The days passed. I went to school as usual, and for the rest of the week I made sure to wear a beanie so that nobody could see the wound on my scalp. I didn’t know what would happen if anyone found out that I was being beaten at home, and frankly I didn’t want to. I’d lived with it this long; things had been the same since almost as far back as I could remember - and as far as I could tell, things weren’t about to change any time soon, either. At least not if my dad had anything to say about it.

Part Four.

“I don’t know why we’re even still learning about that old fart and his stupid outdated love stories,” complained Duke as we sat across from each other on the floor of his bedroom on Saturday morning with our guitars. I had brought over my acoustic and he had his electric hooked up to his Fender amp. “It’s not like he did anything really spectacular, really. By the sounds of it he was just another one of your regular, friendly neighbourhood.. psychos.”

I chuckled at the thought of William Shakespeare relaxing on the corner of some street in downtown Middleburg with a crack pipe in his mouth. I had to agree with Duke - even that would be more interesting than his crazy washed-out stories that we had to study almost every year. They never even really made any sense to me anyway.

“Do you want to take a break from jamming and go downstairs? I’m hungry,” Duke sighed as he absentmindedly scratched his forehead and set his guitar aside.

“Sure, sounds good to me,” I replied, setting my own guitar aside and making a motion to stand up.

Suddenly I was in pain again.

“Ow, oh.. man,” I groaned as I stumbled slightly while getting to my feet. My back was still killing me.

“What’s the matter?,” Duke asked, sounding slightly concerned as he watched my pained expression.

“No, nothing.. my legs were just a little sore from sitting for so long.. it’s okay, don’t worry about it,” I said nonchalantly and stood up relatively straight as I brushed myself off lightly with my hands.

Duke stared at me for a moment as if trying to decode me.

“Let’s go,” I said as I looked at him and smiled before turning and motioning for him to follow me out of his room and down the hall towards the staircase.

A few moments later, Duke followed.

—

“Whoa dude, it’s already 8:00 PM,” I exclaimed as I closed the door behind me and watched as Duke crashed face down on his bed.

“That’s Saturday for you,” I heard him mumble through his blankets.

It was then that I began to realize just how long it had been since we had really spent time together just hanging out. It seemed like forever since Duke and I just sat around and talked about anything and everything that was going on in our lives.

That is, everything but the abusive side of mine.

Duke sat up and crossed him arms, leaning against the wall with a stern look on his face.

“Do you wanna’ sleep over tonight? I have math homework to do and I think I might need your help,” he asked bluntly, then glanced at me with a sideways smirk as he continued in a much lower tone, “.. it also just might give us an excuse to hang out all day tomorrow, too.”

I laughed. If there was anyone that I knew that could find a practical use for mathematics, it was definitely Duke Kitchens.

“Sure,” I replied, a smile immediately spreading across my face. To me, the idea of finally getting some peaceful sleep away from home for once was huge.

“Do you want to call your parents?,” Duke asked as he leaned over and reached for the phone on his bedside table.

“No no, it’s alright. They throw fits if I don’t finish my homework, but they don’t seem to care much if I stay out all weekend. My parents are kind of weird like that,” I explained.

“Oh.. okay then,” Duke replied as he withdrew his hand from the phone and leaned back against the wall again. He looked slightly confused at my logic but didn’t say anything.

“You’re sure it’s alright with yours?,” I asked.

“Oh yeah, actually they mentioned the other day that you and I should study together more often. I’m sure they’ll be cool with it.”

“Alright, well I’ll be right back then, I’m just going to go wash up,” I said as I walked out of the room and around the corner to the bathroom.

“Okay, and I’ll just go tell my parents that they don’t need to drive you home tonight,” called Duke as he ran down the hall and disappeared downstairs.

Once I had entered the bathroom and closed the door, I took off my hoodie and rolled up the sleeves of my t-shirt to examine my arms and shoulders in the mirror. I ran my fingers gingerly along the bruises that adorned my right shoulder, then turned to examine my left.

I look like a leper, I thought as I gently pressed down on one of the bruises and winced at the responding pain. I don’t know how I’d even start explaining this if Duke were to somehow notice me like this..

I rolled my sleeves back down to cover the marks as I heard Duke come running up the stairs and past the bathroom as he returned to his room. I could tell that he was carrying a sleeping bag because of the noise that the material made.

Whatever, just don’t worry about it, I convinced myself as I turned on the tap and began splashing water on my face before grabbing a towel from the rack on the wall.

What are a few bruises, anyway? It’s not like I’m dying, I thought as I dried my face with the towel and then took one last look at my face in the mirror before opening the door and joining Duke in setting up my sleeping area.

“I hope you don’t mind sleeping on the floor,” Duke said as he rolled out the sleeping bag and stood up, grabbing a pillow from his bed and throwing it at me.

“No worries, man,” I replied as I caught the pillow just before it hit me in the face. “I hope you don’t mind getting your ass whipped with this pillow, either.”

Before he could even register what I said, I threw the pillow as hard as I could back at Duke and it caught him off guard, hitting him square in the face and causing him to stumble and fall back onto his bed. I was laughing so hard I could barely breathe.

“Oh, you asked for it, Ron,” he said as he grabbed another pillow and hurled it at me, missing only by a few inches. The pillow flew past me and hit the window, so I ran over and grabbed it, whipping it back at Duke as if it were a frisbee.

“You little bastard!,” he yelled as he got hit again, finally giving up on the pillows and lunging straight at me. I was laughing too hard to even try and fight back as he tackled me to the floor.

“Okay, okay.. you win,” I panted as I shoved Duke off me and sat up, ignoring the pain in my back and trying to comb my hair out of my face with my fingers so that I could actually see properly.

“You’re an ass when it comes to pillows, Ronnie, but I bet I could still smash you at arm wrestling,” Duke remarked, reaching out and swiping my beanie before raising a fist and slapping his opposite hand onto his forearm to make the ‘up-yours’ gesture while simultaneously throwing my beanie behind him. My first reaction was to put both hands to my head in defence, and when I drew them back, my fingertips were laced with blood.

The smile suddenly faded from Duke’s face as he glanced from my hands back up to my face with an expression of slight shock.

“What the.. hell?,” he stammered as he stared at me for a moment, then stood up and immediately walked behind me to examine the back of my head.

“Ronnie, you’re bleeding,” he said plainly as he parted my hair to reveal the considerably large wound on my scalp.

“Yeah.. it.. I guess it must have been reopened somehow,” I said quietly as I lowered my head and stared at the floor.

“Where did this come from?,” Duke asked, still observing the wound while I fidgeted and tried to come up with a quick and reasonable response.

“I.. I fell down the stairs the other day and hit my head,” I lied, hoping I sounded at least somewhat believable.

“Ronnie, your house only has one floor,” Duke replied bluntly.

“Well.. we do have a basement, I just never go down there,” I explained.

There was a pause before Duke spoke again.

“So how did you hit your head if you never go down there?,” he asked, and I realized that I was just going farther and farther in the wrong direction.

“Well I had to go down and look for something. It’s like our storage room.”

“And what were you looking for?,” Duke pressed on, and I suddenly got the sickening feeling that somehow Duke already knew what had really happened and was just trying to corner me.

“Look man, it’s not a big deal,” I said, trying desperately to change the subject while I nervously brushed my hair out of my eyes.

Just then, Duke grabbed my arm as I had it raised and held onto it firmly, quickly brushing my sleeve out of the way with his other hand to reveal the bruises.

I closed my eyes as Duke hesitated, still holding a firm grip on my arm.

“Ronnie..”

I could tell that Duke didn’t know how to handle approaching me in that moment, but after a short pause he continued.

“Ronnie.. has your dad been.. beating you..?”

I fell silent. I didn’t know what to say.

“Well,” I started, “it’s not.. usually me..”

I trailed off and swallowed hard.

“What do you mean?,” Duke asked quietly, obviously not fully understanding what I was trying to say.

“Duke..,” I spoke slowly and carefully, avoiding eye-contact with him as I struggled to keep my voice steady, “.. my dad beats my mom..”

Duke didn’t answer.

“Like.. a lot,” I said, trailing off as I heard my voice start to crack.

Duke stood up straight and walked slowly around me, silently resuming his previous position on the floor where he had been sitting before he got up to find the source of the blood on my hands.

I looked up at him briefly and then looked back down again as tears sprang to my eyes.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, Ron,” Duke whispered gently as he helped me to my feet and led me out to the hallway and into the bathroom.


**