He Kept Messing Up

His gut imploded with the force of the sharp jab, shoving its meager contents up through his esophagus and out of his slackened mouth. The pain was intense, but couldn't compete with the agonizing explosions being set off inside his skull. He tried to turn his head, to remove his face from the stinking mess that he'd expelled, but his brain seemed disconnected from the rest of his body and he remained motionless. Pitiful whimpers reached his ears, the sound so pathetic that he briefly mourned for whatever creature had caused the desperate noises.

Time passed, minutes or hours he knew not. With tremendous effort, he focused on opening his eyes. There must have been some form of adhesion coating his lids, because when they at last cracked wide enough to allow some light to pass through, he could only stare at his own matted-down eyelashes. He tested his voice, hoping to call out and seek help. He had no clue where he was or how he'd gotten there, but he could hear cars passing in the not too distant background and hoped that someone might hear him. The ragged groan that escaped his lips only served to increase the ache in his head.

Without warning he was again overcome by the white hot, piercing pain centered in his abdomen. Just as he thought he might actually weep from the agony, a cool liquid trickled down his cheek, distracting his confused mind just enough to allow him to breathe through the pain. The softest, sweetest touch he could ever recall having felt met his cheek. It was tentative, barely there, but the tenderness in that slight contact radiated an odd comfort throughout the entirety of his abused body.

A whisper of warm breath breezed across his face, then, "I can't tell you how very much I hate you."

The comment shocked him to his bruised core, coming as it did from the owner of such gentle fingers. But then, he now knew who it was that knelt over him... just as he knew approximately where it was that he lay.

She carefully lifted his head from out of the vomit in which it lay and propped it up with a rolled towel. Hands that shook with barely controlled anger repeatedly squeezed water from out of the rag she carried, letting it trace over his swollen eyes. The crusty, yellow puss softened and eventually gave way, allowing him to widen his eyes a fraction more before becoming inhibited by the puffy swelling which covered most of his face.

That first glimpse of his silver-blue eyes, mirroring her own peculiar eye color so perfectly, nearly broke her heart. Surrounding the iris of each eye were pools of bright red blood, gory, frightening to see, completely obliterating the white that should have been there. Detach yourself! The warning bells screamed and she clenched her teeth, quickly rebuilt that protective wall of steel around her foolish, vulnerable heart. She knew from experience that he'd happily trample any bit of unguarded emotion he could suck out of her.

"Jennifer." His voice croaked out, squeezing through an unusually tight airway passage to plead with his daughter. "I'm sorry."

She continued with her ministrations, ignoring his attempts to speak to her. After removing his torn button-up shirt, she took out the garden hose and carefully sprayed both him and their front porch, removing the putrid grime that covered both. Then she covered him with an old blanket and went back inside, making sure to let the screen door hit his stomach once again as she went through it.

He tried to drag a cleansing tonic of fresh air into his lungs, tried to forget what he'd done and what he was. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to be anywhere. That brief flash of emotion he'd barely caught in his sixteen year old daughter's expression was more painful for him than anything he could comprehend. She'd been so careful for so many years not to show him anything that she felt, and he couldn't blame her. After several failed attempts at getting up, he finally succumbed to the dark void of oblivion that had become an old, welcome friend.

She paced around the living room, torn, unsure where to go from there. He was much worse off this time than she'd ever seen him. He'd either gotten into another bar fight or was back on drugs. It didn't really matter which it was. She knew he might have more serious injuries that she hadn't noticed. She also knew he was dangerous, not only for her but for her younger sisters and her mom. She could only thank God they weren't here to see that he was back. It had been a relatively peaceful two weeks since he last disappeared, though they were still reinforcing the doors and windows with heavy furniture in case any of his dealer friends came back, demanding the money he owed them.

Forcefully dragged out of his delirium by the unrelenting pain that sent jarring streaks of agony tearing out of his skull, he tried to take stock of the rest of his body. Unfortunately, the blanket of blessed amnesia that hid the previous days, possibly weeks, from memory refused to conceal the most recent dramatic twist of his life. He could vividly recall his baby girl leaning over him, trying so hard not to care, but caring anyway. He could feel her revulsion, her reluctant compassion, her desperate love for him. Never in his entire, miserable existence had he ever known, ever understood how despicable he truly was. Gathering every ounce of decency left to him, using it, bolstering himself, he left his home. Walked, crawled, slithered down the front steps from where he'd lain, not daring to glance back until he'd managed nearly a block of distance.

Clutching the worn blanket to him, needing it in some way, he turned back for one last look. The small white house on the hill with its covered front porch, its picture window, its patchy weed filled lawn. He'd felt such joy when he and his family first moved in, such hope that he'd overcome the need for what could only cause pain.

He stood, weaving slightly, feet barely balanced over a large crack in the sidewalk. Soaking it all in, he indulged himself until he saw his daughter open the front door. She looked so lost, so confused and alone, standing there wondering where he was. He nearly went back, nearly went to her to offer... What? What could he possibly offer her besides more chaos? With regrets choking him, nearly overwhelming him, he turned from what had once been his everything, praying to a God he no longer spoke to that he'd have the strength to stay gone this time.