Page 63 of Pretty Thing

We watch two of my favorite Christmas movies, and I laugh and cry through them both. I curl up next to Felix with a blanket over our legs, and his fingers softly running over the back of my neck. It’s such an innocent touch, and yet it is dangerously erotic.

“Felix, will you tell me about your family,” I ask as the credits roll up the screen.

I can’t get what Kris said out of my head, despite feeling it is ridiculous to presume the worst of someone just because of what their parent has done. I now have this urge to know what happened.

“What do you want to know?”

“You said you didn’t have a good home life. What do you mean?”

Felix turns away and sits up. He looks like he’s ready to run away from the emotional conversation. This time I’m the one cupping his cheeks and forcing him to face me. My side aches, but I ignore it and focus on the dejected look in his eyes.

“You said you need me, so let me in. Let me be here for you.”

He sighs.

“I’m scared to tell you,” Felix admits.

“Why?”

“What if you want nothing to do with me? What if I lose you?”

The agony in his question tugs at my heart.

“You won’t,” I say with conviction, realizing I mean it.

No matter how terrible his father was or is, it’s not right to paint Felix with the same brush.

He stares at me for a long time, trying to decide if he can trust me. Finally, he nods. I sit up and wince the tiniest amount, but Felix is already up and grabbing the footstool.

“You need to keep it elevated,” he says, lifting my ankle and placing it gently down.

Then he begins to pace. Arms crossed over his body, and head down. My neck is getting a kink from watching him. Felix runs a hand down his face as he stops in the middle of the room and hits me with a look that I cannot decipher.

“My father was very abusive. Mentally and physically. There were no limits to his cruelty. He was an electrician with his own company and made a lot of money, but he spent it all at the bar, gambling and I’m sure other women. Yet…he always acted like we were ruining his life.”

Felix rolls out his shoulders, obviously uncomfortable with the topic, but he doesn’t stop.

“He beat my mother on the regular, and when she found out she was pregnant again…I can remember her crying in the bathroom. So, right or wrong, she started seeing someone else and planned to leave my father. I was nine at the time. One morning after my father left for work, Mum packed up my things, and we ran. Her voice was shaking, and her hands were trembling. She was so scared. But we got away. George was a decent guy, and for a couple months my life was normal or at least more normal than what I’d always known.”

Felix pauses and takes a shuddering breath.

“What we didn’t know, or at least I didn’t, was that my father freaked out when he came home to an empty house. He had been looking for us non-stop. When he finally found us, he went crazy. He burst into George’s house with a gun. I tried to stop him from hurting anyone. I knew he was going to kill Mum and George. He had this look in his eyes, like the devil had taken over his body. He pistol-whipped me, which caused this scar.”

I cover my mouth as he points to a scar running vertical through his eyebrow. It looks so innocent, like it could’ve been from any childhood accident. But no, he was hit in the head with a gun by his father. I can’t even imagine my father yelling, let alone doing something like that.

“I fell and hit my head on the coffee table.” Felix turns his head to the side and spreads his hair enough that I can see a faint line. “Apparently, I’m lucky to be alive. I don’t remember much after that. What I do know is that George tried to protect my mother while she called the police. My mother grabbed me, pulled me out of the house, and got me into the car. George wasn’t so lucky. My father shot him six times and then came after us. Mum was taking me to the hospital, and I was still very dazed, but vaguely remember lying in the backseat while she was on the phone.”

Felix stops and takes a deep breath.

“He’s going to kill us. I don’t know if my son is breathing. Please help us. She begged, and then I was out again. In a rage, my father followed us to the hospital. It ended in a showdown with the police. They shot him in the leg, and now he is in prison for life.”

“Felix, oh my god. I’m so sorry.”

He raises his hand to stop me from jumping up.

“Let me get this out,” he says, tongue running over his lip piercing. “My brother was born five months later. My mother legally owned the company, so when my father went to prison, she sold it and paid off our house. When she passed away, the house was mine. I sold it and used the money from the estate as a down payment to purchase the building I live in. I opened my tattoo shop on the first floor. That is when I became the sole caregiver for my brother, and now, he’s gone too.”

He puts his hands on his hips.