Saving Graves: A Club Irons Novel

by Drew Sera

  By the time I left his office, I had already missed lunch. Anger and embarrassment burned through my veins as I slowly walked to the front desk to collect my hall pass. That fucking bitch stared coldly at me. How could she have not heard that beating? She smugly handed me the hall pass, and I grabbed it and left without saying a word.

  I felt like I couldn’t get enough air all of a sudden and felt sick to my stomach. When the teacher finished the lesson and went to his desk, I got up and got the pass for the bathroom. Fear of the unknown and fear of how things usually went occupied my mind as I raced to the bathroom. I slammed the stall door shut right before I doubled over and threw up. Fuck, I was cold and shaking.

  For the first time since moving to California, I was scared to go home. I didn’t know how my dad would react to this grade. Granted, it wasn’t on a report card, but I failed that test. I was skating on very thin ice with this “F.”

  I went back to class and stared blankly at the book and the notes on the whiteboard. I hadn’t paid attention to any of it and was completely lost. All too quickly the last bell rang, and I sat frozen in my seat.

  I was scared to go home.

  I put my books in my backpack and started to walk toward the front of the school where my dad would be arriving. My feet stopped moving forward.

  What would he do when he finds out about the “F?”

  I wasn’t going to find out right away. I turned on my heels and headed towards the baseball diamond. Once I was seated on the aluminum bleachers, I pulled out my “F” test packet from my bag and my book. I wasn’t going home until I had these answers filled in and they were right. Despite the “F,” I can still make an attempt to get it right. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe he’d just use a belt and leave it at that.

  I focused on the work and frowned when something wet hit my paper. Rain. It started to drizzle. Too fucking bad.

  These questions were still posing a problem for me, but I kept trying to find the answers in the textbook. I just kept getting distracted and couldn’t concentrate very well. I was worried.

  Quickly it becomes more and more difficult to see. It was dusk. I was wet from the rain, cold, hungry and no closer to getting any of these answers right. I didn’t want to get hit. I was done with that.

  I thought about calling my dad to tell him I failed and see if he’d tell me what my punishment was. Then I’d decide if I was going to go home again. I decided against calling and just started walking home to face the music and because I needed my pill. We lived just a few miles from the school. Normally it wasn’t a bad walk, but it was raining.

  A lot raced through my mind on my walk. What if my dad said I couldn’t live with him anymore? I reached for my side when I felt the ache behind my scar and found temporary shelter under the awning of a bus stop. I held my hand under my wet shirt and thought about my next move.

  I could stay out and maybe never go home, or I could go home and possibly get beat on or hurt other ways. I didn’t like my options, but the fact that I needed my pill, pushed me in the direction of my dad’s.

  When I reached the gated entrance to my dad’s subdivision, I punched in the code on the box and trudged towards home. I told myself that I could survive a beating. Though, I’ve never been beaten by him. Couldn’t be worse than Bruce or Connor.

  Turning onto our street, I saw my dad’s perfect looking home and couldn’t help but feel guilty for fucking up his life. When I got to the porch, I set my backpack down and dug out the key. As I pushed the key into the lock, the door swung open. There stood my dad with a worried look on his face and the phone in his hands.

  “—No, it’s not necessary. He just walked in,” my dad said into the phone before hanging up.

  “I’m sor—” I started to say, but my dad pulled me inside and into his arms.

  “God, I’ve been worried sick about you.”

  He held me tight in his arms. I think this was the snuggest I ever have been held. I tried not to get too comfortable because I knew he was about to find out that I failed my test.

  “I waited in the spot I always wait for you, but you never appeared. I waited for an hour, thinking maybe you got held up in class or doing some extra work. Then after an hour I went into the school and asked the front desk if maybe you were in the nurse’s office. They called your sixth period math teacher up, and he said you looked pale when you left class. I grew even more concerned knowing you were sick somewhere. I drove home the way we always go and looked for you on the sidewalk. I made the trip another dozen times, looking for you. I got home and didn’t know what to do. I called the police about an hour ago, and they’re sending someone out to file the report, that’s who I was on the phone with.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Dammit, Anthony. You are soaked. Where have you been?”

  “I was sitting on the bleachers by the baseball diamond.”

  “Why? What happened, Anthony? Why didn’t you meet me at the car?”

  I took a deep breath and reached into my backpack to retrieve my paper. With shaking hands, I held out the damp test packet. Glaring at my dad was the “F.” My heart pounded as he held it in his hands as I waited. And waited. I kept my weight on one foot in case I needed to run. I didn’t want to be hit anymore.

  “Anthony,” he held the paper up and looked at me. “This, isn’t what kept you from coming home, is it?”

  I nodded.

  “Why?”

  “I was…afraid. I didn’t know how you’d react. I know what has happened in the past when I got anything less than an ‘A,’ and this is an ‘F.’ I didn’t know what you’d do to me, and I didn’t want to come home to be hurt. I’m tired of hurting.”

  “Jesus, Anthony. I’m not going to hurt you, ever.”

  He pulled me against him again and held onto me.

  “You were afraid to come home because you feared I was going to hurt you.” He seemed just to be saying it out loud rather than asking me. “Did you always get good grades?”

  “Mostly. I got a ‘C’ on my report card in middle school, and that didn’t go well.”

  “Out of curiosity, what was your plan today? Just never come home?”

  “No. I was trying to find the correct answers in the book. That way when I showed you that I failed the test, you’d see that I was trying to make it right. And maybe it would lessen the punishment. Maybe you’d just use the belt and not…and not do other things.”

  “My God, Anthony.”

  “I need my pill, Dad.”

  “Let’s get you dry and some dinner. We can talk about this once you’re fed and dry.”

  I frowned as he bent down to pick up my backpack. I followed him as he carried my wet bag upstairs and to my room. Fuck. Is that where he was going to beat me? I hesitated in case he changed his mind and was just luring me to my room. I’ve been lured before.

  Once in my room, he set my bag down on my desk and then retrieved my pajamas and put them in my hands.

  “You’re shivering. Go take a warm shower and I’ll get your stuff out of your bag to dry off. When you’re done, come downstairs for some food.”

  “And my pill.”

  He stared at me but finally nodded. I quickly took a shower and felt warmer when I made it to the kitchen. On the table was my failed exam. I took a seat at the table and tried to gauge how angry my dad was at me. Since I could feel my heart racing out of control, I went to the cupboard and pulled down my pill vial. I poured one into my hand. I could feel my dad’s eyes on me as I took it. He set a bowl of soup down, and I quickly began shoveling it into my mouth.

  “Anthony, you can’t be afraid that I’m going to hurt you. You have to trust me on that, son. I know you’ve had some horrific experiences, but I am not going to hurt you. You have to relax a little.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “I’m not going to beat you for failing a test, Anthony. I know you’re struggling with physics and I want to try and help you. Was it just this particular test
that you struggled with or do you find the entire subject difficult?”

  “I don’t know what happened. I study and do all of my assignments, but I’m just having a really hard time. It’s like I’m reading the same stuff over and over, waiting for it to sink in. But it’s not happening.”

  My dad sat quietly while I finished my soup. I wondered what he was thinking.

  “Dad, maybe I should start taking my pill before school too.”

  “I think once a day is plenty, Anthony.”

  Chapter Seven

  February 1991

  Things were going well, until one day on our way home from school, my dad informed me that he was filing a lawsuit against the school district in Las Vegas.

  “What? Why?”

  “Why? Anthony, look at what they allowed.”

  “But.” I couldn’t put anything together to add to his comment.

  “I’m actually filing four separate suits.”

  “What? Four!”

  “The school district, your mother—”

  “Don’t call her my mother.”

  “Bruce and Connor. Four,” he confirmed.

  I was nearly sick in the car and felt my heart begin to pound. Fear and panic were quickly spreading. I gripped my backpack tight but couldn’t help it when my legs started to bounce.

  “Anthony, son, please calm down.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “If you were fine, your legs wouldn’t be bouncing nervously.”

  I reached inside my jacket and held my hand over my chest and tried thinking of something else. My dad kept telling me to calm down. Easy for him to say.

  “Focus Anthony!” I told myself.

  “Anthony, there’s a chance you might have to speak. In court.”

  “What? No! No way!”

  Had he lost his fucking mind? Why was he doing this?

  “Anthony, they need to be held accountable for their actions.”

  “No, please, Dad.”

  “You’re not going to be alone in the courtroom, Anthony,” he said as we pulled into the garage.

  I jumped out of the car and ran to the bathroom to throw up. As I leaned against the tub, I thought about having to see them again. What was worse, was that I’d see the looks in their eyes.

  My dad knocked on the door, but I didn’t want to see him. I didn’t want to sit and talk. I’m so tired of talking. I just want to be like most regular kids.

  “Son, are you okay?”

  And I’m so fucking sick of being asked if I’m okay.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Can I come in?”

  I shook my head, fully away that he couldn’t see me behind the closed door.

  “I just want to be left alone.”

  A while had passed, and I was starting to get antsy in the bathroom. My heart was pounding, and I was beginning to be afraid of a racing heart.

  I needed my pill.

  I headed to the kitchen and opened the cabinet where my pills were and popped one in my mouth. I sat down at the table and drank some water as my dad was placing a delivery order for dinner.

  “Are you feeling—”

  “Better?” I interrupted him and finished his sentence.

  I don’t think I was successful at hiding the fact that I was annoyed.

  “Anthony, what you’re feeling is normal.”

  “Is it? Well, that has to suck because I’d hate to actually experience what un-normal feelings are like.”

  I got up from the table and sidestepped my dad when he tried to hug me. I went to my room, slammed my door and fell face first on the bed. I glanced at my football that was next to my pillow. I knocked it onto the floor and closed my eyes.

  I woke up to a dark bedroom. The sun had gone down, and it was well into the evening. The blinds on my window were still open, and I could see into my dad’s huge backyard. His yard was landscaped like in one of those in the home and garden magazines. His pool had tropical plants around it and lighting.

  I could smell food downstairs, but I wasn’t hungry. I wasn’t anything, but tired.

  Pulling myself out of bed was a chore. I was up long enough to change from the clothes I wore to school into my pajamas and fell back into bed.

  “Anthony…Anthony.”

  I held my breath and crouched down in the linen closet under the lowest shelf. I was so curled up that the scabs on my knees were being pulled tight and I could feel them begin to bleed.

  “Anthony.”

  He was getting closer, and I held my hand over my mouth so he wouldn’t hear me breathing.

  “Anthony!” he yelled.

  I could hear him getting closer and closer until the door to the linen closet opened, and he reached in and pulled me out.

  “You little bastard. Did you eat all of the crackers?”

  Bruce pinned me face down on the carpet and held me in place with his foot over most of my back. He yanked my pants down and started hitting me with the belt.

  “Who told you that you could eat stuff in the cupboard you little bastard? Huh?”

  I was crying and couldn’t answer.

  “Answer me you little asshole!”

  “I’m sorry, B-bruce. I was hungry.”

  “I don’t fucking care. You don’t work or pay any bills. You eat what you’re given.”

  “My tummy hurt.”

  “Yeah? Your poor little fucking tummy hurt? Poor little Anthony’s tummy hurt. You know what? That’s just too fucking bad, you little shit.”

  He tossed the belt down and rolled me over. I reached down and tried to pull my pants back up, but he kicked my hands away. Bruce towered over me and put his lower leg across my stomach, and he grabbed both of my wrists with one of his hands. Bruce looked in my eyes and flicked his ashes off the cigarette that balanced between his lips.

  “Your little fucking tummy hurt because it was hungry? How about now, you little fuck?”

  He held the cigarette on my stomach near my belly button, and I screamed as hard as I could. Bruce let go of my wrists and slapped his hand over my mouth to muffle my noises. I pounded my fists against his arm and tried to kick myself free, but it was no use.

  “Does your little tummy hurt now?”

  He carried me to the kitchen and held me against the counter by my throat while he dug in a drawer while I cried and held my stomach. Bruce wrapped duct tape around my head, covering my mouth. I could barely breathe through my nose. He pulled my clothes off, leaving me in my socks and underwear and wrapped my wrists up in tape.

  “I’m going to help cool off your tummy.”

  Bruce grabbed my upper arm and led me outside toward the pool. I stopped walking and let my legs give out, falling to the ground. I was afraid he was taking me to the pool. I couldn’t swim.

  “The water will cool off your little tummy. Since you like to kick, go ahead and kick your little life away.”

  He stood on the top step of the pool and lowered me into the water. The second my feet hit the ice cold pool water, I began kicking for my life. I kicked and kicked and kicked until my head couldn’t stay above the water. Bruce pulled me up by my hair and laughed. He repeated this until Connor came out.

  “Fuck, Bruce, you’re high. You can’t kill the kid. He’s only three.”

  “He ate all the fucking crackers.”

  I begged with wide eyes for Connor to help me. He shoved Bruce out of the way, grabbed me by my arms and lifted me out of the pool. His black eyes stared into mine.

  “I’m going to take the tape off, and if you make any noise, I’m going back inside and leaving you out here with Bruce, understand?”

  I quickly nodded, and Connor pulled the tape off my mouth. I gasped for air and held my shaking hands over my stomach while Connor looked at me.

  “You owe me, Anthony.”

  I jerked awake, holding my stomach and out of breath. Sweat beaded on my forehead and my shirt was soaked. I was in my room at my dad’s and was safe, but was shaking badly and my heart was pou
nding. I sat up, and when I leaned against the headboard, I felt dampness around my crotch again. I threw the sheet back to look. Even though it was dark, I could still see the outline of my accident.

  I thought about what my dad said earlier about these things being normal right now. Nothing about this was fucking normal.

  My dad must have come in to check on me earlier because the blinds were closed now and my football was next to me. I didn’t deserve it. I pulled my legs up closer to my chest and lowered my head to rest on my knees.

  In this position, I could smell my piss, and I started to cry. Why the fuck was I crying? I felt terrible and I was frustrated. Why is this still happening? I’m not with Bruce and Connor anymore, but I’m still fucking wetting the damn bed.

  Reaching under my shirt, I rubbed over the old burns around my belly button. I remember the pain of those like it was yesterday. And now there’s a chance that I’ll have to face the assholes again.

  I can’t see them again.

  I pulled myself out of bed and went down the hall to my dad’s room. Knocking lightly on the door, I wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t heard me.

  “Dad,” I called his name.

  My heart was racing, and I was worried about it again.

  “Dad.”

  This time I said it louder, but he still didn’t hear me. I walked to the kitchen to see if my pills had instructions on how far apart they have to be before I could take another one. I took one when we got home from school. Glancing at the clock on the microwave, I could see that it hadn’t even been twelve hours yet.

  I set my head down on the table and closed my eyes, trying to get myself to calm down.

  “Anthony,” my dad said, nearly scaring me to death.

  I looked up at him, thinking that I could just rattle off everything that I was thinking, but nothing would come out.