Chapter 7 - Emergence

Nate’s eyes snapped open, the smoke drifting into his nostrils acting like smelling salts. Looking out his shattered windshield, he saw the source of the smoke, which drifted up from the hood of his car, white and wispy, like a spectral figure ascending to heaven. There were also splotches of red, blue and some orange swirling around inside the vehicle, creating a kaleidoscopic effect that was somehow calming.

He tried to move, to get his seatbelt off, but the slightest shift in position sent the outside world spinning again. Nate thought about closing his eyes again, but the silhouette moving just beyond the tendrils of white smoke caught his attention. There as something familiar about the way it moved, how it so arrogantly strolled through the scene of the accident.

“Dad,” Nate said aloud.

Lester came into full view, a wide grin on his face, but there was something off that took Nate a moment to pinpoint. His father’s features were the same as he remembered, but there were chunks of something around his mouth and clinging to the 5 o’clock shadow on his chin. “You done fucked up again, boy. Ran that red light.”

Blinking away the fresh flow of blood dripping into his eyes, Nate tried to make the image disappear, but Lester drew closer, finally poking his head through the shattered glass, the smell of vomit coming off him in stomach churning waves.

“Do you hear me, shithead? YOU FUCKED UP AGAIN,” Lester roared, spit flying from his mouth. “I swear, you are no son of mine. That whore mother of yours had her legs spread for every Tom, Dick, Harry, and Larry.”

“Don’t call her a whore,” Nate said meekly, salty tears mixing with the viscous blood now coating his face.

“No? Where do you think she got the money for your precious fucking fag soccer shoes? Huh? Every dollar was a drop of someone else’s cum.”

Nate turned his head away from his raging (dead) father. The sudden movement delivered dark spots before his eyes, each of them dancing and coalescing to create a singular black hole into which Nate felt himself being sucked. As he slipped back into darkness, he heard Lester voice one more time.

“I filled her up, boy, right before she fucking killed me.”

There is a moment right before the TV comes to life where, the light and color struggles to penetrate the cold darkness of the screen. That was how it felt to Nate when his eyes fluttered open and tried to handle the blazing white light that surrounded him. “Am I dead?” he mumbled.

“He’s awake. Nurse, nurse, he’s awake.” The sound of his mother’s voice, loud at first, grew distant. He let his eyes adjust to the glare and then tried to get his bearings. It was a hospital room; the entire space was soaked in bright fluorescent light that made everything appear stark and white. Nate had never been religious, but he was beginning to believe that he was walking into the light and waiting to be judged. it was only when his mother came bursting back into the room that he was snapped out of that thought.

“Oh, thank God.” Judy fell to her knees beside the bed and grabbed Nate’s hand, placing kisses on the back of it and sobbing.

“What happened, Mom?”

“You were in a car crash, baby, but you are fine.”

The room door swung open again and a doctor stepped in, a nurse by his side, standing a little too close. “Well, well, well, the young man is back among the land of the living.”

The phrase struck Nate as odd and made him wonder if he had died and was brought back. Was that why I saw my dad? Was I going to Hell?

“I’m Doctor Brewington, Nate. Let me quickly bring you up to speed. Do you remember how you ended up in hospital?”

“I, uh, I crashed my car.”

“Good,” the doctor laughed, eliciting a giggle from the nurse who seemed to be attached at the hip to the physician. Brewington swept his salt and pepper hair back from his face with a perfectly manicured hand. “I mean good that you remember, not that you crashed. How do you feel”?”

Nate watched the doctor poke and prod him with the end of his pen and wondered why he did not feel it. “Confused mostly.”

“Does this hurt?” Brewington asked, poking once again, right by the scar on Nate’s leg.

Bracing for the impending agony, Nate frowned when he felt nothing. “I don’t feel a thing.”

The doctor frowned as he grabbed Nate’s chart from the end of the bed and scribbled something on the top sheet. “You had a rather severe blow to the head, and while we have not been able to run as many tests as we would like, initial results show signs of nerve damage around the brain and spinal column.”

“Am I paralyzed?” Nate asked, eyes wide.

“No, but we thought you might experience neuropathic pain upon waking. That would be like an unpleasant tingling sensation through your body. What you are experiencing is more akin to congenital analgesia, although this is usually caused by genetic conditions as opposed to a blow to the head or other trauma.”

“I don’t understand, doctor,” Nate said, glancing at his mother, who had a similarly confused expression on her face.

Brewington sighed. “It simply means that your ability to feel pain has been turned off for the moment, but it will likely be temporary.”

“How long, Doctor Brewington?” Judy chimed in.

“Impossible to say, really, especially until we run more tests. He could be in agony in a couple of hours or be back to normal in a few weeks.” The doctor frowned again. “This is something of a unique situation.”

Agony? Once again, Nate bristled at the insensitivity of the doctor and felt the urge to scream at the man. A knot began to form in his belly and he clenched his fists. “Maybe if you concentrated on doing your job instead of ogling the fucking bimbo by your side, I could get some real fucking answers.”

Judy’s hand flew to her mouth, the nurse flushed with embarrassment, and the doctor took a backward step as though gut punched.

Nate unclenched his fists and felt his whole body sag, as though a heavy weight had been removed from his shoulders. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.

Clearing his throat, Brewington put the chart back in its place and straightened his pristine white lab coat. “You’ve experienced some significant trauma, so anger is not totally unexpected.” the doctor turned on his heels and headed for the door, the nurse following close behind. “Try and get some rest. I’ll check back in later.”

Judy moved to the side of the bed, the soft expression on her face replaced by something a lot less pleasant. “Why did you say that Nate? Why?”

Hanging his head in shame, Nate mumbled an apology.

“You know what you sounded like there? Like your deadbeat dad. Don’t ever let me catch you talking to anyone like that ever again.”

Nate watched his mother stride out of the room, head held hight. The place where shame should have resided suddenly seemed devoid of anything. While he knew it was wrong, Nate could not stop the smile spreading across his face. He sat up straight, glared at the door, and said, “Fucking losers.”

Tip Jar

Nate lay on his bed and struggled to hold back the tears that so desperately wanted to break free. The medication that he had taken earlier had now fully worn off, and when he asked his mom for more, she had hung her head and told him that Lester had taken them and left to go drinking.

It was all in his head, but Nate could swear he felt the metal rods and plates on his legs moving, like some infernal engine chugging along in a chorus of grinding gears. Sweat popped onto his brow as he gritted his teeth, willing the pain away.

With a gentle knock on the door, Judy entered the room, her face falling as she saw her son writhing on the bed. She placed a glass of water and a couple of dollar store aspirin on his bedside table. She wiped away the sweat on his forehead with her ever-present apron and smiled. “Do you need me to help you sit up so you can take your pills?”

Nate shook his head, grimacing as he scooted up on the lumpy mattress, the coolness of the wall feeling pleasant as he rested the back of his head on the garish wallpaper.

Handing him the glass, Judy said, “Drink slowly and swallow these pills whole. They aren’t as strong as your prescription, but they should help.”

“When can I get more?” Nate asked, swallowing the pills hungrily and washing them down with water that had a distinctly metallic taste.

“I’ll talk to the doctor tomorrow, but I can’t promise you’ll get more until this batch was supposed to run out.” Judy’s cheeks flushed as she spoke, embarrassed at her inability to properly look after her son. “I…I’m sorry. I know it must hurt.”

“We should leave,” Nate sobbed, the dam finally bursting, hot tears rolling down his fevered face. “You have money.”

Judy shook her head. “Not nearly enough.” Her tired expression took on a steely resolve as she pressed on. “Listen to me now, Nate. I am going to fix this, I promise.”

He wanted to believe his mother, wished that things would change for the better, but the words sounded hollow. They were stuck with the monster until he drank or snorted himself to death. Despite his debaucherous habits, Lester Givens appeared to be in the best of health, making his demise seem like an event scheduled decades in the future. Not wanting to add to his mother’s misery, Nate simply said, “I know, Mom.”

The moment passed as soon as the sound of the front door slamming shut reverberated around the house. That was quickly followed by Lester calling out for his wife, the effects of drugs and alcohol evident in his slurred speech.

Judy stood and straightened out her apron. She looked at her son, an unfamiliar steely resolve in her eyes. “I AM going to fix this. You trust me?” She held out a pinky, her usually trembling hand steady as a rock.

With a nod, Nate linked digits with his mom. She gave him one more look, stood straight and headed for the bedroom door. Nate watched her go, his heart feeling suddenly heavy. He always feared for his mother when Lester was drunk, which was more often than not.

Sliding under the covers, Nate rested his head on the pillow and closed his eyes. He imagined what life might be like in a new place, with new friends, and maybe a new man for his mom, one that might treat her right. The faintest hint of a smile touched his lips as he began to drift off to sleep.

The sound of Lester’s voice pulled him right back into the real world. He couldn’t quite make out the words, but the tone was insistent, riding roughshod over the gentle moaning sounds coming from his mom. Nate didn’t know much about sex, but he knew enough to get an idea of what was happening in his parents’ room. He pulled the pillow over his head to block out the sounds and finally did fall asleep.

Judy peeled off her clothes and slipped beneath the sheets, the cold linen producing gooseflesh across her naked body. Steeling herself, she reached over and began to rub Lester’s chest, her nails tracing a gentle path through his coarse hair.

“Waash you doin’?” Lester slurred.

“Just relax, honey.” Judy moved her hand lower, caressing soft flesh all the way, before reaching under the waistband of Lester’s boxer shorts. He wasn’t quite hard but getting there. She grabbed his cock and skillfully worked the shaft, silently praying he wasn’t too far gone to achieve an erection. It didn’t take long to get an answer, as she felt him stiffen in her hand, a soft grunt escaping his lips as she worked to keep him aroused.

As she continued to jerk Lester off, Judy spit into her free hand and rubbed her pussy. Satisfied she was wet enough, she slipped off Lester’s shorts and climbed on top in reverse. The initial penetration hurt, but as she began to move, it became more comfortable as the juices began to flow.

“Shake that dimply fucking ash, bitch,” Lester grunted, the scent of stale alcohol coming off him in waves as he began to sweat.

Ignoring the jab, Judy leaned over and pulled off his socks, which he always insisted on wearing to bed. She tied them together in a ball, lifted herself off Lester, and turned to face him.

“I’m not done yet. Get back on and let me see them saggy tittiesh.”

Ever the dutiful wife, Judy climbed back aboard and began to ride, moving as much as possible to make the bed rock. She could see that that movement was having an effect on Lester, who now looked a little green around the gills. She rode harder and faster, raising her hands above her head.

“Shlow down, woman,” Lester said, an eggy belch escaping with the last word.

Judy balled her hands together and brought them down in a hammer blow on her husband’s stomach. His eyes went wide, and his cheeks puffed out. As he opened his mouth to vomit, Judy shoved the socks into his mouth and climbed up to sit on his face, putting her whole weight on him.

Lester flailed his arms, hammering them against the mattress as he struggled to breathe, choking on the vomit that now filled his mouth. Judy held herself in place until the thrashing stopped. She put her hand to Lester’s chest and felt for a heartbeat. When she found none, she removed the socks and jumped off the bed, tossing them into the trash can in the adjoining bathroom.

In a strange state of calm, Judy put on her favorite pajamas and slid back into bed. The stench of vomit hung in the air, but rather than feeling repulsed, she felt victorious. She looked over in the direction of Nate’s room and whispered, “Told you I’d fix it.” She then rolled over and went to sleep, promising she would call the medics in the morning when she was sure Lester was good and dead.

Tip Jar

Nate tore through the remainder of the morning on autopilot, racking up sales and dealing with unhappy clients in his usual cheerful demeanor. He felt guilty about taking a lunch break after arriving so late, but when he reviewed his numbers, Nate decided that he had earned a coffee and a sandwich from the vending machine.

While the Red Robin offices were high-tech and shiny, the staff break room looked more like a room left to rot. Colorful inspirational posters covered the worst of the marks on the lemon-yellow painted walls, but ketchup splatters, coffee stains, and all manner of marks from foods unknown still showed up on the walls and the chipped linoleum floor. The tables and chairs were the fold-up variety most commonly seen at kids’ birthday parties, and while smoking was strictly forbidden in the building, burn marks still marred the tabletops. Given the drab interior, it was no real surprise that most employees went out for lunch, which was why Nate liked this space.

Slowly making his way over to the vending machines, he picked out a ham and cheese sandwich before sidling over to the coffee pot. Nate was surprised to see that the coffee looked hot and fresh. As he poured himself a cup of steaming hot java, his mind turned to Richard’s offer. He had always imagined himself sitting in his little cubicle - goddam it, boy, you are a waste of space - until retirement rolled around, but the thought of having his own office and of being in charge delivered a shiver of excitement that was very much out of character.

The hand on his shoulder snapped Nate out of his thoughts, causing him to jump and spill coffee over the floor.

“Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Placing the carafe back on the stand, Nate turned and glared at the man who had touched him. His anger quickly dissipated and turned to anxiety when he laid eyes on Gary Arden, one of the guys who always hung out with Mathers. Nate wanted to snap at him, to tell him what he really thought, but instead, he mumbled, “No worries.”

Gary surprised him by scooping up a handful of napkins and dropping down to wipe up the spilled coffee. When he stood, his face flushed red, but whether it was from exertion or embarrassment was impossible to tell. “Seriously, man. I really am sorry.”

Nate stared at the man, waiting for the inevitable jab, but it never came, the silence between them beginning to stretch into awkward territory. “Um. It’s fine.”

With a smile, Gary grabbed Nate’s coffee and sandwich, carrying them over to one of the empty tables. Nate followed, frowning as he sat across from his workmate. “Thanks,” he managed, lifting the cup to take a sip.

Running a hand through his slicked back blond hair, Gary glanced around the room before talking, as though checking to see if anyone was hiding in the shadows, spying on the conversation. “Listen, I…I just wanted to say sorry.”

Nate looked over the top of the coffee cup as he slowly sipped the hot coffee. Again, he waited for the other shoe to drop, but Gary simply stared back at him wearing a look like a kid caught stealing from the cookie jar. Nate placed the cup on the table, which wobbled and spilled more liquid. “Sorry for what?”

“For fucking Mathers and the way he treats you.” Gary broke eye contact and once again looked around the break room. “He’s a fucking Neanderthal.”

“Then why do you hang out with him? Nate snapped.

Recoiling as though slapped, Gary flushed red again. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Try me,” Nate said, suddenly feeling emboldened.

“I, um, wasn’t particularly popular in high school. Kids like Mathers frequently beat the shit out of me for no reason other than the fact that girls seemed to like me.”

“All the more reason not to hang out with people like that.”

“You’re not wrong, but…”

Nate looked at Gary, really looked at him, and saw much of himself reflected back. Up close and not surrounded by the other office bullies, Gary looked vulnerable and timid. Nate tried to imagine what his life would have been like - you’ll always be a fuck up - had his injury never happened. Would he have rebelled against his haters, or would he have found comfort in their company?

“…I finally felt accepted. For once in my life, the cool crowd, or what I thought was the cool crowd, wanted me on their side.” Gary hung his head. “I’m sorry.”

Closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, Nate thought back to his younger years. He saw the mocking, heard the constant berating from his father, and he knew that what Gary was saying was true. He stood and moved to the other side of the table, extending his hand. “Apology accepted.”

Gary stood and took the offered hand, nodding as they shook on it. “Thank you, Nate. I promise, no more bullshit from me. It’s tearing me up.”

“I eat lunch in here most days. You are welcome to join me.”

“I’d like that. Thank you for being cool.”

***

Nate pulled out of the parking garage and slipped into the traffic. Rush hour was essentially a 24-hour event in Atlanta, but things were worse at this hour of the day. He knew that getting home would take twice as long as getting to the office, but Nate didn’t mind. He used it as the perfect opportunity to decompress and think about the events of the day.

This Monday had been very different from all the others. Sure, there had been the usual stinging barbs from Mathers, but Nate also had a promotion to consider and a new friend to hang out with. He felt much more positive than usual, which was perhaps why he allowed his mind to drift, and why he missed the red light.

It was the blare of car horns and the sound of steel against steel that brought him crashing back to reality. He felt himself thrown sideways, his car spinning out of control and making him feel as though he were on some old-school fairground ride. Outside the shattered front windshield, the word spun, and then quickly changed direction as another vehicle slammed into his. This impact sent him forward, his forehead connecting with the steering wheel before the seatbelts locked in and the air bag deployed and smashed him in the face.

The world continued to spin even after the car stopped moving. Ticks and pops filled the cabin as the car began to cool. Nate could hear screams and sirens, but they sounded muted, as though he were hearing them from underwater. His vision swam for a moment before correcting itself for a second. It was then that he heard his mother’s voice, clear as day - I’ll kill him if he ever lays a hand on you.

As the blood began to fall down his forehead in a torrent, Nate blinked his eyes to try and keep it out, but it was a lost cause. Finally, closing his eyes, he has a moment to think, why doesn’t this hurt, before he blacked out.

Tip Jar

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Nate pulled away from his happy teammates and looked toward the sideline. Judy was there, applauding his efforts as always, but she was also alone. In soccer, Nate had finally found something he excelled at, scoring goals for fun and taking to the sport like a fish to water. As happy as it made him, he still wished his father would show up for one game. It wasn’t a need to feel some sort of paternal bond, as he knew that would never happen, but to show his old man that he wasn’t a total fuck up.

The scoreboard registered the goal Nate had just scored and also showed that there was now just ten minutes left in the game. Ten minutes left in the entire season and for Lester Givens to haul his ass out of the recliner and onto the sidelines to cheer on his son. The minutes may as well have been seconds, because Nate knew his father was never going to show.

As Nate jogged back to his own half, a large boy on the opposing team stepped into his path and nudged him with a meaty shoulder. It was an intentional move, but one that likely looked like an accident. “I’m going to get you before this game is over,” the kid said, glaring at Nate from under a jutting Neanderthal brow.

Pointing at the scoreboard, Nate said, “Better make it quick, shithead.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Nate felt the blood rush to his face in embarrassment. He would never think to talk to anyone like that, but playing soccer filled him with a level of confidence that left as soon as he stepped off the field. He turned his back on the kid and continued jogging back to his position, feeling those dark eyes burning a hole in his back.

The final minutes ticked away without incident, with Nate doing his best to avoid the larger boy, who seemed intent on stalking him around the field. He was so focused on keeping an eye on the brute that he almost didn’t see the ball coming his way. he spied it just in time, controlling it perfectly and heading to the corner to kill time and protect the lead. He was almost there when he heard the footsteps coming his way like the sound of a charging rhino.

Nate turned quickly, nimbly moving away from the approaching opponent, but the cleats, the ones that he and his mother had snuck past Lester, on his right foot caught in the turf. The larger boy charged in, studs up, and smashed into Nate’s trailing leg. The snap echoed around the field, followed by a gasp from the parents in attendance.

The boy leered down at Nate and said, “Told you I’d get you.”

The world began to swim, the playing field twisting and turning in shades of green. The pain came quickly, and when Nate look down at his leg, which was twisted at an impossible angle, he screamed when he saw a piece of bone poking out from a tear in his sock.

“NAAAAAAAAAAAAAATE.”

His mother’s scream was the last thing he heard before the spinning stopped and the world turned dark.

***

Nate squinted as his mother wheeled him out of hospital, the bright sunlight hurting his eyes after weeks essentially locked up in a windowless hospital room. “I can walk, Mom,” he complained, feeling as though everyone was looking at him wondering why a kid needed to be pushed around in a wheelchair.

“You will do no such thing, young man,” Judy said. “You heard what the doctor said. Plenty of rest and relaxation.”

The idea of spending what little remained of the summer sitting at home depressed Nate, especially since it would mean being around Lester more than usual. His dad had not visited once in the three weeks that Nate had been confined to bed. Not after the injury, not after the surgery, and not during the rehab sessions after the fact. Lester Givens had always been something of an absent parent, but this was a new low, even for him.

They drove home in silence, Nate occasionally glancing at his mom, who looked more tired and stressed than ever. When he was home, Nate deflected some of the abuse she took at the hands of Lester, but a few weeks of taking a hammering alone appeared to be taking a toll.

“What do you want for your first dinner at home?” Judy asked wearily, a thin smile on her face.

“Hot dogs would be cool.”

“I think we can swing that.”

The silence returned as the car tuned onto their street, the Givens residence sticking out like a sore thumb. The overgrown front lawn, the chipped paint on the plastic siding, and the leaning mailbox were in stark contrast to the rest of the neighborhood. Much like he was with his family, Lester Givens seemed content in watching his home fall to rot. It was an easier option than showing any level of TLC.

Judy pulled into the driveway and rushed out of the car, sprinting around the help Nate out of his seat. His cheeks flushed as she took his arm while he fiddled with the cane the hospital had given him, but while he felt some level of shame, Nate was also thankful for his mother’s help. The walk from the car to the front door was little more than a handful of steps, but he wasn’t sure it was a journey he could make on his own.

When they stepped inside, Judy removed her arm, letting Nate walk on his own, understanding that not doing so would result in some form of verbal abuse from her husband. “Look who’s home,” she called out, trying to sound jolly but the tremor in her voice giving away her true feelings.

Lester barely pulled his eyes away from The Jerry Springer Show on TV. “Who gives a fuck? You’ve got twenty minutes to make my dinner. I’m fucking ravenous.”

Removing her jacket and placing it on a hook by the door, Judy scurried off the kitchen while Nate followed close behind, moving slowly with the aid of his cane.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Lester said, rolling his eyes. “Would you look at the state of this. I’d better not be paying any extra to look after the cripple.”

“Good to see you too, Dad,” Nate mumbled under his breath as he passed the recliner.

Lester shifted in his seat, moving his leg out in the path of his son, who tripped over it and wend down hard, the cane flying out of his hands. He screamed in pain as he made contact with the floor, feeling as though the rods and pins in his leg shifted under the weight of the collision.

“What happened?” Judy asked as she leaned down to help her son.

“He trip…”

“The boy has always been clumsy, Judy. I’m sure that big fucking cast isn’t helping with his balance.” Lester stared at his son, eyes narrowed. “Isn’t that right, boy?”

Helping Nate to his feet, Judy retrieved the cane and handed it to her son. “You go rest while I make dinner.” She watched him hobble down the hallway and disappear into his room, closing the door behind him.

“Maybe if you stopped babying him, he wouldn’t be such a fucking pussy.”

Fists clenched, Judy turned slowly and glared at her husband. She knew he’d tripped Nate, knew he had crossed a line she could not abide. She took a slow, steady breath, and said, “Hot dogs okay with you?”

Tip Jar

Chapter 3 – Grin and Bear It

Shaking away the memories of a tortured past, Nate slid out of his car, gritting his teeth as he used the cane for leverage to stand. He closed the door, the slamming sound echoing through the underground parking lot, and leaned against the vehicle, trying to catch his breath.

Nate waited until a car heading for the exit drove past before heading for the elevators, the pain in his leg throbbing in time to his shuffling gait. Nate thought of the Tylenol in his desk drawer and picked up the pace, egged on by the momentary promise of pain relief. He knew that taking them first thing would help get him to work in a more stable state, but the headache that usually came from co-worker interactions made pill popping a task reserved for the start of the workday.

As he waited for the elevator to make its slow descent in a cacophony of churning gears, Nate turned and surveyed the mural on the far wall of the elevator lobby. It showed an intricately detailed bird sitting on a telephone line, a computer chip gripped in its beak. “Red Robin Software Solutions” sat below the image in a stylized font. The bright beauty of the mural stood in stark contrast to dull nature of his sales job. Peddling mediocre productivity software to businesses was not what Nate thought of as a dream career, but given his physical inadequacy, it worked.

The elevator doors slid open and Nate stepped inside, pushing the button for the third floor. His phone pinged again as the doors closed. Checking the message, he saw it was from Richard, asking him to head directly to his office upon arrival. Nate groaned, knowing that meant walking the gauntlet of the office floor -they’re all going to laugh at you, fucking cripple - to get to Richard.

Steeling himself, Nate stepped out of the elevator and into the madness of the Red Robin sales department. Phones rang, voices mashed together to create one persistent hum of sales fervor, and the computer screens lit the area in a wash of colorful graphs and company logo screensavers. Head down, Nate made his way through the throng as fast as his legs could carry him, but he could not move fast enough to escape the derisive English accent sounding out above the ambient noise of office life.

“Well, if it isn’t Hopalong Cassidy joining us at last.” If being the loudest, most obnoxious individual was an Olympic event, George Mathers would be in possession of multiple gold medals. While many school bullies settled into normal behavior in adulthood, Mathers had carried on without breaking stride. The man was a nightmare, but the fact that he was fucking the human resources manager, Mary Quill, meant that his behavior was allowed to slide. Everyone knew it, so most, other than his merry crew of followers, tried to give the Englishman a wide berth.

Nate kept his head down as he walked past, which was the only reason he was able to avoid the leg that was stuck out with the sole purpose of tripping him. “Fuck you, George,” Nat mumbled, his response hidden under the guffaws of the Mathers posse.

Sweat was once again in full flow when Nate finally made it to the office of Richard Curtis. It was a safe space, but Nate cringed when he saw the look on his friend’s face.

“Close the door behind you, Givens,” Richard said sternly.

Nate did as he was told, closing the door before sheepishly taking the seat across from his boss and best friend. Richard was one of the most easygoing people Nate had ever met, but judging by the look on his face, he sensed that perhaps the friendship had finally been pushed to the point of breaking.

Continuing to scowl, Richard shuffled some papers on his desk before looking up and flashing his signature grin. Richard Curtis was all the things that Nate could only hope to be: handsome, well put together, and possessed of a charm that women found hard to resist. “Do you think I sold it to Mathers and his fuck buddies?” he asked, the grin widening to reveal a set of immaculate white teeth.

Relief washed over Nate, his previous stiff posture melting into one of comfortable relaxation. “I would think so. Shit, you had me fooled.”

Waving away the comment, Richard took on a more serious expression. “Right, let’s get to it. What do you want first, the good news or the even better news?”

Neither option was one that Nate was familiar with. His life was little more than a collection of bad to mediocre days melding into one. The prospect of something good excited him in a way that felt wholly unfamiliar. “Might as well go in order.”

Richard glanced down at the papers on his desk once again. “Your sales figures here are amazing, Nate. I’m saying this as your boss, not your friend. You could work part-time and still beat the pants off everyone else on staff.” He paused for a moment, looking at his friend for some sort of reaction. When he was getting nothing, he plowed on. “I am moving upstairs within the next six months, and I need someone to take this chair. I want that someone to be you.”

Nate opened his mouth to speak, but Richard held up a hand, stopping him before the words could get out.

“I don’t want to hear excuses about how you can’t do it, about your physical restrictions. I don’t want to hear anything other than you telling me you will take some time to seriously consider the offer.”

Breaking eye contact, Nate looked around the office, admiring the high-end furniture, the expensive art on the wall blazing brightly in all the colors of the spectrum. It all looked to refined when compared to his spartan cubicle, not to mention his home, which boasted a garish collection of furnishings and decor chosen by his mother. “I can do that,” Nate mumbled.

Richard smacked his hands together and beamed. “That’s what I’m talking about, although you will need to make an effort to be on time in the coming months. The big wigs will look at everything you do before putting you in this big fuck fancy leather chair.”

“Sure.” Nate nodded, his mind reeling as a feeling of dizziness washed over him. “Um, what’s the better news?”

“Mathers is getting shipped back to the London office next month. The reign of terror is over.”

“How did that happen, and how is Mary going to take that?”

Richard laughed. “She’s already talking about making the move to Old Blighty, totally oblivious to the fact that her man is fucking anything that moves when out in the wild.”

Finally, Nate found a reason to smile. “Well, that is indeed better news.”

The friends sat in comfortable silence for a moment before Richard glanced at his watch and said, “Right, buddy, time for you to hit that cubicle of yours and do some magic.”

With one more look around the office, Nate stood and turned for the door.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Richard said. “For the love of all things holy, don’t let your mother decorate this fucking office.”

Buy Me A Coffee

Lester Givens had a face like an approaching storm; his hair and eyes were black as thunderclouds, while his stare rained ice on anyone that fell in its path. That stare was now focused on Nate, boring a judgmental hole through the boy. “Say that again and speak up so I can properly fucking hear you.”

Head down, fists clenched in fear, Nate cleared his throat and spoke in a trembling voice. “I made the school soccer team, and I need money for cleats and shin guards.”

The room went silent for a moment, the storm clouds in Lester’s eyes growing darker. He shifted in his recliner, the creaking leather sounding like a wet fart in the silence. “You have to be kidding me, right? Not football, not baseball, not any of the great American pastimes. Oh no, my boy has to be a Euro fag and pick soccer.” Lester balled his fist and slammed it into the arm of his chair. “Is that what you’re really trying to tell me, boy? Huh? Do you like to suck dick?”

Tears began to form in Nate’s eyes, but he knew that if he let them fall, he would only add fuel to the accusatory fire sent his way. “No, sir,” he mumbled.

“Did you hear this, Judy?” Lester spun around in his chair to yell at his wife, who was preparing dinner in the kitchen. “Your fruit son wants to play soccer, and he wants me to pony up for the privilege.”

Wiping her hands on an apron that read “Made with Love and Leftovers,” Judy stepped into the living room, the smile on her face dissolving when she looked at her husband. Judy had been a stunningly beautiful woman when she met Lester, but the years with the man had not been kind. Her auburn hair had lost its luster and was now shot through with grey. Worry lines carved deep gashes beside her eyes and lips, and the area beneath her eyes now looked permanently bruised. “What was that, hon?” She asked, a fake smile now back on her face.

“Fuck me sideways,” Lester spat. “Are you deaf and fucking stupid?”

“S..Sorry, baby. I couldn’t hear…”

“Yup. Deaf and fucking stupid. I said, YOUR FRUIT SON WANTS TO PLAY SOCCER,” Lester roared.

Judy flinched as though gut punched, something that she was certainly accustomed to. “Playing a sport might not be a bad idea, Les.” The moment the words passed her lips, Judy knew she had made a grievous error.

Launching himself out of his chair, Lester kicked the tray table sitting in front of him, sending it flying across the room. The coffee mug that had been sitting on it smashed against the wall, brown liquid streaming down the blue and yellow patterned wallpaper, making it look like a piece of fecal abstract art. Not content with that level of destruction, Lester snatched up the ashtray from the arm of the couch and sent it sailing in the direction of his wife.

Eyes wide in terror, Judy remained still as the ashtray missed her by inches before smashing into the kitchen cabinets. It all seemed to happen in slow motion for her. She marveled at the patterns created by the light as it flew past and felt an urge to smoke when the scent of spent cigarettes drifted into her nostrils.

Lester looked back and forth between his wife and son, as though trying to decide which one to erupt on first. Unable to decide, he let out a scream and snatched up his jacket, which was draped over the back of the recliner. “If you two fuckwits think I am spending my hard-earned money on cock-sucking lessons, you are both out of your fucking minds.”

Nate cowered as his father headed in his direction, but the man blew by, like a tornado sparing a single trailer, and bolted out the door, slamming it behind him as he left. Now that he was gone, the tears came easy. Nate hated crying, hated feeling weak, but it was anger that opened the flood of tears. His father spoke of hard-earned money but in the eleven years that Nate had been on this shitty planet, he had never known the man to work a single day. Lester Givens’ main pastime was sucking off the government tit and giving the majority of the money to bars, whores, and bookies.

A strange calm settled over the house, the aftermath of a passing storm. Nate stared at the front door, which still appeared to be trembling under the power of the slam. He was sure that his father was finally going to hit him, the way Lester often launched into his mother. He knew that the first blow was coming. The moment his father believed Nate to be an adult, the fists would come raining down.

“He’ll never hurt you, baby.”

Nate spun on his heels at the sound of his mother’s voice, wondering if she could somehow read his mind. She was on her knees, picking up the pieces of the shattered coffee mug and sticking the broken shards in the pocket of her apron. “How can you say that, Mom? Especially with how he treats you.”

Sitting on the floor, Judy stared at her son, her eyes filled with sorrow so deep they looked bottomless. “Because if he does, he knows I’ll kill him.”

Mouth hanging open, Nate let the statement sink in, positive he had misheard the words. “I don’t…”

With a loud groan and a pop of joints, Judy rose to her feet and moved to her son, pulling him into a warm embrace. “He can hurt me all he wants. I can take it. What I cannot stand for is him ever laying a hand on you.” She pulled out of the hug and held Nate at arm’s length. “Do you hear me, Nate? I will never let him hurt you.”

“We could leave. You and me. I’m not even sure he would notice,” Nate said, the anger now bubbling in his belly.

“That’s not what I promised when I married him. For better or worse means something to me.” Judy smiled and took Nate’s hand. “I think I have something that could make things a little better for you.” She led the boy into the kitchen, picking their way through the shattered remains of the ashtray.

“What are you doing, Mom?”

Judy reached up and opened a cabinet, the front of which was stained in ashes that looked like a Rorschach test. She pulled out an old tin and opened it, the scent of roasted coffee beans filling the air. Reaching in, she pulled out a wad of bills, peeled off a couple and handed them to her son. “Will this be enough for what you need?”

Looking at the money in his mother’s hand, Nate thought of the cleats he wanted, and the ball that he could also buy with the money. What broke through it all, though, was guilt. Nate wondered what the real purpose of the money was for his mother. Maybe the better or worse line was a lie, and she was planning an escape, leaving the men in her life in the dust.

She peeled off another bill, assuming her boy’s silence as something other than what it was. “How about now? Is this enough?” Judy was almost pleading now.

“Mom, I can’t take your money. You might need it to…you know…leave.”

Judy recoiled as though she had been slapped. “Is that what you think? That I would leave without you?” She pressed the money into her son’s hand. “This is all for you. If there is ever anything, ANYTHING, you need, you tell me. Got it?”

Nate gripped the money tight, tears welling in his eyes once more. “I love you, Mom.”

“And I love you. Let me clean up, and then we can go shopping.”

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Buy Me A Book

Mondays were the same as every other day for Nate Givens. They began with pain and went downhill from there. It was the usual pain that woke him from a deep sleep, while the bright morning light streaming through the thin bedroom curtains told him that he was late for work…AGAIN!!

He sat up, shaking his head to try and will himself fully awake. Satisfied that the last remnants of peaceful sleep had been slain as effectively as St. George’s dragon, Nate reached for his phone on the bedside table, immediately noticing that the end of the charging cable was not in its port. “Shit.” He plugged in the cable, waiting for the Apple logo to appear onscreen, and then gritted his teeth for what was always the hardest part of his day.

Nate closed his eyes as he pulled back the garishly colored comforter - why do I let my mom shop for me? - and slid his legs across to the side of the bed. He sucked in his breath as pain shot up his right leg. The initial stabbing sensation was soon replaced by pins and needles around the livid scar on the shin, but not before producing a layer of sweat that oozed from every pore.

As the iPhone came to life, notifications began to ping loudly, the majority of which were from work. Nate blocked out the sound and reached for his cane, the crook of which rested on his headboard. Bracing himself, he rose to his feet, using the cane for leverage and trying his best to muffle the scream that threatened to tear free from deep within.

Tears filled his eyes, turning his view of the bedroom into one seen through a rainy windshield with broken wipers. Nate used the back of his left hand to wipe away the tears, cursing himself for allowing the pain to get the better of him. The constant berating changed nothing, though, which was something he should have learned from the years of torment bestowed upon him by a cruel, uncaring father. Thinking about that tyrant was no way to start the day. Best to get moving.

Nate shuffled across the room, savoring the feel of the thick carpet beneath his feet. He pulled back the drapes, whose orange and cream swirls matched the bedspread, and savored the view. The bright spring sunshine danced off the few remaining parked cars on the tree-lined street. Flowers in all the colors of the rainbow were blooming in bushes and planters, making his small part of the world look like something out of a Rockwell painting. For a moment, Nate forgot about his troubles, smiling as he soaked up the beauty Mother Nature put on display.

PING!! PING!!

The sound of the phone brought him back to the real world, and while the idea of calling out sick seemed appealing, Nate knew he wouldn’t do it. Instead, he moved slowly back to his bedside and picked up the iPhone, tapping on the notification for the newest message.

Dude, where are you?”

The average boss would probably not be as forgiving to an employee who was now running forty minutes late, but when the boss was your best friend, things tended to be a little less stressful. Nate typed in a quick response, letting Richard know, he was on his way, then he made his way to the ensuite bathroom.

Nate stood in front of the mirror, head bowed, knowing that his reflection would only make him feel worse. Ever since his childhood injury - you’re no son of mine - his body had seemed to weaken in so many other ways. If he were to look in the mirror now, he would see a gaunt face, hollow cheeks pockmarked by acne scars, thinning blond hair, and dark eyes that were too much like his father’s.

Grabbing his toothbrush, Nate quickly cleaned his teeth, which he followed with a quick floss and a mouthwash rinse. He quickly dressed, grabbed his cane, and headed downstairs, wondering once again why he had chosen a place with a second level. It was tough enough getting around on one good leg, so why make life tougher by going up and down stairs every day?

He grimaced at the sight greeting him as he stepped into his modern kitchen. A pizza box lay open, one feeble looking piece of pie remaining in the greasy package. Nate was not a clean freak by any stretch of the imagination, but he did like neatness and order. He snatched up the final piece of pizza and chewed the food that was now the consistency of cardboard. Choking it down, he closed up the box and placed it in the trash. Happy that the kitchen now looked a little more presentable, he snatched up his keys from the marble countertop and made for the door.

As Nate stepped outside, the warmth of the day fell upon him. Closing his eyes, he raised his face toward the sun, smiling as the rays fell upon his pale face. A warm breeze blew, rippling through his wispy hair like slender fingers in a gentle caress. Nate knew that this moment was going to be the best part of his day, so he stood on his front step and savored the moment before heading to his car.

With a loud groan, Nate eased himself into the driver’s seat, wincing as he moved his withered right leg inside. He hated driving, hated the pain he had to endure on every drive, but in a city as big and widespread as Atlanta, a car was a necessity rather than a luxury. He couldn’t imagine trying to navigate MARTA in his less than perfect state, so a little bit of pain was worth it. His office was no more than a twenty-minute drive and easy to manage.

Easing the car out of the driveway, Nate turned onto his street and once again admired just how pretty it was. Working in sales was not his dream job, but he was good at it and made more than enough to live a very comfortable lifestyle. The fact that he didn’t socialize or have extravagant tastes meant that his house and car were already paid off - you’ll never amount to a lick of goddam salt - and money was in the bank.

Atlanta traffic was never particularly smooth but given that he had missed the rush hour by oversleeping, Nate made it to the office in record time. He steered the vehicle into the underground parking lot, flashing his ID card to raise the gate, and maneuvered into his parking space. A quick glance at the dashboard clock told him that he was now over an hour late, but rather than rushing, he sat for a moment, breathing calmly and preparing himself for what was to come.

Nate glanced into the rearview mirror and saw his father’s eyes staring back at him. He closed them quickly, but the damage was already done, as his thoughts began to drift back to childhood, the memories immediately killing all the good feelings of the morning. Just like that, it felt like a miserable Monday.

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Buy Me A Coffee