Jamie Myers
Almost twenty minutes later, Scar parked his Jeep among dozens of other cars, and we made our way toward the massive house at the end of the street that stood out amidst the others in the neighborhood thanks to the colorful disco lights and atrociously loud music. I practically felt Scar's apprehension as we neared the house; he stopped abruptly in his long strides and looked back at us. “Uh, maybe I should hold your hand,” he aimed his suggestion toward Jillian.
She raised an eyebrow, but after looking to me for permission, she sauntered over to Scar and forcefully grabbed his hand. “Don’t get used to it.”
Scar chuckled softly to himself, but didn’t try to argue with her.
The minute we stepped into the house, Scar took the first opportunity to show my sister off by tugging her into an unknown direction and leaving me all by myself in the midst of a crowd of sweaty, drunk people. As I maneuvered my way through them in search of a clearing that would allow me to think without being rubbed against by intoxicated females, I hoped this whole jealousy thing worked out because I wasn’t that interested in staying here for long. Before I could, however, the song changed to one I recognized, and I instantly found the need to dance. There was a busty blonde attempting to shake her ass beside me, and I pulled her against me and started dancing.
I had no idea how long I had been dancing for. Song after song passed by in a blurry frenzy, and it appeared I had a different partner for each song–male or female, it didn't matter to me because I was just trying to pass the time. My partner of the moment was a tall, skinny guy with ink black hair. Based on his dilated pupils and freakishly large grin, he was definitely high on something. He wasn’t nearly my type, and I was almost positive I wasn’t his, but after approximately a half hour of dancing like this, I was actually starting to enjoy myself.
Through this hazy cloud of sweating profusely and grinding like it was nobody’s business, I never understood exactly how I saw it, or why I had to be the one to see it, but my attention diverted away from my dance partner and off into the distance. My gaze caught sight of a girl with familiar dark waves, and her arms were wrapped around an unknown boy’s neck; I fully expected it to be Scar, but it wasn’t.
Francesca and Trey were engulfed in a hot and needy make-out session, not once parting their lips. I didn’t even know them like Scar did, but even I felt betrayed.
I should’ve anticipated what unfolded shortly after. I heard a shout that was loud enough to combat the roaring music. “You asshole!”
The couple broke away from their kiss and stared wildly at the accuser, who was, as expected, Scar Patterson with Jillian attached to his side. Suddenly, the music softened to a mere murmur, and everyone had stepped back to form a circle around the group. Scar’s hands were balled into fists, which meant there was only a matter of time until someone got hurt. On any given occasion, I would’ve pulled out my phone to record the altercation just like everyone else had begun to do, but Scar was involved, and I didn’t want anything bad to happen to him, so I kicked my feet up to push and shove my way through the crowd.
Trey pushed the Bulgarian girl away from him, and cried out, “Dude, it's not what it looks like!”
“I trusted you!” Scar yelled, snarling. He tried to lunge toward him, but Jillian pulled on his arm to hold him back. “And you…” He switched his gaze to his former girlfriend, “…really? Have you got no boundaries? My own fucking best friend?”
Of the two, Francesca wasn’t the least bit fazed by his accusations. “Oh, grow up, Scar! We’re over. You made that very clear since you chose kissing dudes over having sex with me.”
Scar gaped at her accusation. It was only a matter of time before he would completely blow his top. “You little…”
I continued to squeeze through the crowd while simultaneously uttering strings of apologies until I made it out successfully. “Scar,” I called out, hoping my voice would make him calm down.
It didn't.
He snapped his fiery gaze to mine, and I could see that his eyes had grown dark into a forest green rather than their usual bright color. His jaw was clenched tightly, and his hands were forcefully balled into hard fists, exposing the veins in his arms. “Stay out of this,” he growled.
Trey furrowed his brows in confusion and chose to make matters worse by asking, “Patterson, are you seriously kickin’ it with him?” He spoke with such disgust, such disdain.
Jillian spoke up, “Hey! That's my brother you're talking about!”
“Yeah, that's exactly why I said it,” Trey barked back in retaliation. “What? Just ‘cause you kissed the creepy guy don’t mean you owe him nothing.”
I wasn't quite sure how I knew but that struck a nerve, and Scar lunged himself at Trey before Jillian could stop him. They crashed to the floor with Scar hovering over his best friend, throwing punch after punch. Trey gripped onto Scar’s wrists in a lame attempt to stop the punches, but that only made Scar angrier; he pinned him down to the floor with one hand and continued to deliver clenched fists to Trey’s face with the other.
As much as I enjoyed watching Scar beat his traitor best friend into a pulp, I didn’t want Scar to ruin his reputation; after all, he had a football scholarship to upkeep.
Throwing ourselves into the altercation, Jillian and I grabbed onto Scar with her pulling his shoulders back and me wrapping my arms around his waist. It was difficult because Scar clawed at us all while trying to get a few kicks into Trey’s side, but we managed to peel him away from the fight. He thrashed and kicked as we dragged him out of the area, but thankfully, the music resumed as soon as we were out of sight, and the crowd pulled together to continue to dance as if nothing had happened.
“Let me go!” Scar yelled gruffly as we propped him against the kitchen counter. His eyes narrowed into thin slits as he watched us, probably assessing how he was going to maneuver his way around us. “I need to kill that motherfucker.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Do that, and you won’t have a football scholarship.”
“I don’t care,” he spat as he stepped forward.
I pushed him back. “Yes, you do.”
Scar glanced at where I had just touched him, and frowned. “Don’t fucking touch me, you faggot! Stay out of my life. This is none of your business.” He made a move to push past us once more, but I stood my ground by shoving him back against the counter. He stumbled for a little bit, desperately trying to keep his balance, and when he realized he couldn’t, he slumped to the floor and buried his head in his hands, whimpering quietly to himself.
Jillian and I exchanged looks. “It’s my fault,” she said, “He had a few drinks, and he told me he was going to be okay, so I didn’t try to question it.”
I nodded at her before lowering myself to the floor to console the weeping boy. “Scar,” I spoke softly, “I think it’s best if you go home. You’re drunk, so you can’t drive, but I can take you.”
Scar continued to cry to himself, and from the looks of it, he had ignored what I had just said.
“Scar,” I tried again. “Look, I get it. You’re upset because Francesca was your one and only, and you want her back. Crying over it isn’t going to solve things. What you need to do is show her what she’s missing.”
He lifted his head to look at me and stared blankly at me for a few moments. I thought it was because something I said had sparked something inside him, but I was quickly proven wrong when tears welled in his eyes, and he broke into a full-on sob. “I did everything!” he cried out as he threw his arms around my neck. “She doesn’t want me!”
My body stiffened at the sudden contact. “Scar,” I breathed in a low whisper, “it's okay. Let’s just get you home.” I tried to push him away from me, but Scar didn’t let go; if anything, he held on tighter to combat my efforts at separating us.
Jillian placed her hands on her knees and pulled her lips into a teasing smile. “Well, isn’t that lovely?”
I sent her a deadly glare in retaliation before digging my hands into the weeping boy’s pockets in search for his car keys. “Oh, just shut up and help me,” I spat bitterly in which my sister responded by chuckling quietly to herself while she hooked her arms through Scar’s. Together, we helped him to his feet and guided him towards the exit, all while he babbled a series of incoherent and insensible drunk statements.
▪▪▪
Sprawled across the backseat of his own car, Scar fell asleep almost immediately upon contact with the torn leather seats. Jillian and I had debated our next course of action as well as what to do about the heavily intoxicated boy behind us. We had decided to stop by our house to get our bus passes, drop the boy off at his house, and then take public transportation back to our place, like we were so accustomed to doing. After we had pulled into the driveway of the place we weren’t proud to call our home, however, Jillian sucked in large breath and slammed her hands on her thighs.
“What is it?”
“Eugene told me to go grocery shopping, and it totally slipped my mind,” she voiced after slapping a hand over her forehead and lazily dragging it down her face.
I glanced at the front door. “What do you want to do?”
“I…” Jillian pulled at her tousled strands, “…it’s too late, now. All the stores are closed, and we still have to take Scar home, and−”
“Maybe Eugene’s asleep,” I suggested, knowing the guy had a strict sleeping regimen. It was approaching midnight, so the chances of our foster parent being awake was slim to none.
Jillian’s shoulders relaxed at my statement. “Yeah,” she breathed, “maybe.”
“We’ll be quick,” I offered, “in and out.” I gave her a reassuring nod as I jumped out of the Jeep and made my way to the front door with her following closely behind. Turning the house key into the lock slowly and carefully, I bumped the door open with my hip and quietly entered the house. The main foyer’s lights were off, thereby confirming my notion of Eugene being asleep, but as soon as I flicked the lights on, I heard a rough, raspy voice ask, “Where’ve you been?”
Eugene stood at the end of the foyer, arms crossed over his pudgy chest. His colorless lips were downturned into a spiteful grin and his hard, unfriendly, brown eyes were narrowed at us.
Jillian jumped in her skin a little. “Oh, um, we were, uh, at a party.”
Eugene’s head tilted to the side as his eyes focused on my sister. “A party?” he croaked. “While you were at this party, did you get me the stuff I told you to get?”
“See … the party ran longer than we thought it would, and the stores are closed, so…” She lifted her gaze from the floor and attempted a smile. “I’ll run down to the store first thing tomorrow morning!”
The old man’s careless expression didn't even falter. “I've sacrificed so much so that you two could have a place to live, something to eat, and something to wear. How dare you disrespect your own father like this?” His gray eyebrows twisted together in confusion as the volume in his voice increased with every word he spoke.
I wanted to laugh at his remark. He didn’t have to sacrifice anything for us; we were the ones keeping us alive, not him. The only thing Eugene was good for was yelling and hitting us. We tried to run away, we tried to get help from child services, but through our repeated advances we eventually learned that the system didn’t care about us.
Eugene continued to stare us down, eyes narrowing significantly as though he was trying to figure out who he would punish first. The longer we stood there, the more I realized that I didn’t have to be here. I didn’t have to submit to a man that didn’t give a damn about me.
And so I said, with an eye roll, “You’re not our father.”
Eugene frowned. “What did you say, little boy?”
“You’re not…” I stepped in front of Jillian and narrowed my gaze at him, “…our father.”
There was silence for what felt like an eternity, but eventually, he spoke. “Well, you ungrateful little piece of shit!” In one swift movement, he swiped his hand at my face, causing a painful sting to rip through my cheek. Jillian let out a scared shriek. “Don't you ever say that again. I'm your father. You understand that? Ain’t nobody taking care of you rotten kids but me.”
I willed myself to stand still as I poked the inside of my cheek with my tongue as some lame attempt at trying to make the pain go away. Letting my gaze fall to the odd patterns on the floor, I balled my hands at my sides in lieu of reacting−an anger management strategy I learned over the years; instead, I shrunk into myself and let my thoughts take over my mind.
I didn’t need to be here. I needed to make sure Scar got home safely. I needed to be somewhere where I was wanted, somewhere where I was needed.
And because I desperately needed to get away from Eugene, or maybe just because of my need to satisfy my own selfish desires, I walked out of the house and never looked back.
Comments (1)
See all