Page 9 of Silent Damage

I seriously doubt that, but…

She’s here.

Mom’s finally home.

And she wants this.

She sacrificed everything for me. The least I can do is tolerate Jason.

I look into her eyes, take a deep breath, and whisper, “Maybe we will.”

Her breath hitches, and her eyes turn glassy. Anytime I say something, she looks like she might weep with joy. Mom doesn’t ask many questions about my silence. It’s hard to talk about anything involving that night.

She blinks away the emotion in her eyes, clears the lump from her throat, and whispers, “This will be good.”

The thought of Jason’s twisted face screaming at me clouds my mind, and that lovely feeling vanishes.

Living with him is going to hurt, but I’ll do it.

For her.

Chapter 4

Jason

Of all the shitholes I’ve lived in throughout my weird life, Belmont takes the cake. The bus rolls into the parking lot of the old shopping complex that’s now completely boarded up. I sat right above the damn engine the whole three hours it took to get here, and I feel like I might yak.

Or maybe that’s just because I'm back here in this place.

Belmont was always…grey.

Well, at least the Patch was.

Still is.

I haven’t been here in years. This place was run-down before, but it’s even worse now.

To my right is a fence that’s half-fallen over, with a row of houses about ready to collapse sitting on the other side. To my left is the shopping center, and I’ll eat my sneakers if someone isn’t cooking meth in one of the abandoned shops. The windows are boarded up, and the wood is covered in graffiti.

HellCats. That’s what’s painted all over the boarded-up shopping complex.

When I was a kid, everyone used to talk about the HellCats. They ran the show in the Patch.

I wonder if they still do?

Maybe they need another member? I need money, so criminal activity might be my best bet.

I don’t want to live in a trailer with Gabe for very long, but I need money to move out.

Which is a conundrum when you’re me: dumber than a sack of shit, with no skill in the world other than drinking and fighting.

I should be on reality TV.

Until then, I’ve got other ways to make some cash, but they’re unreliable at best.

When I really need some dough, I use my fake ID to get into bars and bet guys I can kick their ass. There’s always some meathead who takes me up on it, thinking they’re in for an easy buck. Then I leave with their money and their pride. Ha!

The bus stops, and passengers start getting off.