I haven’t been so angry since I was twelve years old, when I punched my mum’s boyfriend Steve in the face. Maybe the pain is messing with my head, because the memory is so vivid I can almost feel the warm blood on my fingers.
Steve glares at me, fuming. “That kid’s rabid,” he mutters, spitting out a tooth I knocked loose. “Fuck, Ellen. I’m done with you.”
My mum’s eyes are huge. “Steve, please… I’m so sorry… for God’s sake, don’tleaveme! It’s notmyfault he hit you!”
Steve marches to the door. Mum scurries after him, and he slams it in her face. She wheels on me, her eyes blazing.
“What have you done?” She shrieks.
I grit my teeth. “He was yelling at you.”
“What the hell is wrong with you, you stupid boy? Do you have any idea how important he is to this family? Everything you have—your trainers, your TV, your bike—all of that came fromhim.”
“I don’t want that stuff. I want him to go away.”
“Well, you’ve got your wish, kid. He’ll never want me, now.” She shakes her head, furious. “I had him right where I wanted him!”
I frown. “You wanted him to call you a whore?”
Tears streak down her face. “I’m sending you away. I can’t deal with you. You’re a menace. How am I meant to live my life, with a son like you?”
“Sending me away?”
“Boarding school. Summer camp. The military. I don’t give a shit, I can’t take care of you anymore!”
Beth’s soft voice jerks me back to reality. “Come on, honey. Take the pills.”
“Why d’you call me that?”
“Because you’re so sweet,” she says dryly, trying to hand me the tablets.
I pull away. “Is Cami okay?”
She sighs. “Of course.”
“I’m gonna check on her.” I try to sit up.
She puts her hand on my shoulder and pushes me back into bed. “Nope, you are not.”
“She’s okay?” God, myhead.I sink into the pillows. The darkness in the room presses down on me. My ears feel like they’re full of static.
“Do migraines affect your memory?”
I nod and instantly regret it. “Why?”
“That’s like, the tenth time you’ve asked me if she’s alright.”
“Iknowthat,” I groan, rubbing my temples. “It only takes a second for something to happen to her.”
She hesitates, like she’s trying to think of what to say. “Okay. Hang on.” She pats my chest and slides off the bed, heading back out of the room. I squeeze my eyes shut, gritting my teeth against another wave of pain.
I hate this. Lying in bed like a damn invalid, while mynannyflutters around me with painkillers and glasses of water. You’d thinkIwas the kid she’s looking after, not my daughter.
My daughter.
Every time I even think those words, I feel like I’ve been jabbed with a cattle prod. I have a daughter. A child. I’m a dad.
I want to cry.