I had to win.
The homecoming game had been full of so much positive energy. I’d wanted to enjoy it, but I couldn’t. I had to win this game. I couldn’t lose. Losing wasn’t an option.
Pinkie and Zero were there in the crowd to cheer me on. They came to watch me. Just as Mila had; she smiled and waved at me, and I turned my back on her. Because they weren’t the only people there to see me play.
The Amato family was there too. Johnny and Carlo. They are the two thugs who seem to come visit when they want something from me. They’re a noose around my neck, and I’m barely breathing. But no one catches on. No one can see this secret I hold close to my chest. Except Mila. I can’t get anything past her. That’s why I need to turn my back on her; show no emotion, and she won’t get hurt.
But I failed. I did everything right, but our defense crumbled. I scored. I did my best, but Grady couldn’t hold them back. He had an off game.
We lost…and now I’m paying for it.
I look up into Carlo’s eyes; they’re cold and calculating as he cocks his head. He presses the gun against my head a little harder. The cold metal digs in more, and all I can think of is her. The way her face lights up when she sees me, like I’m her favorite person in the world.
Johnny is yelling, and I see Mila running from me, laughing. Wearing that pretty white dress as we pick daisies together. A fist to the jaw has my head spinning to the side, and I see her giggling as she blows on a dandelion, and we watch as the seeds spiral away into the wind.
“Make a wish,” she says in that sweet voice.
And I smile. I wish to be happy…I wish for this to be over.
“What the fuck you grinning at, kid?” Carlo spits at me, and I’m back to reality. Where there is no happy, and no end.
I’m pushed to the floor. I groan and spit up blood. The sound of boots stomping as they leave the trailer barely registers. My father—the worthless piece of shit—is staring at me as I roll around, groaning. I hurt everywhere.
I can see him moving his lips, but I can’t hear him. A blow to the side of my head has my ears still ringing as I blink up at him, a broken son lying on the floor. Wishing he had one caring bone in his body to protect me. To fight for me. But why now, after sixteen, almost seventeen, years would he care for me?
Such a sad way to die. Here, in this shitty trailer, on a dirty carpet with my father yelling at me about drugs, because that’s all he cares about. What else is he going to yell or talk to me about?
I close my eyes and sleep.
I wake to sunlight and my father sleeping in his chair. I watch his chest rise and fall, wishing it wouldn’t. I’ve been here all night, lying here, bleeding and injured, and he didn’t help.
I struggle to get up. They did a lot of damage, mostly internal. I guess they don’t want to fully kill me. Just teach me a lesson. So I can fight for them again, play football, be their toy monkey.
I drag myself to my room and lie on my bed. The pain in my left hand is unbearable. Looking down, I see two of my fingers are dislocated, and I think they fractured my little finger. I bite down on my pillow as I put them back in place.
With a muffled roar, I pass out from the pain.
I hear my father. It’s night again. I’m still not dead. I haven’t eaten or had anything to drink in twenty-four hours. Last night, I got back after the game and was met by Carlo and Johnny.
My body shakes from the lack of everything. I feel hot and clammy. I’m thirsty, so thirsty. I get up, my body screaming at me as I make my way to the kitchen to get some water and food, if I can stomach it.
“Oh good, you’re up. We’re out of beer. I need cash.”
I waver on my feet and blink over at him, seeing two of him. Fuck. I hold on to a chair as my head spins, and I feel a hot flush run through my body. I think I’m about to faint.
“Did you hear me, boy?”
When I don’t answer, he gets up and shoves me. I stumble back and crash onto the floor. I try to concentrate on breathing as my vision grows dark, and I don’t want to pass out in front of him. He’ll probably beat me while I’m unconscious.
“You gonna die?” he asks casually, like he’s asking about the weather.
I look up at him. The eyes reflecting back make me shiver.
“If so, tell me where you stash your cash so I can get beer.”
I scream. Everything I have, I scream at him…at the world. “Fuck you!” I’m done.
I get up and shove him. He takes a swing, and I block it. I hit him as he stumbles, but he doesn’t seem to register the hit, the drugs in his system making him feel nice and good. While every bone in my body screams at me in pain.
Only, I don’t have the energy to fight him, and he gets in a few cheap shots. I stumble my way back to my room. He’s screaming out at me, calling me a pussy. If anyone’s the pussy, it’s him. Only a weak man would beat down his injured son.
I listen to him rant and rave for ten minutes before I pick up my phone and dial Mila.
I need her to be safe, and if I’m not here anymore, she’ll be safe…right? When I’m no longer an Amato puppet, there will be no reason to hurt her. I need her to know how much I love her. That she’s my world; I only exist for her.
But as soon as I hear her voice, I know I can’t. I can’t leave her here alone with men like my father and the Amato family out there. She needs someone to protect her. I have to fight for her.
“Roman?” she calls out, and I whisper the words I have wanted to tell her every day since she gave me that very first hug.
“I love you.” I disconnect the call and turn off my phone.
A tear rolls down my face, and I wipe it away. My hair covers my eyes, so I brush it back behind my ear and sag into the mattress. Closing my eyes, I see her splashing water at me and messing up my hair, just so she can push it behind my ear.
Her giggles, the way she scrunches her nose at pineapple on pizza. The way she bites her lip when she’s thinking, the way that…
I love Mila Hart.
