Dane

His father stared at him with that hawkish gaze—a predator on prey, waiting for Dane's answer.

​​

"Fine," Dane said, the word cut off because his breath was coming so fast.

"Your mother tells me your report card came in today?"

Shit.

He looked at his mother who'd appeared at his father's elbow, peering past him, her brows pinched hard together. She scanned the room, obviously looking for Chris too.

Dane looked back and forth between his parents, unable to think of a single word to say that wouldn't set his father off.

"Do you know what your report card says, Dane?"

He shook his head. His mother's eyes squeezed tight. "Doug, please, we can talk about it downst—"

No warning, no sound. His father snapped a fisted-hand backwards, taking his mother right in the face. She cried out and threw herself backwards into the hall, bending over and covering her face with her hands. But his father, face an unfeeling mask, turned on his heel and kicked her so she sprawled on the floor.

"Mom!" Dane screamed

Dad didn't even frown. His face showed nothing as he put the molded toe of his business shoe right into her ribs, then calmly turned back to Dane.

Dane ran towards her, but his father caught him with one hand and swung him back into the room so hard he tumbled off his feet and rolled up against the nightstand next to his bed.

When Dane leapt up, gasping at the pain in his back and tried to run past again, his father took him by the throat, hard enough that Dane struggled to breathe, but not hard enough to cut off his air completely.

Dane's breath whistled in and out of his throat as he clawed at his father's hand.

"You listen to me, son," he said calmly, completely untouched by Dane's struggle to inhale. "You have to stop caring about them. Right now, it's your Mom, who wipes your ass and gives you cookies. But pretty soon, it'll be the stupid cunt that opens her legs for you. And later on… you don't even want to know what they become later. I told you: women make you weak, Dane. Do you want to be weak?"

He had to answer. He knew he did. It would only make his father more angry if he didn't. But he couldn't get air in, let alone a word out, so he did he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to shake his head.

"No, you don't. That's right. Look at me, Dane. Look at me."

Dane forced himself to open his eyes. His father was leaned down until they were almost nose to nose, his grip on Dane's neck only a hair weaker than it had been before.

"The day is coming, Dane, when you'll have to choose who you're following: You can be like me, and you can be strong. I'll turn you into a machine. A fucking powerhouse. No one will be able to stop you, you hear me?"

Dane forced his chin down enough that his father could feel it.

"When you're that powerful, you can stick your dick anywhere you want," his father said, like somehow that was a good thing. Dane didn't understand. Not really.

"But you let these sniveling bitches get their claws into you, it's all over for you, son. You understand?"

Dane's vision was beginning to narrow. He tried desperately to suck in a breath, then mouthed YES.

His father patted his face with his free hand, then dropped his grip on Dane's neck. Dane fell to the floor, sucking in a breath so hard it wheezed. He gulped at the air, for a moment, unable to think about anything but getting oxygen into his lungs. His arms and legs shook and his stomach was sick. But as soon as he could breathe without rasping, he forced himself to his feet, facing his father.

"Good," his father said, like it had been some kind of test. Behind him in the hallway, Dane's mother whimpered. "Now, stop whining about your mom. She'll be fine. I pay for my family because I'm not a loser. Real men handle their shit, you hear me?"

"Y-yes, sir," he croaked. His voice wasn't working right. Tears pinched his vision, but he swallowed them back. That would only make this worse.

His father still stood there, staring at him. Dane stared at his feet, panic rising in his chest. He scanned back over the conversation, but couldn't see anything he'd been supposed to say or respond to that he hadn't answered. What was his dad waiting for?

His breath grew shallower, quick and short, and his shaking increased.

Finally, unable to see any other option, he dragged his eyes up to meet his fathers.

His father was smiling.

"You're doing better than I did at your age, you know that?" he said, like he was happy. Dane blinked, caught off-guard.

"Uh… no?"

"Yeah, when I was your age… when's your birthday?"

"Friday," Dane said reluctantly.

"Huh. So, when I was ten, I was still a whining brat like your brother. I still cried every time my dad got pissed off. You're doing good, son."

Dane's eyebrows pinched and he swallowed more tears, more confused than he'd ever felt in his life. "Thanks?"

His father laughed and patted him on the shoulder. "Good instincts. Good breeding. At least your mom was good for something. Okay, where's your brother?"

Dane forced himself to raise his eyes again and watch his father's response. "In the, um, closet," he said, barely above a whisper.

His dad threw his head back and laughed, hooting, his eyes screwed shut and tears appearing at their corners. "The closet… oh fuck, the irony. The pussy is stuck in the closet."

Dane didn't know why his father's amusement made his insides recoil. He shook with fear and was scared he might throw up. His father patted him on the shoulder again and turned around, finally leaving the room.

"The fucking closet, what a joke. Wait a few years, Dane, you'll realize God has a sense of humor," and he walked straight past Dane's mother, curled up on the floor, holding her stomach, and down the stairs, still laughing.

Dane could hear him cackling to himself for minutes, but Dane never did get the joke.