Out of the Blackness (8 page)

The thought of being alone so scares me that I realize I’m starting to hyperventilate. I force myself to control my breathing while concentrating on the mental image of Sam walking around the apartment. Eventually, I calm down enough to hit the cupboard for another pill, one of the Valium I rarely allow myself to take on days I don’t have to leave the house. My anxiety levels should be low enough at home that I don’t need extra help, and usually they are, but today is not one of those days. It’s Thanksgiving! I swallow the pill with the last of my orange juice and turn to wash my few dishes by hand. Whatever it takes to make the time until Sam gets home go by faster.

***

Rogue and Bobby have just touched for the first time at the end of
X-Men: The Last Stand
when I hear Sam’s key in the lock. I quickly dash the tears from my cheeks with an embarrassed laugh. That scene always gets to me. I’m almost ashamed of how glad I am to hear Sam’s return; I hate being alone in the apartment. I jump up from my cozy nest of pillows on the couch as I hear his deep voice rumble through the wood. When Kira’s lighter voice responds, I cringe momentarily. The sound of her voice reminds me that the jig is almost up, as they say. Before my mind can run away with itself again, the two of them elbow their way through the door carrying an assortment of food containers, none of which even remotely resemble the shape or scent of Chinese.

“Avery!” Sam calls, a smile spreading wide across his face when he catches sight of me. “Happy Thanksgiving, little brother. We brought food!”

I watch him cross into the kitchen, Kira trailing behind with a matching smile. It catches me off guard when she stoops to press a Chap Stick-y kiss to my cheek. Like her brothers, she’s tall, slender, and beautiful. Her long, dark hair curls elegantly to just below her shoulder blades. “Happy Thanksgiving, Aves,” she says. She has warm brown eyes and I know they must sparkle with holiday happiness.

“Thanks. You, too,” I say, surreptitiously wiping the weird wax from my face. I follow them into the kitchen and stare helplessly as they spread out the bundles on the counters. “Are we not doing Chinese this year?”

Sam stops moving long enough to shed his coat. He takes Kira’s off her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her neck. “Nope. I thought we’d go traditional this year.” He gestures with his free arm. “Behold! Turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes and gravy, some hideous red thing Kira swears is delicious—”

“Spiced apple rings, you ungrateful brat!” Kira laughs at him, and then turns to me. “They’re
so
good, Avery. You’ll love ‘em.”

My head is practically spinning. If pea soup is hiding among the offerings, I know I’ll be in trouble later. Taking it all in, I merely nod. “Wh-where did it all come from?”

Kira pauses in mid-reach for the oven thermostat. She turns to Sam, scowling. “Sam, didn’t you talk to Avery about this?”

His gaze drops to the floor and I marvel, as always, at her ability to turn the big, confident cop into a scolded schoolboy with just one look. “I thought I had, but I guess I forgot,” he admits.

Kira reaches up to smack Sam upside his head, but stops at the last minute, as her eyes meet mine. Hers widen in shock and mine find the floor. It’s only then I realize I’ve taken two steps back, out of the room, away from the violence. In my heart I know Kira is only playing with Sam. She’d never hurt him and he’d never allow it. But exchange the loving teasing for simmering hatred and I’m back in my mother’s kitchen, about to witness—and possibly, probably, be the subject of—a beating.

“Oh my god, Avery, I’m so sorry!” I hear the absolute horror in Kira’s voice and, though I know it’s genuine, I take another two steps backward, my eyes trained to the living room carpet, my arms hugging myself tightly.

In seconds, I feel Sam standing before me. I can see his ugly brown shoes, but still I don’t look up. “She wasn’t going to hurt me, Aves.”

I nod. I know that, I do. But still, this is too much. I’m not ready for this. I start to shake my head, wanting the memories to go away, willing the sight and scent of blood from my brain. I hear the coats hit the chair as Sam tosses them off to the side. Then his big, calloused hands are on my cheeks, gently tilting my head up.

“Look at me, Avery.”

I clench my eyes closed, but the bloody image on my eyelids forces them back open again. I feel Sam stroking my hair and it begins to calm me enough I can look at him. I know the plea is there in my wet eyes, but I have no idea how to vocalize it.

Sam continues to stroke my hair as he draws me slowly into his embrace. “It’s okay, little brother. It’s you and me and Kira. Avery and Sam, right? Nothing’s going to hurt you here, buddy. I’ve got you. Just relax and breathe for me, okay?” Without conscious effort, my arms wrap around him, stealing his strength and calmness. “That’s it, buddy,” he whispers into my hair. “It’s okay. Breathe.”

After a couple of minutes, I feel my heart pulsing at its usual tempo and realize my breathing is back down to normal. I give Sam a quick squeeze to let him know I’m alright. He lifts his cheek from the top of my head and loosens the embrace. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, embarrassment rising to the surface as it does every time I midjudge or flake out over nothing.

“Never apologize to me, Aves.” Sam strokes my hair one last time. “You know Kira would never hurt me, right?”

I nod solemnly.

“You know she would never hurt you, either, right?”

I shake my head slightly, because what was I gonna do, lie? Of course Kira would hurt me. Perhaps not right this minute, but given any change in her relationship with Sam, she is just like everyone else. Sam misinterprets my answer, perhaps intentionally, and steps back, a half-smile on his face. “There ya go, then,” he says. “Not a reason in the world to worry about this again. It’s all okay.”

Again I nod, ready to get on with the rest of the day. Actually, I just want to go to sleep, but I know that’s off the table. Sensing my mood like he always does, Sam suggests I lay down on the couch while he and Kira reheat lunch. I nod again and Sam lets go of me completely. Seconds later, I’m wildly asleep on the couch.

***

It’s summer. The heat of the day beckons me to come play. The neighborhood kids are next door, playing on Andrew’s new Slip-n-Slide. I meticulously check my room to ensure that all is clean. Clothes are either hanging neatly in the closet or folded crisply in the dresser, dirty ones are tidily folded in the hamper in the closet. All dust bunnies have been chased away and my bed is as well-made as a seven-year-old can do. Nervously, I check to make sure the bedspread is even on all three sides. That was what set Carl off last time—the foot of the bed was uneven. By the time he was finished teaching me how to do it correctly, I couldn’t sit for several hours. I was covered in bruises and welts from the middle of my back to just above my knees. I desperately want to avoid that now. All I want in the world is to go play in the Slip-n-Slide. The shouts and giggles and screams from next door threaten to make me sloppy, but I know one mistake is all it will take to ensure I can’t go outside for weeks—certainly not in just shorts.

I open my bedroom door just as I hear Carl come into the house. He’s been in the garage all morning, working on his car, no doubt drinking lots of beer. It’s always worse when he’s drinking, but I tell myself this time it’ll be okay. I’ve done my chores and cleaned my room perfectly. He can’t find fault with anything. Today I can prove to him I really am a good boy.

I try so hard.

I should know better. I’ve been told I’m a worthless, pathetic bastard enough times it should have sunk in by now. But still I have to hope, because I really do want to be a good boy. I just want Carl and Mom to love me, even when I make mistakes. Because that’s all they are, mistakes. I never
try
to be bad or wrong, it just sort of happens and I have no control over it. I know I can do better. I just have to try harder.

I’m two steps from the kitchen when I hear the jeering tone in Carl’s voice as he mocks Mom for something. I can’t make out the words, but I should know by now to disappear. Unfortunately, the siren song of the Slip-n-Slide is far too powerful for a seven-year-old to resist. It overpowers my sense of caution. Besides, I know I’ve done everything right for once. Still, my breathing goes shallow and the buzz starts in my ears. I know they’re going to fight and I know I should avoid that kitchen at all costs, but…please. I just want to play with the other kids. Please. It’s so nice outside and I’ve been a good boy, I promise.

The roar in my ears drowns out their words, but I hear Mom and Carl shouting. My feet keep moving me into the kitchen out of that desperate need to be a regular little boy for just one afternoon, for just a few hours. Please, oh, please.

Just as I enter the kitchen, Carl backhands Mom with all his might, sending her stumbling back several paces right into me and the wall. I hear glass shatter and I know there’s my mistake. I was in the room when it happened; therefore, it’s my fault. I watch, absolutely vibrating in fear as Mom pulls her bloodied hand away from her face. My eyes immediately focus on the glass shards sparkling innocently on the linoleum floor, almost willing them to jump back together so I can avoid what is unquestionably coming next.

“You ungrateful little son of a bitch!” Carl bellows venomously at me. “You made your mother break that glass!
Look at me when I’m talking to you, boy!
”

I’m already bawling when I feel him grab a handful of my hair, wrenching my head up so I have no choice but to look at him. I feel more than see his arm cock back. The instant my fear-filled child’s eyes meet his hate-filled adult ones, his fist smashes into my cheek.

***

“Avery!”

Sam’s voice chases away the nightmare, but it takes a moment to realize I’m still screaming and crying.
Will these nightmare memories ever go away?
I silence the scream, but bury my face in Sam’s shoulder as I continue to cry. I’d forgotten that particular beating, but I remember it vividly now. It was the first time Carl broke my orbital bone, but it wouldn’t be the last. Two days later, Mom took her “clumsy” boy to the doctor. I’d fallen out of a tree and landed on a rock, of course. Who wouldn’t believe that of a boy who’d already broken his arm doing the same thing?

Sam holds me tightly, rocking me until I finally cry myself out. He doesn’t need to ask. Only two things make me scream in my sleep—Tommy Blevins and Carl. Sam’s hands are gentle as he caresses my back and strokes my sweaty, tear-dampened hair.

It’s only when Kira hands Sam a glass of water that I remember she’s there. The embarrassment I’d felt earlier intensifies tenfold. I struggle fiercely to pull myself together. I know Carl can’t hurt me anymore. He has no idea who or where I am. And Tommy…well, after August, I’m almost sure he knows better than to cross Sam again. I repeat the mantra over and over in my head: I’m safe. With Sam, I’m safe. When I’ve said it enough times I almost believe it, I disengage from Sam’s protective embrace. I shiver slightly without his warmth enfolding me, but force a tremulous smile to my lips. “It’s okay. I’m sorry.”

Sam ruffles my still damp hair and rises from the couch. “No reason to be sorry, buddy. Just remember all of that belongs in the past. You’re safe now. And today is Thanksgiving. Let’s spend the rest of the day being thankful we have each other. You, me and Kira, the Big Three. Seriously, let’s put some joy into the day so we can get more out of it, okay?”

I nod, not really sure what he’s talking about, but it sounds better than sitting around thinking about Tommy or Carl.

Sam ruffles my hair again. “Go wash your face, little bro. You’re a mess. Then come into the kitchen and get some of this amazing grub. Everything will look better on a full stomach.”

***

Every year I’m more grateful to Walter for not giving in to the hype the Big Box stores try to create about Black Friday, The Day After Thanksgiving. Instead of opening at midnight or four a.m. or some equally insane hour, Walter insists we open only three hours early, at seven a.m. instead of ten.

And because Molly and Brian know me so well, they give me the special orders register, which just happens to be the farthest from the door. They could make me do stock fills, but they know being amidst the sea of people would do me in. Here, at least, I’m separated from customers by the width of the counter. For the most part, these customers aren’t the usual I-must-have-the-best-deal-right-now type. The Special Orders counter is for those people who planned ahead and are now picking up something they specifically had set aside. We’re so busy ringing and wishing well that the first chance I get to step away from the register is eleven thirty.

I grab my coat from the hook and a Frappuccino from the refrigerator and head for my break bench in the alley. For the first time, the events of yesterday start flashing through my mind. After the humiliating nightmare on the couch, the day slowly got better. Sam and Kira were so painfully cute together it almost made my teeth hurt from smiling so much. The uncharacteristically traditional food had been very good. And those spiced apple rings could easily become a new addiction for me. Who knew something that looked like it should glow in the dark could taste that amazing?

We’d spent the day relaxing by playing board games. Kira whooped us both at Scrabble. Then Sam made a huge deal about my victory at Scene It, accusing me of pre-reading all the cards. Even I was surprised at how much I knew until I realized just how much of that knowledge, shallow as it was, came from working in the book store. When Sam dragged out the Wii and threatened to redeem his masculinity through bowling, Kira upped the ante and challenged him to
real
bowling at the bowling center down the street. At that point, I tried to beg off, but they would have none of it. So we trekked down to the bowling alley, where I positively slaughtered both of them three games in a row. The mostly deserted place had been a riot of fun. Even my usual complement of fear and anxiety had been forcibly subdued by the sheer silliness of Sam approaching the lane backward and shoving the ball between his legs like some kid. Kira had jumped right into the silly and their contagious laughter had even convinced me to join in the fun, with only the slightest niggles about what punishment I’d have to endure later for having such a good time. It was, without question, the most I’d ever laughed in my life.