Control

Speeding away from Kat’s house, Darren’s head was throbbing. The pain was inexplicable – you could only sympathize if you had felt it before yourself. Otherwise, you were left to assume on your own devices.

All he could think of was the destruction that awaited him at home. His father, screaming at him for being out so late, while in a drunken stupor. His mother, cowering in the corner of the living room, struck by fear of her husband who was supposed to be kind and loving, but had turned out to be something much eviler.

Darren parked in his driveway and sat in silence. It felt good to close his eyes with no Kat in his ear, no jocks telling him how great he was, no coach telling him to put his shoulder into it. He was already late and awaiting his father’s wrath so what would a few extra minutes do?

Finally, he unlocked the door and stood outside in the chill of the autumn air. It was an October Sunday. A day of rest, they called it. He slowly walked to the door, each step causing a harder drumbeat in his head. It was as if he controlled the drum he was marching to for once.

Slowly turning the doorknob, he breathed out loudly, unaware that he had held his breath the whole time. Tiptoeing upstairs, he looked out over the living room below and saw empty cans of beer, crushed. When his father awoke, he was in for it. That much, he knew. Until then, he decided to savor the few hours he had left and let himself drown into the white pillow.

He awoke, startled by the bellowing voice piercing his eardrums. He looked up to see a mustached man, not more than thirty-four years old, peering down at him. When his vision cleared, he recognized the face as his father’s. His dearly, beloved father’s. Darren felt a hand grab him by the collar and drag him out of the cool mattress that had enveloped him.

“Where were you, kid?” his dad said in his naturally loud voice. There was no yelling just yet – but there would be, as always.

“I was out with some friends and I lost track of time. I fell asleep at Ben’s house. I’m sorry, Dad, I – “ Darren tried to plead.

That was when the war began. His father’s face went tomato-red, as he screamed about the worthlessness. About how he had given up his entire education to raise Darren. All Darren could do was pray that his frangible mother didn’t walk through the door anytime soon.

But as usual, his prayers were left unanswered. His mother, short of stature, bounded through the room, biting the nail of her right index finger.

“Kyle,” she calmly began, but before she could continue any further, she had already set off another bomb in the trench warfare that was his father.

“Shut up, Kaitlyn, you are not a part of this issue,” Darren’s father spoke even louder, turning to her. “Go downstairs and clean the fuck up. Do what you’re good for.”

Darren watched his mother quickly walk out, tears forming in her eyes. She knew she deserved better, but she was fearful. Completely filled with the fear that he would find her no matter what. He would make her pay for leaving him. So, she stayed. She stayed for the only person she cared about anymore – her son. Him. How much had she sacrificed for him, Darren wondered.

There was not much time for thoughts before he felt the cool hand that stung his cheek. It was a funny thing about cold. It was supposed to numb the pain, but in situations like these, the cold enhanced the pain. It was a double-edged sword, he supposed.

“Why the fuck aren’t you listening to me?!” Darren’s father seemed to implode.

“I’m sorry,” Darren murmured. He knew what to do in cases of his father to at least mollify the blows. But he had no idea how to stop them altogether. His father continued to complain about how ungrateful Darren was for everything his father had done for him, but there was no mention of coming home late at all. His father always found excuses to let Darren know how terrible he was. How much he sucked as a son. And Darren took it for his mother.

Finally, he felt his father’s large fingers pinch as his shoulder. It sent a resounding pain throughout his body, as it went straight through the flesh.

“Now don’t you ever be a dumbass again, you hear me, Darren? Fucking grow up and be the kid I raised you to be,” he said, straight into his ear. Then he quickly walked away, off to terrorize Darren’s mother about not cleaning up properly, Darren supposed, as he rubbed the newly formed wound on his shoulder.