Love Thy Neighbor (Friend-Zoned)(66)

I gasp and Ash chuckles. I whisper, “Did I- I think that was- I can’t believe I just-”

“I think you just giggled,” he smirks, thoroughly amused.

Shaking my head, I lie, “No, it wasn’t. I don’t giggle. It was gas.”

Ash throws his head back and laughs hard. I can’t help but laugh with him. He runs a hand through his hair. “Only you would think that giggling is worse than farting.” Shaking his head, he mutters, “Too damn cute.”

He pulls me down next to him and wraps me tight. I peck kisses onto his chest, neck and chin. Feeling brave, I ask quietly, “You think you’ll ever be up to telling me what happened to you?”

Rather than answering the question, he pulls me tighter to him and sighs. “When I was eight, my dad lost his job. And it was a good job. He was high up in some lending company, sort of like a bank. We always had money. Mom and Dad both came from money, so it was expected we’d stay that way. Well, shit happens. People lose their jobs every day, but my dad started drinking. A lot. There’s not a memory I have that doesn’t include him drunk as f*ck or lying somewhere in his own vomit. He’d been drinking all day. It was my birthday and I was working on my bike in the garage. Dad comes down and…”

He stiffens and I know something’s happening.

I raise my head to look up at him. His brows are furrowed and his eyes vacant.

My heart races. I’m suddenly scared.

Putting my hand to his forehead, I ask quietly, “Baby, talk to me. What’s happening here?”

“He was a bad man,” he whispers almost childlike.

And my heart breaks.





Chapter Twenty-One

Memories





Eight years old…

“The f*ck you think you’re doing, boy?” His words sound funny. Like he’s falling asleep.

My stomach twists. I’m nervous.

He’s been drinking the brown stuff again. I tried it once when he was sleeping outside. It’s not nice. It made me cough a lot. My throat felt like it was burning. I didn’t like it.

I tell him, “Fixing my chain, sir.”

He wobbles over, knocking things down on the way. He looks funny. I try to hold my laugh but the smile breaks free. He spits through slurred words, “You think this is funny? You got grease everywhere. Who’s gonna clean this up?”

I nod and say, “I will, sir. As soon as I’m done.”

“So I suppose you want me to say happy birthday to you, son.” His tone is sharp. I avoid his eyes and keep working on my bike chain. I don’t like him when he’s like this. I try to hide the bottle or pour it down the sink, but he always knows it’s me. I don’t like when he hits me. He grabs my arm and yanks me forward, booming, “Look at me when I’m talking to you, boy!”

My lip quivers as I look up at him. “Yes, sir.”

Through gritted teeth, he says, “You were the worst mistake of my life, Asher. I prayed to God that your mother would have a miscarriage. I knew you’d be no good. I was right. You’re just a bad seed. You’re nothing and you never will be. Mark my words, boy. Aim low. So low that you can reach the crumbs that drop on the ground. That’s all you’ll be. Scum crawling on the floor. A beggar.”

Tears pour out of my eyes. When he notices, he becomes aggravated. “Stop that, boy.”

But I can’t, I silently sob. I know he doesn’t like the noise. With every hiccup I see his blood boil hotter. A minute passes and he warns, “You don’t shut that mouth of yours, you’re gonna get it.”

It makes me cry harder and shake. I’m scared. When he stands and pulls up his sleeves, I want to scream for help. I know it’s no use, though. Momma wouldn’t come. I close my eyes and wait for the hit but it doesn’t come. Calming slightly, I open my eyes and see his empty, cold eyes staring back at me. He mutters, “I warned you.”

Then he steps forward, takes my arm and bends it back at the elbow. I yell out and cry. It hurts so much. He keeps bending. My body shakes like electricity runs through it. The pain is so strong. I feel like I’m going to fall asleep. I scream until my voice is hoarse. I hear it. I hear the snap. Something in my body takes over and I don’t feel a thing anymore.

I fall to the floor on my knees before looking up at my dad through blurry eyes. I see his smirk. “That’ll teach ya…little f*cker…waste of space…f*cking useless,” he says.

He walks out of the garage and finally, I sleep.

***

“I think he needs to go to the hospital, honey.” Mom sits near me on my bed and bathes my forehead with a cool towel.

I think I might burst into fire soon. I don’t think I should be this hot. It feels like someone left me out in the sun to bake.

Dad stands at the door glaring at my mom. He says, “He’s fine. Always attention seeking.”

Mom looks down at me, her eyes sad. She whispers, “We need to take him to the hospital. His fever spiked last night and it’s not coming down, Robbie. He’s going to die if we don’t do something.”

Dad straightens at the door and walks away muttering, “Good riddance.”

***

Ten years old…

The rain pounds hard on the roof. It’s always weather like this that makes it sore.