Devil on Your Back

DEVIL ON YOUR BACK

Copyright © 2015 Max Henry

Published by Max Henry

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Published: April 2015, by Max Henry
[email protected]

Edited by:
Lauren McKellar

Cover Design: Louisa of
LM Creations

Cover Image: Michael Meadows of
Michael Meadows Studios

Cover Model:
Tommy Barresi

Formatting by:
Max Effect

CHOICES. NO
matter how many options you’re given, it all boils down to one thing: are you making that choice for yourself, or the ones you love?

I’ve spent the better part of my life convincing myself I did what I had to for my family, but now . . . I’m not so sure. If I’d been gifted the ability to see the long-term effects of my actions, would I have done the same? Or would I have been selfish and taken the easy road out?

I gave up on them, and I started making choices for me, for what brought
me
happiness—even if those decisions were hollow and short-lived, sourced from the bottom of a glass bottle.

A shot of instant gratification.

A drop of chemical bliss.

Doomed to wear out, and leave me lower than before.

But did I learn? Hardly. I chose to wallow in my pity for the self-depreciating emotions it brought with it. After all, if I could revel in my sadness I could justify it. I could remain ignorant, and place the blame on the shoulders of those who had no part to play in the events that brought me to those lows.

People like my son.

And I did. I lumped those around me with the burdens that were mine to bear. I let go of all responsibility, and did no more than continue to hope somebody would hear my silent screams for help. I allowed myself to become less of a man in the vain attempt at attracting a soul who could save me from the pit of despair I lived in day-to-day.

But what happened?

Nobody came.

Nobody heard me.

Instead I pushed the weak lifelines I
did
have aside, and dropped lower into the black, sticky tar that was my grief. I allowed it to consume me, and seep into every pore.

I allowed myself to
become
the grief.

That was, until a kindred spirit stepped into the darkness with me, and showed me how to live with a painful past shadowing my now. She showed me how to manipulate the tar until it became a neat little ball that I could lock away in the dark chambers of my heart. Most of all, she showed me how to live with my inky past and a bright future side-by-side. That it was possible.

That I could love again.

And now, she is the force driving me to get my son back.

The reason why I have to fix the biggest mistake I ever made before it’s too late.

Before I’ve failed and the tar spreads once again.

“I CAN’T
stand watching this, Dad!” my boy yells at me, his face displaying maturity belying of his thirteen years. Yet I do nothing. “Every fucking day is the same. When are you going to start being like the other dads, huh?” He yanks at the hood on his sweater, pulling it over his head to conceal his face.

It’s no use; I’ve already seen the tears.

“I don’t know what to say,” I admit. “I can’t be what you want.” I remain frozen in place, standing in the middle of our living room.

“Then be something
you
want,” he snarls. “You can’t tell me you’re happy being this loser who sits around all day. You never even come watch me skate.”

“I’m sure you don’t want your old man hangin’ around the skate park, kid.”

He mumbles, turning away from me.

“Sorry?”

“I said, maybe I do because then I’d know you give a shit.”

“Watch your language,” I scold. The best and lamest response I can give him.

Alice’s gaze meets mine, and the pain behind his brown eyes is damn near tangible. The regret and disappointment slice though me like a hot knife through butter. I’m exposed, revealed for all to see, and I don’t know how to cope with the pressure.

“I wish things had been different.” My gaze drops to the floor, unable to bear a second longer of the harsh truth before me.

“Is that it?” he asks. “You wish things had been better? Why not make them better?”

“Nobody will hire me for work, Alice,” I snap. “I can’t get paid work. Do you have any idea in that child’s head of yours what it’s like to not know if you can feed your family for the rest of the week?”

His frustration ebbs, replaced by a tide of crushing rage. “You can’t get work, Dad, because you’re fucking drunk half the time.”

Heat peppers my cheeks. He may be stating the obvious, but it doesn’t mean I like to hear it spoken out loud.

Especially from my child.

“I may be a kid,” he continues, “but I’m more fucking mature than you’ll ever be.”

“Language!” I holler.

“Fuck. You,” he bites out. “Who the heck are you to tell me what to do?”

“Your father,” I bellow. “I’m your God damn father.”

“Then fucking act like it!”

He turns on his heel and marches down the hall of our small apartment. With the little money I manage to bring in from cash jobs here and there, it was never going to be enough to keep our house. The bank foreclosed, took all the profit to recover debt, and kicked us out. By the sheer grace of God, I stumbled across a ‘For Let’ sign out the front of our apartment on my way to a job interview the week we were due to move. The place is dingy; it’s small, and mice frequent the rooms more often than we do, but it’s a roof over our heads. And it’s a dry place for me to drink every day.

Because I do drink . . . a lot.

Crashes and thuds echo as Alice hurls things around inside his room. The symphony of my life. My common sense tells me to go sort it out, tell him to pull his head in, but my heart rules the roost when it comes to my boy.

After all, I’ve let him down in the worst way possible and in return, I believe it vetoed my right to tell him how to behave. Who am I to say what he should and shouldn’t do? When his father is an alcoholic and a lousy role model then I’m pretty sure that gives the kid license to look to others for guidance.

What cuts me most is that I have no idea who they are, or where that is. Every day after school he skates until dark with his friend, Toby. Other than that, I have no idea what he does. He could be hanging out with drug users, petty thieves, or crime gangs. Fuck, he might even be the drug user—what would I know?

Not a fucking thing.

He’s right to feel disappointment when he looks at me—embarrassment even. Three years ago, he saved my life; he cut the rope I put my final hope into and brought me back, with a broken rib and a severe case of shame. I prayed every day, begging for forgiveness for what I’d become, but I learnt the hard way that Jesus doesn’t save men like me. Even the devil runs the figures before he decides if he wants the bother. As a consequence, I’ve lost my faith—lost my hope that all this shit happens because a higher being has a purpose for me.

What good could I honestly bring to this world?

Nope, at the end of the day it was my kid that saved me—my flesh and blood. And what have I done since then to repay the favor? Nothing. I slipped further into my self-pitying state, and left him to his own devices while I searched the bottom of a bourbon bottle for answers to my problems.

He has no need for me.

Alice emerges from his room carrying a duffle that couldn't contain more than a handful of items. He strides past me, heading right for the door without a single thing to say to his old man before he goes.

“Where are you headed at this hour?” I ask.

Dusk passed a while ago, and the kind of neighborhood we live in isn’t easy on kids his age wandering around alone.

“What do you care?” he snaps in return, choosing not to face me. “Just go have another drink, Dad.”

With my heart beating a solid tempo in my ribcage, I march up to him and wrench his slight frame around by the scruff of his sweatshirt. His body tenses with apprehension, but my child looks at me with the defiant stare of a man. His eyes hold no regret, no fear, and it sets a chill deep in my bones.

An attitude like his will get him killed. He hasn’t learnt how unjust and cruel the world can be to those who believe they’re untouchable. A naïve boy like him will get chewed up and spat out within days.

“Take your shit back to your room,” I order, “and come help me with dinner.”

He shakes his head. “Not this time.”

I release my grip and narrow my gaze. “Excuse me?”

Alice shirks the creases out of his sweatshirt, and stares me down. “Why do you do this to yourself—drink the day away and deny any responsibilities for us? What do you think Mom would do if she could see you? She’d fucking tell you how pathetic you are.” His face grows red with the force of his hate. “You’re a fucking waste of space, and I wish you’d died instead of her.”

My hand lashes out and smacks him square across the jaw. “Don’t you fuckin' speak to me like that again.”

It pains me, knowing I just hit my boy. But I stand my ground. I raised him better than to be so disrespectful.

“That’s what you have?” he spits, throwing his hands in the air. “You think that’ll make me stay? I’m out. I’m out of here.”

“You’re going nowhere,” I shout as he tugs the front door wide. “You’re only a kid, and you’re my responsibility.”

He spins, fists clenched at his side. “I’m only a kid, but I sure as fuck know I’m not your responsibility. I haven’t been for years, Dad. Years!”

“Get the fuck over here, now.” I stab a finger at the ground before me.

“No!” He steps onto the shared path that runs along the front of the apartment complex. “See you later, Dad. Go fucking hang yourself again. This time I won’t bother stopping you.”

“Alice,” I roar as he walks out of our house, out of my life.

He spins on the front path, and screams back at me. “I told you not to fuckin’ call me that anymore!”

My chest aches, and my throat tightens as I watch the last thing I had left to love walk away.

I should have showed that boy I loved him more, but I know the reason why I never did—because I can’t find it in me to love myself. And if I can’t give myself the respect I need to feel confident in my decisions, then how the fuck did I ever expect him to believe in me again?

My feet itch, eager to chase after him, but it’s too little, too late. I’ve ruined any chance I ever had with my son, and going after him now would just add insult to injury. The kid’s better off without me.

Wherever he ends up.