Mercy

“Is he…gay?”

Richie and Adrienne don’t know I’m awake, but I put no effort in making my consciousness known to either of them. Instead, I eavesdrop on a frigid conversation between two people who currently resent each other. It’s not as if they can see my face, anyways. With my head resting upon my brother’s thigh, I keep my face buried in his shirt and coil the rest of my body on Adrienne’s lap. She’s been absentmindedly drumming her fingers against my hip for a while now, and Rich hasn’t taken his iron claw off my shoulder since our departure from the hospital. I’m reminded of a custody battle as they both continue to keep me under their possession, but neither of them realizes one crucial flaw in their twisted conflict.

The man I gave myself to is dead.

“What do you think?” Adrienne snaps, her fingers digging deeper into my jeans. If she presses any harder, the pressure against my hip will begin to smart. I wriggle a bit beneath her touch, and for one glorious moment her hand withdraws. Richie’s grip grows stronger.

“Well, the, uh, drunks at the bar found…stuff… inside ‘im, so…” Rich’s voice trails off as he grows incapable of admitting what his evidence suggests, and his loosening fingers around my shoulder match the weakening of his voice. Adrienne timidly places her hand back down upon me, though this time it boldly trails under my shirt and rests upon my naked skin. The suddenness of her contact raises gooseflesh and prompts a disgusted shudder to pass through me. Her hand is too damn cold to be pressed against the small of my back.

Adie mistakes my revulsion for subconscious pleasure.

“So what, Rich? What does that make him?” Adrienne taunts, knowing full well that admitting my affliction aloud won’t be easy for him. He was raised in the same environment as I was, after all.

“A faggot,” he murmurs. His fingers unlatch from my shoulder, and his hand recoils as if, for only a second, he believes that homosexuality is contagious. I don’t notice until my lungs are about to burst that I’d stopped breathing after the word faggot passed through my brother’s lips like deadly poison. I can almost feel the venom of the word dripping from his lips on to my tender skin below in a reverberating, ghostly taunt.

Drip, drip, drip.

Faggot, fairy, faggot.

Shit, the word never used to hurt this much.

I consider not drawing another breath and wonder if it would be possible to suffocate myself. I doubt it, though. I might pass out only to wake up and realize I’d missed a crucial part in their malicious taunts. Either that or Adrienne would have her way with me once we make it to the motel Richie found. An ominous thought chomping at my brain is practically certain she would. It makes me want to leave her. I fear her. I sense darkness inside, but that’s probably just my kid. With my genes, all he’ll ever become is something dark.

Yeah, it has to be my kid I sense.

Wait.

That metaphorical sensation is starting to feel a bit too literal for my taste.

Something tiny lashes out against my thigh, which initially makes no sense to me. Adrienne’s stomach shouldn’t be moving. Then again, I’m none the wiser when it comes to the side-effects that pregnancy generally entails. If you would have asked before she tried to fuck the gay out of me, I never would have guessed that babies swim around in there like fish trapped in a tragically opaque fishbowl. It’s creepy. My son is a fish and an impending menace to society.

I feel my little merman kick out at me again, softer this time. I get this insane notion that he’s struggling in there, and without an immediate rational thought to silence my panic, I spring into action. I sit upright so abruptly that I my head nearly collides with the roof of Richie’s truck, but it doesn’t matter, for I’m quickly lowering myself until I’m eye level with Adrienne’s stomach. I press my cheek against her and wait for my son to kick me again. After a minute or two, there’s nothing but a slight fluttering on my skin. I swear to hell and back it felt like my little merman stroked my cheek in his own valiant effort to calm me the fuck down.

Is it possible to fall in love with a fish?

“Holy shit,” I whisper, slowly pulling myself up to gawk at Adie. “Holy shit!”

“You felt him?” Adrienne demands, bemused.

“Yeah!” I marvel before repeating once more, “Holy shit.”

I hardly understand what’s happening to me. Not twenty minutes ago I was contemplating the benefits of never drawing another breath, and now I’m beginning to seriously consider sticking around long enough to watch this kid grow up. If that means never sleeping with another man again and marrying Adrienne, so be it. I’ll trade every ounce of my own happiness to ensure his stability. I’ll change diapers, coach Little League, and stay up all night trying to rescue him from his nightmares. I’ll be a good daddy, I swear.

One glimpse into the rearview mirror, however, shatters my unusual lapse into giddiness. Rich, the only member of my family who has yet to disown me, is glaring out at the infinite highway before him with features as hardened and gray as the paved road he’s driving upon. I don’t understand. His grave expression frightens me to the point of shrinking away from him and winding up in Adrienne’s more than welcoming arms. She finally won her possessive battle over me with Richie, but she’s too entranced by his stony scowl to notice because she sure as shit hasn’t won the war. Not yet.

“What’s wrong?” she stammers. I’m too afraid to speak, so I take to watching, wide-eyed, instead.

Richie’s eyes narrow into harrowing slits as he shoots daggers at Adrienne through the rearview mirror. He avoids my stare entirely.

“I don’t like you,” is all he says.

Evidently unsatisfied with his response, she demands, “Why?”

“You’re bad news. What you’re willin’ to do to keep my brother chained to your wrist is a damnable sin, girl, ‘n’ I don’t condone it,” he growls. He looks at Adrienne as if he’s fixing to set her on fire just to watch her fry.

“I don’t understand, I haven’t done anything wro– ”

“You know damn well what you did to ‘im!” Richie roars, prompting the truck’s windows to violently rattle in the wake of his outrage. Adie begins to cry. I draw my knees up to my chest and attempt to rock myself into some state of comfort, but the pain in my feet and ankle are too much to bear. I look desperately from side to side, and my stomach drops when I come to a maddening realization.

I don’t know whose lap to curl up in anymore.