here until his blood pressure makes him pass out.ā
James was quiet. He rubbed his hand up and down his arm in contemplation. On one hand going downstairs risked James coming into his fatherās line of sight, an action that could result in greater bodily harm. On the other, canceling on his boyfriend absolutely would land him consequences upon returning to campus.
Well, one was the clear winner. His father could make his weekend hell, but Damien could make his life miserable if James gave him enough of a reason to. He swallowed down his fear. āIām going.ā
āItās your funeral,ā said Jamie and she scrolled on her phone. āDonāt say I didnāt warn you.ā
The attic door creaked loudly as it opened and while it wouldnāt have caught any attention on a regular day, it seemed especially loud on days where his father was more upset than usual. Two flights down, he heard the noise quiet, as if his parents were listening for more.
Finally, he heard his mother speak. āGood morning! Whoās up?ā
James swallowed, nervous. āJ-Just me! Iām gonna go get ready to meet up with Damien later!ā
āDamien? Oh how nice, right James?ā
He climbed down and made it to the bathroom he shared with his siblings. Once his teeth were brushed and face washed, he exited the bathroom only to run into the wall that was his father.
āD-Dad.ā James said. āGood morning.ā
His fatherās scowl deepened, if that were even possible. His hand flew to grab James by the throat and sling him into the wall with a flick of his wrist. His head caught the wooden edge of the door frame with his eyebrow. āAhā!ā He glared up at his father. āWhat the hell was that for?!ā
Instead of an answer his father drew his fist back and into his stomach. James gasped as the breath was knocked out of him, doubling over in pain and holding his abdomen. As he tried to lift his head up, his fatherās fist slammed down onto his skull. James whimpered and moved his hands to cover his head from any further blows. His torso, left undefended, received a harsh kick.
āStop, stop, Dad! Please, I donāt know what I did!ā Tears began to swell in his eyes from the pain and confusion. Finally, his father reached down to grab a fistful of Jamesās hair and drag him up to eye level. He was unable to keep the fear from his expression. āD-Dad?ā
āWho the fuck gave you permission to go out today?ā His fatherās voice was calm, level. āI donāt recall being asked. What, you think you make all the decisions around here all of a sudden?ā
Jamesās eyes darted down, suddenly very interested in his father's black shoe tapping impatiently on the tile floor. He knew his silence would make his father angrier still, but there was also no safety in any response. He winced when his father gave his head a shake, pulling at the roots of his hair. Still he was quiet.
His father huffed. James found himself thrown carelessly to the floor with a foot on his back pressing down. He curled his hand into a fist and bit his lip to avoid giving his father the satisfaction of a reaction.
Finally, after thirty agonizing seconds of his father pressing down harder and harder on his back, James Sr. took his foot off. āGo help your mother in the kitchen. Earn your outing.ā
James paused, waiting for a final blow, before sitting up to a kneel. Head down, he whispered, āYes, sir.ā
He didn't dare move from the floor until his father entered his office, the door slamming behind him as if to notify they were clear to go about the house.
Standing on unsure legs, James did as he was told and went down to the kitchen. There he found his mother at the island cracking eggs into a bowl for breakfast. If she was shocked by the state of him, she hid it well. āNeed help, Mom?ā
She smiled warmly at him and nodded towards a few peeled potatoes. āChop those, please?ā
Wordlessly, James picked up a knife and began to chop. They worked in the quiet calm of the morning, his motherās humming the only noise made by either of them.
His mother was the one to break their peace. āYou know, you could have cancelled on Damien.ā
James paused his chopping, grip on the knife tightening. āNo, I couldnāt.ā
āIām sure he would understand.ā
āI canāt.ā Jamesās voice was shaky. āHe wants to go out today. I canāt say no.ā
When he was able to lift his head, he found his mother staring at him as if she were studying something familiar. Finally, she gave him a sad smile. āNo, I suppose you canāt.ā She walked to the stove and turned it on, allowing it to heat the pan on the burner. From the new angle he could spot a five-finger shaped bruise blooming on her upper arm.
āLetās get breakfast going,ā she said cheerfully. āCanāt keep those men of ours waiting.ā
