Page 2 of Always Love You More

Grabbing my pillow, I press it against my face and scream into it until it feels like I can’t breathe. Then, slamming it against the bed, I drop to my knees and pound my fists against the mattress, swinging until I’m panting.

Slowly, I get up, walk over to the light switch, and turn it off. The glow of my alarm clock burns through the darkness, showing that it’s just past three in the morning.

I hate it when he does this in the middle of the night. It’s always so hard to get back to sleep.

Dropping down onto the mattress, I prop my pillow up and lean back, fighting the urge to remove it and slam my head against the wall. Instead, I grab the DVD player from the floor beside me and pull the attached headphones over my ears.

As I wait for it to power up, I run my hand along the side of the mattress until it catches on my knife, sliding my thumb along the side of it enough times until I believe it’s there. Satisfied, I settle back, pulling the sheet up over my bare chest as the movie starts.

My eyes snap open at the sound of my alarm, surprised I’d fallen asleep. After untangling the headphones that are wrapped around me, I drag a hand down my face and wish I could be anywhere but inside my own body. My head is killing me, and my ribs are aching from yesterday, as I stumble to the bathroom.

I’m grateful to find it empty and take a quick shower. It doesn’t do much to wake me up, but I know I don’t have a lot of time, so I move through the motions of getting ready before heading to the kitchen.

As I round the corner, I’m met with the smell of coffee and the sound of oil popping. My mother is bent over the stove, her light pink robe hanging loosely around her. She turns as she hears me walk in. “Mornin’, baby.”

“Mornin’, Ma,” I answer, stepping around her to grab a mug.

“I’m doing eggs,” she says. “You want yours fried?”

I nod, reaching for the pot of coffee and pouring myself a cup.

Leaning against the counter, I look over at the kitchen table and note all the things laid across it. There’s no room for me to sit, but I don’t move anything.

I learned that lesson the hard way.

I’m almost done with my coffee when I hear heavy boots thumping down the hall. I can already tell what mood he’s in by the way he’s dragging his feet.

My father turns the corner, and his eyes go right to the table before he slides them over to me. “There a reason you’re lounging back, looking at this mess, instead of doing something about it?”

“Last time you told me—”

The look on his face shuts me up.

This is what he does. Why I can’t ever win with him.

He makes situations where, either way you’re wrong, ’cause that way he’s always right.

That’s another thing I learned young—he’salwaysright. If he tells you two plus two is five, you nod your head and accept it as a fact. So, that’s what I do. I move to the table and start to clear it off.

He watches me as I grab the empty beer cans and toss them into the trash. Next, I go for the motor oil, toothbrush, and .45,trying not to think about the one I had pressed against my head last night.

I look up at him, asking where he wants me to put everything.

I know where it goes, but I never assume.

“Garage,” he says.

Nodding, I step around him and yank open the side door. The wooden stairs creak under my boots as I head for the safe.

After punching in the code, I spin the handle and pull the door open. Setting the gun beside the others, my eyes catch on a tray of watches.

Those weren’t here last week.

I want to pull the tray out and look at them, but I don’t. Instead, I lock away my questions, shut the safe, and head back inside.

The second I walk into the kitchen, my father’s eyes meet mine. He’s waiting to see if I’ll ask about them.

I play through all the scenarios, trying to decide if I should.