Blood Always Tells by Hilary Davidson (always you kirsty moseley .TXT) 📗

exhaustion wrestled the last ounce of resistance from him. He gave the doctor an elaborate shrug.

“So eloquent,” the doctor said.

They set him up in a room for the night, taking his blood pressure yet again before turning off the lights. He lay in the dark, praying for rest and not finding it. Instead, he remembered the last time he’d been strangled into voicelessness. His attacker that time had been Mr. Monaghan, experimenting with new and awful ways to use his leather belt.

You no-good, lowlife, piece of shit. You are not part of this family, his stepfather ranted. You want to run with a gang? They can be your family. Get out.

They were in the basement. Desmond’s mom was upstairs, putting Dominique to bed. She was an unruly child, and that was a long process.

Mr. Monaghan threw a punch at his face, and Desmond hit the floor hard. At fourteen, he’d been small for his age. His stepfather had seemed as big as an ancient tree in the forest.

You have yourself a choice, Mr. Monaghan said. You can get out while you can, or I’ll kill you. My right hand to God, I will do it. You will not bring shame on this family.

Desmond started to get up, but his stepfather kicked him in the stomach and he went flat on the concrete floor again. There was bile in his throat, and he choked it back. He’d thrown up before when his stepfather beat him, and that only enraged the man further.

Now you stay down. I’m gonna learn you something you’ll never forget.

Desmond heard Mr. Monaghan’s belt slithering off. He pulled himself into a tight little ball, bracing for the blows to rain down, but they didn’t.

Stand up like a man, Mr. Monaghan ordered.

There was something under his words that scared Desmond, but he couldn’t refuse. While he was getting to his feet, his stepfather looped the belt around his neck and pulled tight.

I don’t know why trash like you is walking around, but I won’t have it in my house. You get out tonight or you’ll be dead by morning.

Please, Desmond begged with his last audible breath.

Don’t you worry about your mama. I’ll explain it all to her. Mr. Monaghan pulled tighter. I already figured out how I’ll kill you, and how to make it look like your gangbanger homies did it. Or maybe I’ll just finish you here and now. What d’you think? Rid the world once and for all of a filthy piece of shit who never should’ve been born.

He jerked the belt up, and Desmond thought he was going to die. He couldn’t see anything but fuzzy white dots in front of his eyes. His heart was pounding out of his chest, trying to break from the rest of his expiring body.

Then his stepfather flung him on the ground. The belt slithered off his neck.

Get upstairs and pack up, Mr. Monaghan said. I won’t warn you twice.

He kicked Desmond again in the kidney with his steel-toed shoe. Desmond didn’t look up, but he knew his stepfather was feeding the belt through its loops again. Then the man went upstairs and turned out the light, leaving Desmond crying silently in the dark.

By the time Desmond was able to get up, he knew what he had to do. It took some time to crawl on all fours up the stairs. He heard his mother’s voice in the living room, and he was grateful she couldn’t see the basement door from there. He pulled himself upstairs, one foot stumbling after the other. There was no doubt in his mind that Mr. Monaghan meant what he said. He was going to kill him.

Desmond moved down the hallway past his own room, then past Dominique’s, before getting to the larger bedroom his mom shared with Mr. Monaghan. He went into the night table that sat next to the pillow where his stepfather rested his head every night, and he retrieved the pistol from the drawer. Still moving slowly, he made his way to the living room.

It’s for the best, Mr. Monaghan was saying. We’ll all be better off.

Have you lost your mind, Eli? He’s still just a baby. This is his home, he’s not going anywhere. His mother’s voice turned plaintive. Why do you hate him so much? He’s just a boy.

That boy just told me he was going to kill me in my sleep. I will not have him in my house a day longer.

I want you to be honest with me: did you beat him? Because I see marks on him, and he won’t tell me how they got there.

He runs with a gang, Mr. Monaghan said. He’s always in trouble. Somebody must’ve beat him up. And you know what? I bet he deserved it.

You didn’t answer my question, Eli. Did you hit him?

I never laid a hand on him.

Then Desmond got to the doorway. Mr. Monaghan saw him first, and his face narrowed in fury. You’re a liar, Desmond wanted to say. You’ve beaten me since we moved into your house five years ago. You’re the devil. But he couldn’t get a coherent word out. There was a burbling sound when he tried to speak.

You want to tell me how innocent your little boy is now, Ruth? Look at him now.

His mother turned. Desmond, what are you doing? Put that down. Now.

He blinked back more tears and lowered his arm.

What happened to your face? his mother asked.

Desmond shook his head.

We finished supper an hour ago, his mother said. Someone hit you in the face since then.

Desmond gave his head another stubborn shake.

I’m not blind, Des. I can see what’s going on. I only wish I’d believed my eyes before. She turned to face her husband. Desmond couldn’t see her expression, but her voice was stony. You’ve been beating on my son.

All I’ve ever done is give him the discipline he so sorely needs.

Don’t you dare. His mother raised her hand, as if she were going to slap