Chapter 4

"So, Avery," his dad's voice slid over him from behind him as he made his father's dinner of hamburger helper. Avery tensed as his father's hand crept to his neck, gripping it tightly. Wisely, he put the spatula down and turned off the stove before anything could splatter.

"Y-yes?" he stammered.

His dad's grip slid up his head to tighten in his hair before he yanked his head back. "I hear you're still grieving over your mother."

Oh, fuck, of course the school had called his dad.

"She left us, you little shit! She fucking fell in love with another man and left us!" he snapped, yanking his hair again. "You're an ungrateful bastard, you know that! With everything I do for you! Get your ass downstairs!"

Avery froze. Oh, God, no. No, no, no.

He felt himself shoved toward the basement door, stumbling before he recovered enough to try to fight.

"No, no, dad," he felt tears starting to form in his eyes, as he tried to dig in his heels on the slick linoleum. "I didn't mean... it was just a mistake--"

"I'll teach you a mistake!" he roared, dragging Avery down the stairs to the cold unfinished basement.

Avery tried to pull back as his father grabbed his thin arm and dragged him across the basement floor. But the slender teen could not match the strength of his father's bulk, he never had. His father's form towered over him by almost a foot as he grabbed the chain hanging from the middle of the basement ceiling, quickly snapping one of the rings of the leather brace on his wrist to the hook on the chain--and this was one of the times he hated these stupid things.

"Dad, no, please," he begged, which he knew better than to do. It only made his dad more excited, more angry, but he couldn't help it. His father grabbed his other wrist, no matter how much he flailed trying to keep it away from him, but still caught and snapped it in place with the other.

Avery felt one of the hot tears escape from the corner of his eye and leak down his cheek as he hung from the chain.

His father's hands drifted up under his shirt, raking his calloused fingers over his ribs. Avery could feel the cold air seeping across his bones as his shirt rode up his torso and over his head. His father tucked it behind his neck out of the way.

"Your school seems to think maybe I need to talk to you," his father stated, sliding his hand back down his ribs to the waistband of his jeans. "They are worried that maybe you need a little extra looove right now," he sneered.

Avery clamped his mouth shut, letting his head fall forward to use his hair to block his father's view. Nothing he said would do any good now anyway. He was so totally screwed.

As the button and zipper gave way on his jeans, Avery couldn't help but let a whimper escape.

"I'll make sure you get all the love you need. And we have all weekend now to 'talk' about what's bothering you," his father crooned, as his hands slid the jeans from his son's waist. "Now, don't we, son?"

Avery buried his chin in his chest, trying to hide his humiliation. Fuck.

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Damn, it was cold. Avery struggled again to unhook his wrists, but he couldn't get any leverage. He wondered how long his father would leave him down here this time. The blood and... other fluids... running down his legs didn't help any either.

When he coughed, he felt his ribs jar and winced at the sudden pain. He couldn't tell how many new bruises he had and just hoped he didn't have a broken rib. But damn if it didn't feel like it. Sniffling in the cold, he tried to relax his stiff shoulders.

It had to be near morning soon.

He heard footsteps above him, and for once, prayed that his father remembered him. Sometimes when his father was in one of these manic moods, it was hard to tell what he'd do next, and he usually hoped the man would just forget about him. As a chill raced through him again, he heard the basement door open and he sighed in relief.

"Hey, boy, good morning," his father greeted as if he weren't hanging naked from the ceiling. "I trust you feel better about missing your mother."

"Y-yes, s-sir," he stammered in the chill.

As his father released his arms, Avery dropped to the floor, unable to stand on his numb legs. Feeling rushed back into his arms with a painful tingling sensation. He groaned as he tried to stand and grab his jeans that had been discarded on the floor.

"Come on, son. You're looking a little thin there," his father teased. "Let's get something in that belly of yours."

Avery managed to pull his shirt from behind his head and back over his torso as he stumbled up the stairs behind his father. There was oatmeal sitting on the table, and Avery moved slowly to sit at the table. He hated oatmeal. It was practically all his father ever fed him. Since it was cheap and he could buy it in bulk and it not go bad, his father stocked up on it. That and canned beans. Kept them in the 'Avery' cabinet. Beans--for protein, his father said--and oatmeal. Yay.

His father kept the rest of the food locked in the pantry, and Avery knew his father kept a tight eye on what was in the refrigerator. He'd eaten leftovers once after school--he'd never made that mistake again. The only thing he was glad of was that his father did put money on his lunch account at the beginning of each school year. While it wasn't enough for a full meal every day--not if he wanted it to last the whole school year, he was able to get by most days without feeling too hungry.

Avery felt his stomach churn as he glanced at the chilling oatmeal again. He slowly crawled into the chair, his spine and abs aching, his thighs feeling gross from the bodily fluids. He wanted a shower badly, but he managed to gulp down the thick, pasty cereal first. At this point, he didn't care what it tasted like. And since he hadn't eaten since yesterday, he knew he had to take any food he could when it was offered.

By the time he finished, his father had disappeared into the living room. It being Saturday, he was already sprawled out on the couch watching TV with a beer in his hand. Avery was able to creep past him to the stairs and made it to the bathroom. He turned on the hot shower and let the heat warm his freezing body.

After dressing in his baggy black jeans and layering a long sleeve t-shirt and sweatshirt, he gathered up his laundry to throw in the washer. A headache washed over him as he leaned over to pick up the detergent.

He finally got the washer running and returned to hide in his room. He crawled on his bed, pulling his ratty spiral notebook and a pencil with him. With his knees pulled up and the notebook relaxed on them, he let his pencil drift over the page, trying to escape the horror of the previous night. A half hour later, he saw familiar eyes staring at him from the page, a quirk in the lips. He blinked, not realizing he had drawn anything in particular--sometimes it was just shading boxes and lines. If he'd had a blue colored pencil, the drawing would be perfect.

"Avery!"

Crap. He tossed the notebook on the floor and hesitantly headed for the stairs. "Yes, sir?"

"We're out of beer," his father announced. "We need to go to the store."

So, go without me, you bastard. But Avery stepped heavily down the stairs. He knew his father liked dragging him to the stores where the neighbors and the rest of the town could see them as a bonding father and son, and him as an upstanding family man.

His father stepped by him on the stairs to change. Avery leaned against the wall in the foyer as he waited.

He heard his father on his phone before he came down the stairs.

"Of course, William," his father's pleasantly deep voice assured. "The property will be up for sale soon, and the Council will be voting on changing the zoning designation after the new year... Any chance of a deposit--?.... Yes, I understand. ... We'll get together later this week." He cast a quick glance at his son. "I have an offer for you that you might find interesting in the mean time. We can discuss it when we get together."

His father hung up as he reappeared in a polo shirt, khakis and loafers, and Avery barely managed to keep from rolling his eyes.

The grocery store was always the same--people would smile and wave at him and his father, his father would drape his arm protectively over his shoulder and greet them cordially. Avery kept a smile plastered on his face every time his father touched him. People saw what they wanted to see--the devoted father. No one ever saw the real man behind the facade.

"Hey, Carl!" someone called as his father picked out some ground beef. "How's the business going?"

Avery saw a flicker of worry cross his father's face before he plastered on a gracious smile. "Slow right now, Phil. But hoping for it to pick up soon. Working on a couple deals to bring in a little extra cash soon."

Avery frowned, but shrugged and turned to pick up his father's favorite pork chops. His father never spent any more money than he absolutely had to on his son, but Avery hadn't realized that his father might actually be hurting a little for money for himself recently. The man had always shown off how well he was doing in his clothes and dinners with clients and such.

Phil had grinned and patted Carl on the back. "Sounds good. Good Luck."

As his father waved at Phil, he pulled the pork chops back out of the cart and grabbed a cheaper cut. "No, get these. They're cheaper."

Avery noticed he got a package with only two cuts of meat, which he knew meant he wasn't getting any. Big surprise.

"Hi, Mr. Greene," one of his classmates greeted as he worked on stocking the shelves. Everyone seemed to know his father. Everyone thought he was so charming. Avery wanted to gag.

"Hello, Brice, how is your mom and dad?" Avery watched his father's congenial grin cause Brice to warm and smile back shyly.

"They're good. Thank you, sir. I hope you and, uh," the boy seemed to struggle to remember his name and Avery just rolled his eyes, trying to turn away. "Oh, uh, Avery are doing well."

He felt his father's arm wrap around him in a warm fatherly squeeze, and Avery forced his smile and leaned into his father's hug. "We're doing great. Thanks for asking."

Avery was grateful when the shopping trip was over. It was so strange to try to reconcile the personable, well-liked man everyone else saw with the one who... hurt... him in their home.