Chapter 6: Alex

Mom drops me an' Gracie off at school Tuesday on her way into work so I get there pretty early. She still thinks I'm gonna say something but I've only got two words ta say an' one person ta say 'em to.

I'm sitting on the front step of the school when the bus arrives and people flood off and into the building. No one bumps me; by now everyone knows that's an easy way ta get hit. Lisa gets off the bus and for some reason I remember the day my great grandfather died. The air suddenly has the same sick dread; the conversations around me seem to have the same muted tone. She tries to walk past me like she doesn't see me but I grab her arm - the good one, the one not in a sling - and stare at her bruised face.

"I did this?" I knew I hit her but Peter didn't tell me how bad it was, "Oh fuck!"

"Oh, Alex." She pretends to laugh, "You're so ... No, I was in a car accident. Last week." She twists her arm and I let her go, "As if I'd even talk to you if you hit me." She fake laughs again and hurries into the building.

I broke her arm. A week later, her pretty face is still black-n-blue. I'm not an asshole; I'm not good enough to be an asshole.

As soon as most everybody's inside, I smoke another cigarette less because I want one and more because it gives me something to do with my hands other than punch a wall. Maybe all those bruises were me. Maybe it's always been me beatin' up on her an' I've been too blind or stupid ta notice.

The bell rings but I haven't finished my smoke so I don't move. When I do finish, I consider going to class and instead light another one. I wish I had something stronger than cigarettes. No wonder Peter popped my shoulder out. He shoulda beat my ass. He shoulda told me what I'd done and beat my ass for doin' it.

Eventually, Peter finds me. I pin him to the wall - only because he wasn't expecting it, "Why the fuck didn't you tell me?"

"Because I haven't seen you all goddamned day! Shit! Back off, Alex!"

I let him go; it's not Peter I'm mad at anyways. I start down the stairs.

"Where are you going?" he yells after me.

I have no idea, "Who the fuck cares?" I yell back.

A minute later, he's beside me pushing me toward the parking lot. "Get in the damn car." Since I don't have a better idea, I get in. I still want to hit something so I bang my head against the dashboard. It hurts but not enough. Peter grabs my shoulder and stops me from doing it again, "Stop that, shithead!"

I broke her arm.

I all but broke her face.

All this time I've been waiting to say I'm sorry for something unforgivable. I don't deserve forgiveness; I deserve to be beat down.