Riptide

by H. M. Ward

  Trystan went to pass by his father, but was clotheslined. His father raised his arm at the last second, trapping Trystan, before grabbing Trystan’s hair with his other hand, and yanking his son back to his chest. The picture of Trystan’s mother was clutched under his father’s thumb. Thrusting it in Trystan’s face, Dad made him look. When Trystan tried to wiggle free or look away, his father only tightened his grip and forced him harder. “Look! Look at her! Look at those eyes, and how they seem so steadfast, like they’d never leave. You destroyed everything!” He shoved Trystan toward the hall that lead back to Trystan’s room. “Get out of my face. I can’t stand to look at you!”

  Trystan’s chest felt like it was ripped open with a rusty nail. Every muscle in his body was tense, ready to fight, trying so hard to hold back. Trystan’s jaw locked tight to keep from speaking, but the one thing he wanted to avoid the most was that picture and he’d already seen it. Stumbling back to his room, Trystan pushed through the door. His mind screamed, protesting that he should fight back, but something held his rage in check. Taking purposeful breaths, Trystan walked down the short hall, trying to steel himself, trying to make his heart go numb before it shattered into a million pieces.

  When Trystan swung his door open, he meant to lock it and throw himself on his bed, but there was no lock, no bed. The walls were barren. The nightstand was gone. His closet door was open and the only thing inside were shadows. Trystan stood there, his hands shaking slightly, as he realized that his father threw out all of his stuff. Trystan felt his dad behind him but he didn’t turn around. Rage flooded Trystan’s body, making him want to act out, but he refused.

  A hand shoved hard between Trystan’s shoulder blades. Trystan didn’t expect it and fell into the room. “Maybe this will teach you that you’re no better than the rest of us.” Before Trystan could turn around his father yanked the door shut. It wasn’t until then that Trystan realized that the doorknob was turned around. The sound of metal sliding against metal alerted him to the lock closing.

  “No!” Trystan screamed and threw himself at the door, but it was too late. His fists beat the door, but it was solid, the kind of door that was used at the entry of a house. Trystan knew, because he put it there when he traded it out for the thin particleboard version that had originally been there, in order to keep his father out.

  “You never learned your place, Trystan. I swear to God, I’m going to teach it to you.” The hallway fell silent.

  Trystan felt the panic slide up his throat. The room was dark. The lights were gone and the fixture that hung from the ceiling had no bulb. Racing to the window, Trystan pushed it open, but the bars kept him from getting out. The cold air rushed in over his face. Trystan turned around and leaned his back against the wall, clutching his face in his hands. He slid down until his back was under the window, hoping that his father would see reason in the light of day, but there was no way to know. Dad had done stuff like this before, when Trystan was little and couldn’t fight back. He’d lock Trystan away for hours, sometimes days. When it seemed like Trystan would die of thirst, the man finally showed his face and let him out. Trystan tried to be good after that, but it didn’t seem to matter what he did or didn’t do—he was never good enough.

  Tucker’s words rang through Trystan’s ears like a gong, ebbing and pulsing. Someone told you wrong. You’re worth something.

  Lowering his head to his knees, Trystan fixated on the words, but they couldn’t penetrate his heart. Tucker’s words couldn’t strip away years of being told he was the reason for his father’s grief. Trystan’s chest felt hollow and he let the numbness overtake him.

  CHAPTER 6

  ~MARI~

  “Have you lost your mind?” Daddy screamed. He’d been pacing in my room since he got that phone call from Brie’s father.

  There was nothing I could say that would calm him down, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t try. “What was I supposed to do? She threatened me!” Tears streaked my face. I couldn’t help it. I cried when I was angry.

  Daddy turned on me, roaring, “What were you supposed to do? Get the teacher! Not punch the girl in the face. Her father is threatening to press charges. Do you know what that means? Do you have any idea? We could lose everything because of you!”

  Sucking a ragged breath, I screamed, “There was no teacher, there was no help! Maybe I shouldn’t have hit her, but why can’t you even act like you care about me? You didn’t even ask me what she did! You just assumed that everything was my fault!” I trembled with my hands balled into fists at my sides.

  If there was ever a wrong thing to say, that was it. Daddy blew up. His eyes widened, before he started screaming in a blind rage. The verbal assault went on, but I couldn’t process what he was saying, not when he looked so livid. I backed away from him, but he kept coming at me like he’d hit me. My heart pounded in my chest like I was running away from an axe murderer.

  Things weren’t supposed to be like this. Daddy was supposed to defend me. He was supposed to protect me, but instead, he looked like he was going to kill me. After what seemed like forever, my Mom came in. It seemed to calm Daddy down enough to realize that his hands were shaking, lifting toward me like he was going to do something. Dropping his hands, Daddy shook his head fiercely and walked away from me. He shoved past my mother and left the room, leaving a wake of anguish behind.

  All the fright that had built up in my body exited my mouth in loud sob that sounded more like a scream. My mother stood there, staring at me with disgust. “You brought this on yourself, Mari. Clean up and go to bed.” She turned away and left without another word.

  After they left, I heard them arguing in the kitchen. The conversation was about lawyers and settlements. They seem to think that Brie’s father had his sights set on their money. I wanted to scream and jump up and down in front of them. Since when does money matter more than people? I didn’t realize I was so disposable. My entire life, I thought they’d stand up for me, but they didn’t. The only thing they cared about was protecting their money and their precious careers.

  I plucked my phone from my backpack, knowing it was insane to try and use it, but I wanted to talk to Trystan. I needed him. He’d understand, but I didn’t have any way to contact him. I sat on my bed sniffling as I stared at the phone. I didn’t want to talk to Katie. She’d tell me to suck it up, that this was part of having the perfect family—so what if they flipped out once every sixteen years? She didn’t understand. Her family fought all the time, but this wasn’t a fight. This was something else. It showed me where my place was in this family, and I didn’t like it.

  The next morning my eyes were puffy. When I sat at the table my mother said nothing, handing me my breakfast like everything was normal. “Your father and I are on for the next four days. I made your dinners for each night. Come straight home after practice and eat. I’ll check on you when I get home.” She poured a glass of orange juice, smiling like a saint.

  I nodded, not wanting to talk about it. It was fine by me if they worked seven days a week. I did my best to eat my breakfast, but I wasn’t hungry. I just wanted to get out of there and go to school. When I cleared my half-eaten plate, my mother said, “You don’t have to be so dramatic, Mari. I know you’re upset, but you still have to eat.”

  I just looked at her. I couldn’t think of what to say to make her fathom how betrayed I felt. She dropped me off at school without another word. As soon as she pulled away, I felt better. Four days on my own would help. They’d come home from work in time to drop me off at school. We’d barely see each other.

  After going to my locker, I looked around for Trystan. He usually haunted this hallway before first period, but I didn’t see him. I went to class, listening to the teacher droning on. I didn’t get a chance to look for Trystan again until our free period. When I walked into the auditorium I heard Tucker speaking softly and rapidly to Trystan, “…is not okay. You can’t skip class like this and then expect to walk at graduation in June. If there�
�s something you need to tell me, some reason for your tardiness, tell me. You don’t have to fight the whole damn world by yourself.”

  “I’m fine,” Trystan used a tone that said he was finished talking about it. When Trystan turned around, I saw an angry red gash marring his cheek.

  The smile I had on my face faltered and slipped away. Tucker looked at me and then back at Trystan. When I was closer, Tucker said, “Talk some sense into him,” as he jabbed his thumb at Trystan.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked, not understanding.

  Tucker sighed, “Ask him how he got that cut on his face and make sure he had a tetanus shot. He won’t talk to me.”

  Trystan’s shoulders tensed as he looked after Tucker, who was walking away, “That’s because there’s nothing to tell.” Tucker walked through the door and left us standing in the aisle alone. The empty seats surrounded us on all sides, the stage lights dim and glowing golden. When Trystan looked back at me, his expression softened, but the slant of his mouth said he still thought he needed to defend himself, and I didn’t want that.

  Before he could speak, I said, “I only want to ask you one thing.”

  “Really?” the corners of his mouth tightened again. “And what’s that?”

  “Will you hold me?” Tears welled up in my eyes and streaked down my cheeks. Trystan instantly became the man I knew, and forgot about his worries. Stepping forward, I walked into his arms, and he held me tight.

  CHAPTER 7

  ~TRYSTAN~

  When sunlight poured into Trystan’s room earlier that morning, he tried the door. Still locked. Glancing out the window, Trystan saw that his dad’s car was gone. Shit. Trystan stretched, his back aching from sleeping on the hard floor. His dick of a dad turned the heat off so that he was freezing, too. Although it was cold, Trystan refused to close the window last night. It was better than being trapped in the darkness. It was a good thing Trystan didn’t take off his jacket when he walked through the door.

  Running his hands through his hair, Trystan looked at the door. He knelt in front of it wondering what time it was, if he was late for school yet. The teacher’s would ride his ass, threatening to not let him graduate. Some tried to threaten him by saying he couldn’t walk at graduation—like that was a threat. He didn’t care if he walked or not. It’s not like anyone would show up and clap for him. No one cared what happened to Trystan Scott. While the other kids got pats on the back and ushered off to college, Trystan got a psychotic parent who blamed him for everything.

  Trystan stared at the lock, wishing he could remember his mother—at least a little bit—but there was nothing. No voice, no sense of safety, no warm memories of his mother cradling him in her arms or kissing him good-night. It wasn’t something that he usually dwelt on. That was the past. There was nothing Trystan could do to change it. She left. No amount of wondering would bring her back, and Trystan had no plans of looking for her either. What was the point of chasing someone who left him behind? Trystan had had enough misery from the time she left. The thought of finding her and having his mom turn her back on him again was just too much. It wasn’t worth the risk. Not now, not ever.

  Staring at the golden lock, Trystan realized his Dad changed the knob. Trystan could have picked the lock if it was the old one, but not this thing. Rising, Trystan stood back. He took a deep breath, braced himself, and kicked his boot into the door. The door shook, but it didn’t give. Trystan kicked it again and again, trying to weaken the frame, so that it would crack and let him out, but the jam was too strong. Again, another of Trystan’s ways to protect himself came back and bit him on the ass. After a few moments, he was huffing and the door gave no indication of opening. Trystan sat down on the floor hard, and banged his head back into the wall.

  “I have to get out here,” he muttered to himself.

  He stared at the black bars that shuttered him in. They were solid. There was no way he could bend them or slip out between, they were too narrow. Pushing himself to his feet, Trystan walked across the room to the window. If he drew attention to himself, someone might call the cops, and Trystan learned early on that cops were bad. If they showed up, he’d be in a worse situation than he was already in.

  Trystan leaned on the windowsill and turned his head, making his cheek press into the cold bars. They were jagged with rust. The paint on the bars had blistered and peeled long ago. When Trystan pulled his face away, he felt the grime on his cheek and wiped it away. It left an orange smear on his fingers. Wonderful.

  Trystan stared at the bars, wondering if he could manage to kick them. They were a little loose, like the mortar holding the bolts in place had grown weak. Trystan’s hands clenched at his sides. Before he spent more time thinking about whether or not he’d get into trouble, Trystan kicked. His boot came up and punched the side of the frame hard. To his surprise, his foot kept going. The bars went flying to the ground and bits of brick flew back into Trystan’s face. One piece of shrapnel collided with his cheek, raking a deep cut as it flew by. Trystan swore, but he didn’t have time to look at the cut. The window was the only way out. He was wearing the same clothes as yesterday, didn’t get to shower, and now his face was covered in rust and blood.

  Trystan swung his leg over the windowsill and jumped out. He landed next to a dead bush on the other side of the wall, and ran to grab the bars. Lifting them, Trystan wedged the rusty metal back in place. To his surprise, it held. The only problem now was making sure the school didn’t throw him out when he got there and then he’d have to deal with his dad later.

  When Trystan walked into the high school, Tucker was in the lobby. Trystan stopped mid-step and swung around, ready to bolt, but Tucker grabbed him by the shoulder.

  “You missed first period, Scott. What do you—” Tucker stopped speaking as Trystan whirled around. His chubby jaw slipped opened for a second, before taking a deep breath. “What happened to your face? Is that rust?” Tucker lifted his hand like he was going to touch Trystan, but stopped when Trystan flinched.

  Trystan didn’t mean to wince, but so much had happened. He was overly tired and his body was reacting without thought. Shit. Shit. Shit. Trystan tried to laugh it off, by saying, “If you’re suggesting that I—”

  But Tucker cut him off, “Save it, Scott. Nurse’s office. Now.” The smirk fell off Trystan’s face. They walked down the hall in silence. Why did things have to be like this? Why was Tucker gunning for him? Trystan grew more defensive, which made his wit so sharp it stung. When he walked into the nurse’s office, Tucker followed.

  “I don’t need a babysitter,” Trystan said in a snarky tone, but Tucker ignored him.

  “Glenda,” Tucker said as he crossed the room to the nurse’s desk. “This one looks like he was hit in the face with a rusty bucket, but he won’t say what happened. Can you take a look at it and clean him up?”

  “Sure,” Glenda said, eyeing Trystan. She’d always been kind to Trystan, but he didn’t want people fussing over him. It just made things worse. She told Trystan to sit in the chair next to her desk. When he didn’t move, Tucker gave his shoulder a shove.

  “How’d this happen?” Glenda’s voice was kind. She bent over and examined the cut, careful not to touch him.

  Trystan’s insides were twisting. Fear clung to his throat in thick clumps, making it difficult to swallow. They’re going to find out. They have to know. Trying to muster his charm, Trystan said, “I ran into a burning building and saved a few babies on the way to school. I must have stepped on a rake on the way in.”

  Glenda grinned at him, “Always a kidder,” she leaned closer, her fingers pressing on Trystan’s cheek. He forced himself to sit still even though it was sore. “So this is rust?” Trystan nodded. Glenda stepped away and got a brown bottle and some cotton balls.

  She dabbed the cotton with the stuff in the bottle and then on his cheek. “It might sting a little,” she said too late. Trystan didn’t flinch this time. He sat rigid in the chair, staring straight ahead. As
she patched Trystan up, she spoke about the weather and other things that nobody cares about.

  At some point Tucker left, because he was alone with Glenda. That was when she said, “Did someone do this to you? It looks like you were hit in the face with a shovel.”

  “I wasn’t,” Trystan responded, his voice flat.

  “Maybe it was a brick, then? Or something else that bruised your face? Trystan, when was the last time you had a tetanus shot?” It didn’t matter what she said after that. He didn’t answer. Glenda was young enough to still be patient. When Trystan wouldn’t answer, Glenda touched her hand to her forehead and said, “I’ll have to call your father and ask.”

  Trystan wanted to jump out of the chair and run from the room. Suddenly he was more cooperative. “I don’t need one. I’m fine. And thanks for cleaning me up. You were always my favorite nurse.”

  Her hands were on her hips as she watched Trystan inch toward the door with a smile on his face. “Wait, I haven’t bandaged that yet. When you smile, it’s going to bleed.”

  “It’s okay,” he said over his shoulder, exiting the room. “I’m fine. I’ll come back if it opens up again.”

  Trystan’s heart was pounding. His nerves were like brittle old wires, ready to snap. When he turned down the hallway, Tucker was standing against the wall, his massive arms folded across his chest. There was no way to get away from the teacher. Tucker insisted on talking. They’d gone into the auditorium and Trystan found out that talking meant having Tucker question him for nearly the whole period and Trystan sitting there fuming, not saying much.

  By the time Mari walked in, Trystan felt his sanity slipping away. Then, Tucker left and Mari had questions in her eyes. Trystan couldn’t unwind. Watching his reflection in her eyes, Trystan saw a man that looked too much like his father. Trystan was ready to turn and leave her there if she pressed him for answers, but she didn’t. Instead, she asked him to hold her and tears streaked down her cheeks. All the anger and fatigue melted away as Mari pressed her wet face against Trystan’s chest.