Chapter 2

The worst part wasn't even the game, although the loss suck donkey butt, it was what came after that sucked the most.

After getting showered and changed was when the serious talks happened. Yes, yes, I do shower and change at the school, but I have my own separate wing of the locker room. That way the guys don't see me and I don't see them because: gross.

When the coast is clear that there are no more naked guys in towels and it no longer smells like they plug in a neon sign by my door. Luckily, I take long showers anyway so it gives me plenty of time and I don't have to wait long. It may not seem like the most high tech or easiest solution, but also we are in high school so budgets aren't really up to adding more "unnecessary funding" and I'd rather not go into the girls locker room since both the cheer and dance team are in there. They don't really like me much!

This has worked out almost every time. However, I do remember one time when the guys totally forgot about letting me know that everything was PG. I was literally scrolling through TikTok for what felt like hours wondering how the guys, who normally got showered and changed in not even twenty minutes, were still out there. So I hooted and hollered till Coach heard me from his office and saved me from my impatience by telling me the locker room was completely deserted. I gave them a hard time after that, for apparently what they said seemed like months, but all I know is that they haven't forgot to notify me since.

After I said a short goodbye to the team, Coach called me into his office: it was a lot more than I was ready for. I knocked on his door even though it was already cracked slightly open. My knuckles reminded me that that was a bad idea. He looked at me with a sigh.

"Have a seat, Andy." My stomach literally dropped. He sounded more disappointed than mad. That, in my opinion, was worse. I would rather you beat on me or curse me out rather than you just expect better. Anger I could handle. It was the concern that I didn't like.

"What happened out there?" His eyes told me he already knew. He was one of the few people that new almost everything. Well, as much as I would tell any one person. I could still keep some of the scars on my thighs a guarded secret: those weren't his doing- they were how I coped after. People don't understand unless they were there themselves. It isn't a call for help if no one sees them right? It was a means of control. And it felt safer to hide the shame that came after. The shame that I couldn't control when I would feel the urge to do it again. The shame I felt that I was related to someone so nasty for putting me in a situation where I would crave the control of pain. Where I had a choice of the marks. The shame that someone could do this to someone they were supposed to protect and love. To a child.

"I'm sorry Sir." My voice cracking from the dryness. I definitely didn't hydrate well after my little fit. "I couldn't stand the verbal attacks about HIM."

"Andy, I understand that control is hard with the wounds still so fresh. There isn't an easy way to push through and see the light. But you can't let a rival's words get to you. It puts you at risk for not getting scholarships or a spot on a college team. A college won't take a chance on a hothead female who loses it just because someone says something that mentions your father."

"Coach, he is not my father. That pathetic excuse has no claim of that title. EVER." My voice was controlled without even the hint of a shake that I felt in my heart. "As for the temper, I will keep it better under lock and key, but it probably won't matter anyway. I don't know if college football, or even college in general, is in the books for me right after graduation."

He sighed yet again. "Andy, locking it up isn't going make it go away. I think you should consider talking to someone about it. It doesn't have to be me, but someone. And you have such potential for college. You're hardworking, dedicated, and your grades reflect that. Please, just don't rule college out right now. Because I know any college would be stupid not to want you. Go home and shower up, kid. We can talk about the other stuff later. I just wanted to check on you and make sure you had cooled down okay."

"Thanks Coach. I won't let it happen again and I will consider what you said."

I got up to walk out as I heard him say less to me and more to himself, "He's a f**king idiot not knowing how amazing a daughter he truly had and not keeping his hands off you. You're like a daughter to me kiddo and I wish I could have protected you." Hearing the genuineness in his voice made something crack. And I just nodded and turned my back as fast I could. I wasn't about to cry here of all places. Not anymore. I wasn't that girl.

I was procrastinating, my heart heavier than it had ever been after competing in a battle on the field, but I knew I couldn't avoid home for ever. Even though I was definitely not ready to get in my truck yet. I was dreading the quiet drive and the time to be alone with my thoughts. When I went to the parking lot the other team's bus was loaded up and preparing to leave. I was shocked that they hadn't left yet. Apparently, my Coach's concerned talk took less time than I thought it had. This night had decided to go super slow for me. I could see the little bast*** in his window seat with his nose all bandaged up. Serves him right. I don't regret what I did for a second. The sad part was I was yearning to do it again: which was not a good sign. He crossed a line that I knew I would probably never forgive him for off the field. There were things you don't say just to try to get under someone's skin.

But it was the guy sitting behind him in the bus that caught my eye. His brown eyes were staring back at me. And it made me feel uneasy: not because of him, but because I couldn't control the butterflies I got from it. Just the eye contract made me blush as they pulled away. I had heard of weird sparks from all of the books that I never felt happy enough to read anymore. The pain and weight of being related to such a terrible excuse of a human had taken the joy away in reading. The joy in sitting for family dinner. He took more than I had realized before. More than I was confident I could ever get back.

I drove back to my house, taking my time, even proceeding to take back roads to make the ten minute drive into a fifteen to twenty minute drive. I was definitely not anxious to get back; when I did, my mom would be there. I know what you are thinking, how could you not love your mother? Don't get me wrong, I do, more than even she knows. I also don't resent her for making me sacrifice so much for the family. She wasn't strong enough to protect me and I learned to be strong enough to protect them instead. That is sometimes just how life goes unfortunately. That still didn't make me want to go home, because I knew what would happen. And, boy, was I right.

***

I came in the door like usual, my duffel bag slung over my shoulder. I kicked off my purple crocs at the door of the manor. Most people would look at me like I was crazy, when I say that this place isn't home. A house worth over a million dollars? You'd think I would be so grateful to exist in the same space as it. For me, a home means good memories, stories you want to tell your kids. Somewhere where you take your shoes off at the door and feel the weight of the world rise from your shoulders. None of that was here. The walls didn't hold happy family pictures. Those were gone long before the abuse. I'm starting to be convinced they were never there in the first place. There was no hope in a place like this. No sunshine in the windows. No happy colors to surround yourself in. Just grays and tans. Plain and empty of the light that used to shine before reality kicked in. Sure, looking from the outside, you could assume that it was a well-off family with prestige kids and money to waste. That is where you are wrong. Our family wasn't even whole to start with. It was a pathetic excuse for relationships. It was like putting a bandaid on a bullet wound. You could try to cover it up all you like, but it is still a wound. One that a fresh layer of paint doesn't just make you forget what was underneath it.

My bedroom wasn't even a place of vulnerability. There was nowhere safe in this place. No haven that I hadn't been violated or reached it. No, it was just somewhere I could hide for a few minutes, until everything caught up with me. Until I saw images, memories of what took place in my room. Where I was when each hit came. Reliving it in every single room. Even the bathroom where I had to clean myself up. Where I would clutch the toilet as the vomit from the memories would take hold. No, I didn't have an escape here. I kept telling myself that I needed to move out. Then again, I couldn't leave. Not now. It would be like abandoning my brother and mom. After years of suffering for not just me, but them, this would be a low blow. I was in too deep. So, here I stay. With gritted teeth and nightmares, but still I stay. Maybe sometimes I wasn't even here for my mom. Sometimes I was here just for Dustin. Knowing that I was there to protect him when my mom was too weak to. The only man I needed in my life, and he was definitely my little man.

I dropped my stuff off at my bedroom on my way to the kitchen. I knew that was where my mom was. That was where she always was. I was starving and didn't get food on the way home; I would have to go in to the danger zone eventually. My stomach was cursing me out and I knew I would have to bite the bullet sooner rather than later. Nevertheless, I knew that was where I needed to be. I couldn't avoid her, so might as well rip off the band-aid. I just wanted to explain. That was all I would need to do right? Plus, so what if my anger showed off this one time. That didn't mean I was like him. Did it? If I told her what triggered my fists of rage we would be okay. Maybe that would make everything just a little bit better. If I could justify my actions she would understand. She would have to understand. I needed her to understand me. I felt like if she didn't I would have disappointed her. And that was the last thing I wanted to do.

The thing I couldn't stand- disappointing anyone in my life. Because I was on the other end of it when my dad had never not disappointed me. After all the grief that he put us through... put me through? For her to compare me to him? To even get a glimpse of him in me? I could picture my mom's face: the terror she felt anytime he was in a bad mood. And for her to look that way at me? That would destroy me in a way my sperm donor was never able to. That would make the scars on my arms gleam and yearn for more attention. Something. Anything. To feel was all I wanted instead of being numb. The scars that he adorned me with? Or what was worse? The ones on my thighs that I gave myself.

What I was planning to say to her ran through my head as I walked through the giant fancy barn doors that separated our kitchen from the living room. However, when I saw my mother, my mind went more blank than new printer paper. She looked like she had aged ten years in a matter of hours. There were purple bags under her eyes half an inch deep and it looked as if she had just been crying with how puffy and red her eyes were. My heart fell, and I was suddenly very aware of the lump in my throat. Her hands were white as she gripped the coffee mug in her hands. She noticed me standing in the doorway and smiled. The smile faltered before it reached her eyes, though.

I cleared my throat, and willed myself to talk. To say something. Anything. "Mom, I uh, it is not what you think, I swear." I managed to stutter out.

She sighed, "Really, Andrea?" I cringed at the use of my government name. "Because it looks like you can't control it. That rage? You scared me. I saw a glimpse of..." She trailed off, and I knew by the look in her eyes what she meant.

"Mom, I will never be him. What you saw was a brief lapse in judgement. I'm not even like him. He's gone for good this time and with it all of the tension and pain. Actually, he is the reason why I lost it." I took a breath, finally explaining the situation in full detail. Her eyes widened when I told her of the jerk-face who dared to tease me in a way that hit way too close to home and then carelessly call me whatever he felt like. "It won't happen again. All it was, was a moment of weakness. Soon, this will all be behind us, long forgotten." The words were more to convince myself than her. I knew I couldn't just forget; my nightmares were a constant reminder of that. She saw through my empty words too.

Her face betrayed her emotions. It was like reading a book you knew the ending to. "I'm just glad this was the one game Dustin didn't go to." Right, Dustin. My little brother, who had heart and soul left. He still had a chance to be happy and avoid the f**k up mental state his sister had. Who I spent years protecting from the harm the world could do. To the harm a person who was supposed to love you could do. How could I be so naive? If he had been at that game, it would have ruined his trust in me. He would relapse, go into shock, or never speak to me again. Or all three. You might think that was jumping to an extreme, but with how our dad had behaved? He would have been so terrified of me after the fact.

He was thirteen now, an 8th grader on the top rung of the middle school ladder. Besides my mom and coach, he was the only one who knew the full story. I guess you could count "my" therapist too, but I never told her anything. My philosophy is why trust someone you don't know? I don't even trust the ones I do know. For good reason.

"He is going to hear about it, you know? What happens in the high school spreads like wildfire into the middle school." I stated the obvious. The gossip around here runs rampant. Small towns, man.

Another sigh emitted from my poor mother. "You should tell him before it gets to that point. Please. At least it will be better that way. I'm just glad he didn't witness your glare, the fire within you on that field as you let your fists fly. To be honest, I'm still trying to overcome that picture." She shuddered at the thought.

I gulped quietly. "Mom you know I would never raise my hand to you or Dustin." For the fifthteen time today I had to repeat my mantra in my head: 'I'm not him.'

"And you should definitely trust me enough to know I'd never touch a bottle of that poison. Not for me given the alcohol abuse that put us into this entire situation, and nor would I ever be around you two if I ever did drink." This was a promise, I forever engraved in my mind. I was threatened by it, scared of the unknown consequences. The risk and fear that came from wondering if I would be just like him drunk. If the alcoholism would flow in my veins just as deep as his hands after a bottle.

She nodded silently, tears brimming at the corners of her eyes now. "Dustin is over at Grandma's right now; he will be back tomorrow." Her voice shook, "And I trust you Andy." She bit her lip, holding back some information from me. I was too frightened to ask what it was. "I'm going to bed, Goodnight Sweetie." And with a sigh and a kiss on my cheek she retired to her room.

I made myself a healthy meal combination of pizza rolls and pop-tarts and went back to my room. I started lazily scrolling through my Instagram and realized I was already tagged in a bunch of videos and pictures by classmates. Oh great, the video of me breaking that guy's nose was already up. It was a far off view with a some blurry spots, but there was no doubt that anyone with two working eyes could tell it was me. I just hoped that I could beat them to the punch (pun not intended) of telling my brother before he found out another way.

I changed into basketball shorts and my superman t-shirt, because I refuse to sleep in those pants-pajama crap or anything actually made for pajamas because ew. That stuff is so overrated. I emptied the contents of my duffel bag into a black laundry basket in the corner. This is the one time my clothes actually make into the basket (mostly because my gear needs to be washed desperately every time. The rest of the time they are scattered across the floor. I am one of those teenagers who have piles for dirty, can be worn one more time, ehhh, and it's gotta go. The smell test is normally how I determine this but don't tell any of my female classmates who would be mortified that I was a girl amongst majority of guys who do this as well.

Compared to a teenage guy's room, my room is messy. Yikes, that is how you know it's bad. Half the time, you can't see the floor of my room. Apparently, it "looks like a tornado ran through there." Did you know it is also frowned upon when you forget what color your carpet is? Found that out a few years ago. Anyway, I climbed over my obstacle course of clothes, shoes, and random books, and flopped onto my bed. I set my alarm for 7 am because I was planning on getting a workout in before I had to face my brother to keep my energy high and burn off some of the nerves before I had to face my best friend. I turned off my light and like the bulb, I was out.