Kookaburra (formerly untitled) Ch.TWENTYONE [revised]

A bowl and a half of Lucky Charms and three hours of daytime TV later, Kaden’s snoring quietly on the sofa, hand squeezed around mine tightly. I smile down at his sleeping frame. I can see his eyelids flickering with the peace of safety, of freedom. I edge away from him carefully, slipping onto the floor. He murmurs something intangible and screws his fist up tight.

I walk across the apartment, limping slowly. Pins and needles stab down my leg painfully, making me wince as I look around for Callum. I knock on his door hopefully. A grunt comes from within.

“Cal, I’m going for a walk.”

“’Kay. Be careful.”

Well duh. “Okay.”

“Be back before seven, okay?”

I check my watch. It’s just about two in the afternoon. “Okay.” I start to leave, but Callum calls my name again.

“Yeah?” I yell back.

“Take your phone, okay?”

I make a point of checking Kaden before I leave. He’s still fast asleep. I pray for him to still be there when I get back. I have a feeling him being alone with Callum could be a bad idea.

***

The wind bites at my cheeks and fingertips, and I tug on my hoodie, trying to pull it closer around me, silently begging for it to keep me warm, dammit. People and prams stroll past me, dogs and drivers everywhere. It seems like everyone’s heading in the opposite direction to me, until a woman pushes past from behind, and I’m reminded that nothing’s as perfect as that.

I haven’t been outside, properly outside for ages. I try to think back. Since we got Kaden? Since Cal got me, even? The ground clicks under my feet, and my hair blows around my face. I think about walking to see Matt, or to the park Kaden and I first visited together. So many places, stamina my only limit to where I can go.

Suddenly, something grabs onto my arm, and I’m pulled sideways into an alley. I’m pushed up against a wall, Bert’s face and body shoved into mine.

“Hello there, Scotty boy.”

Oh, shit. “B-Bert?”

“You betcha, Kiddo. How’s that brother of yours, eh? How’s Callum?”

My knees shake under me. “I-I… what?”

“Wouldn’t you just hate it if something happened to him? Something… awful?” His mouth is close to my ear, fingers twisted round in my collar. He’s so damn close I can feel his hot breath on my cheek. As he mutters my name again, his tongue darts out, licking the shell. I shiver, and try to concentrate all my energy on stopping the bulge in my pants from growing. “Scott sweetie, I don’t want you to be living in the dark. So I reckon it’s time you found out what Daddy did.” He slips a hand inside his jacket, keeping the other tight on my neck, and pulls out a brown file. He shoves it into my grip, whispering “it’s in your hands now.” He loosens his grip on my collar slightly, and glances down. “Well, well,” he smirks, staring at my crotch, “you are pretty damn gay.”

He pulls me off the wall, glaring into my face for a minute. “You’re disgusting,” he mutters, smacking a hand across my cheek. I stumble to the floor.

“Go,” he orders. I can’t move. “I said fucking go, you goddamn fag.” That does it. I scramble up, past him and the ugly smirk plastered across his face, Sunlight attacks me again, people rushing past me in their haste to get to some anonymous destination with some faceless suit. The brown envelope is still clasped tightly in my hand.

“See all those people on the ground, wasting time. I try to hold it all inside, just for tonight.”

***

“Andrew Willis, convicted of eleven charges of various abuse onto Mr. Callum Willis and Ms. Elizabeth Sullivan on fifth of June, 1996.” Fuck. I read it again. And again. And again, until the words merge together, pushing themselves into my head. Below that first sentence, there’s a detailed list of charges. Rape. Domestic violence. Rape. Violence. Drunk and disorderly. Violence, violence, violence.

There’s an old photo of him taped at the top. I touch it carefully.

Could this man really be my father? My father. Fucking with my brother, my mother. Abuse. June 1996… I was five years old then. Five fucking years old, and I had no idea?

I keep reading, forcing myself to. There are conversations recorded, spilling onto other sheets in the file. Between my brother, my mother, my father, between detectives and witness, policemen and prison men. I read through them all carefully, gradually feeling sicker and sicker until I can’t read anymore, I just can’t. I shut the file, shut my eyes, rest my head back against the tree my body’s leaning on. This is too much, too fucking much. I can feel my cheeks burning slightly with the effort of holding it all back. I don’t want to cry in some fucking park all by myself.

“I try to laugh about it, cover it all up with lies…”

It’s too goddamn late for wants and don’t wants.

Tears push out of the corner of my eyes. I rub my forehead angrily, willing them to stay back.

“Are you alright?” a female voice asks.

“I try to laugh about it…”

“I’m fine, goddamn fine,” I mutter.

“Hiding the tears in my eyes…”

I look up. There’s a bird somewhere in the tree mocking me, laugh laugh laughing its tiny little head off. There’s no-one else even close to me. I find myself praying I didn’t just imagine her.

I’ve got to get home.

Wherever home is.

“'cause boys don't cry…”

***

“Scott? Hey, Scott, what’s up?” Callum’s voice calls after me. I’ve managed to churn all my feelings into something vaguely resembling anger, and I’m glad.

“Is it true?” I yell, glaring into his confused eyes.

“Is… is what true?” stutters Callum.

“This!” I yell, holding up the file, “what this says Dad did, is it true?”

Callum grabs the file from me, flicking through it for a minute, forehead creasing up before snapping it shut and staring at me. “Where did you get this?”

“I asked you first, Callum. Is it true?”

“And I’m asking you now, where did you fucking get this?” shouts Callum.

“I… Bert gave it to me,” I mutter, suddenly self-conscious.

“Bert gave it to you?” yells Callum, voice creeping up in volume, “Is that were you went? To meet Bert, of all people, even after what he did?”

“It’s not like that, I didn’t go to find him. Not on purpose. He… he found me.”

“Oh, fuck off. This is bloody important, so for once in your goddamn life, Scott, you’d better tell the truth.”

“I am!” now it’s my turn to scream again. “And if you were any kind of a brother, you’d know that! So you tell me the truth Callum, did Dad really do all that?”

Callum sits down on a chair, suddenly deflated, head falling forwards into his hands. “You weren’t supposed to find out…”

“So what, I was just meant to live my whole life with a wife beater, a goddamn rapist and never even know?”

“Scott, listen to me…”

“What, listen to the guy who’s lied to me for eleven fucking years?”

“Look, I can explain it all, you just have to listen to me.”

I glare at him, but don’t say anything. If he thinks he can fucking explain, I’m not going to stop him.

“Okay. Yes, it’s true-“ I open my mouth to say something, but Callum holds up a hand, stopping me. “It’s true. And you should’ve known, I should’ve told you. It’s just… it started when you were like, three, and I was eight. By the time it was over, you wouldn’t have understood. It was just easier to hide it from you.”

“It’s always fucking easier to hide, but easier doesn’t mean right.”

“I know it doesn’t. I’m sorry Scott, really. But look at you now; you’re a fucking mess. I didn’t want to force that on you unnecessarily.”

I breathe. Just breathe. He makes sense. He makes confused, horrible, goddamn annoying sense. “Where’s Kaden?”

“In your room, I guess.”

I don’t waste a moment in pushing open the door and slamming it behind me. Kaden’s lying on the bed, eyes closed, legs sprawled out across the covers. He’s still fast asleep, bless him. I walk over slowly, trying to tread as carefully as possible, and rest a hand on his hair, leaning down to kiss his forehead. His skin feels cold against my lips.

I draw back in confusion, and murmur his name. No answer. I say it again, louder, shaking his shoulder. Still no answer. Then again, and again, until I’m fucking screaming.

He’s still lying on the bed. But he’s not goddamn breathing.