Chapter 4: Blood and Fury

“Shut the hell up!”

My fists clenched so tight my knuckles cracked. I wanted to break his jaw, wipe that smirk off his face forever. But I still had to find my dad’s medicine. No matter how hard I searched, it was nowhere.

I tore through drawers, knocked over a lamp, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The world shrank to the sound of my dad’s labored breathing and Marcus’s cruel laughter.

“What are you looking for? Oh, the medicine, right? Hey, is that what you’re looking for under the bed?”

Marcus giggled, pointing under the bed. I looked down—sure enough, the medicine was there.

He snickered, enjoying every second. I barely noticed, too desperate to care about his games.

I crawled under the bed like a dog and grabbed the medicine.

My knees scraped against the rough carpet, and for a second, I hated myself for how low I’d sunk.

“Dad, take your medicine!”

My hands shook as I poured out the pills, but it was too late. My dad lay motionless on the bed, eyes shut, tears at the corners of his eyes.

The pill bottle rattled uselessly in my palm. I tried to lift him, to shake him awake, but his skin was already growing cold. The tears on his face looked like they’d never dry.

“Dad!”

I pushed him. He didn’t respond.

I shouted his name again, the word coming out raw and ragged. It bounced around the empty room, echoing back at me, as useless as everything else I’d done that day.

“Dad, get up… what Marcus said is all lies, don’t be mad at me… get up, talk to me… get up! Get up!”

My voice shook. My head throbbed, like it was about to explode.

I gripped his shoulders, sobbing now, rocking back and forth. My mind refused to believe what my hands already knew.

“No way, he’s dead already? Your dad really can’t handle anything, can he?”

Marcus clutched his belly and laughed.

His laughter was louder, meaner, bouncing off the peeling walls. I wanted to make him pay, to make him hurt the way I hurt.

“Screw you!”

I turned and lunged at him, wrestling him to the ground. He cursed and fought back. I grabbed a rock nearby and smashed it down on his head—once, twice…

I barely felt the pain in my own arm. The world shrank to the thud of the rock and the blood that started to trickle down his forehead. All I saw was red.

“Derek, are you freaking crazy!”

Marcus clutched his head, screaming at me. I ignored him and kept hitting. I wanted to kill him.

For a moment, I didn’t care about anything but vengeance. The rage was electric, blinding. My knuckles grew slick with blood and sweat.

Marcus got scared. “Stop, stop… If you kill me, my family won’t let you off! Stop…”

His voice faded. Just then, Natalie suddenly rushed over, throwing herself over Marcus to shield him from me.

She dove between us, arms flung wide, tears streaking her cheeks. I saw the fear in her eyes, the terror at what I might do next.

“Derek, calm down! If you kill him, you’ll go to prison for life! Think about your future! Please, for my sake, stop…”

Her words barely registered through the haze of anger. I stared at her, the weight of everything pressing down, my breath coming in ragged gulps. All I could think was: for your sake? Who are you to ask that of me?

For your sake? Who do you think you are?

The question echoed in my head, louder than any siren. My arm tensed, the rock heavy in my grip. She looked up at me with wide, pleading eyes, but I was past the point of reason.

“Who do you think you are? Who the hell do you think you are! Get lost! Get the hell out!”

My voice was hoarse, cracked with pain. I shook off her hands, pushing her aside, the world a blur of red and regret.

I raised the rock, ready to smash it down on Natalie, but the police arrived just in time. Natalie had called the cops on her way to my house. She said she was afraid Marcus would cause trouble, but in the end, they came to arrest me instead.

Red and blue lights flooded the room. The officers wrestled the rock from my hands, cuffed me before I could say a word. I could hear my own heartbeat in my ears, pounding like thunder.

“Derek, I really didn’t mean to hurt you…” she said, grabbing my hand before I got in the police car.

Her hand was cold, her grip desperate. I didn’t pull away, but I didn’t squeeze back either. I just let her hang there, words echoing in the night air.

I looked at her calmly—just looked at her.

There was nothing left to say. I watched her face for a sign of guilt, of real remorse, but all I saw was pity and fear.

The police took me to the station and held me for twenty-four hours. Marcus’s mom made a huge scene at the station, saying I was hopeless, that I’d beaten her son twice, and that people like me should be locked up forever. The cops talked her down for a long time before she finally calmed down.

She showed up in a fur-lined coat, her voice shrill enough to make the walls vibrate. She threatened lawsuits and demanded I be locked away for life. The officers just looked tired, flipping through paperwork, glancing at the clock.

Marcus had his head bashed in and was lying unconscious in the hospital. I was sentenced to three years in prison. But because both my parents had died and someone needed to handle their affairs, the court allowed me to delay serving my sentence.

The judge looked over his glasses at me, voice flat. I sat in the back, numb, while lawyers tossed words like ‘mitigating circumstances’ around. None of it mattered. Nothing would ever be the same.

When I got home, my dad’s body was already cold. My mom’s body had been brought home, also cold. We had no relatives. I had to handle my parents’ funerals all by myself—buying caskets, paying people to carry them, sending them to the funeral home for cremation, buying urns… There were so many details to take care of. I’d never done it before and didn’t know if I was doing it right.

I spent hours on the phone with the funeral home, listening to a woman with a syrupy voice list out casket prices I couldn’t afford. I shuffled from office to office, filling out forms with shaky hands, my stomach twisted in knots. The funeral director offered fake sympathy, the kind that comes with a price tag. I signed receipts I couldn’t read through the tears.

But before all that, there was one more thing I had to do: borrow money. Without money, none of this could happen.

I checked the bottom of every drawer, every pocket of every old pair of jeans. Five bucks here, a handful of coins there. Not even enough for flowers. The world seemed built to kick you when you’re down.

Just as I was thinking about this, Natalie came to my house. She walked up timidly, reaching out to pat my back. I brushed her hand away.

Her jacket was too clean, her shoes out of place among the mud and dust on our porch. She hovered at the threshold, unsure if she should come in or not.

“You look really sad,” she said.

Her words hung in the air, pointless and obvious, like telling rain it was wet.

“Get lost.” I didn’t want to say a word to her.

My voice was barely more than a whisper, but it cut through the silence. I kept my back turned, staring at the funeral bill clutched in my hand.

“Derek, I’m sorry…” Natalie cried. She took out seventy bucks from her pocket and handed it to me. “This is all my Christmas money left from last year. I’ll give it all to you. I hope it helps.”

She pressed the bills into my palm. The money felt hot, like it burned my skin, but I didn’t let go. My pride screamed at me to throw it back in her face, but hunger and grief drowned out everything else. I wanted to throw the bills back in her face, but I needed them more than I needed pride. That was the worst part.

I turned to look at her. I really wanted to ask, “What the hell are you pretending to be so noble for?” But I didn’t. With trembling hands, I took the money and stuffed it in my pocket. I needed money. I really needed money.

I looked down at the peeling linoleum, at my battered sneakers, and swallowed hard. Sometimes survival leaves no room for dignity.

“Thank you.” I gritted my teeth and forced out those two words.

I took out a faded wallet from my pocket. It was a birthday gift from my dad. Wallets like this aren’t popular anymore, but my dad had saved up to buy it for me. I really liked it.

I ran my thumb along the frayed edges, remembering the way he’d wrapped it in old comics instead of gift paper. It was the only thing I had left of him.

“I only have five bucks in cash. I’ll give it to you first. After I finish my mom’s funeral, I’ll go out to work and pay you back little by little.”

I handed the money to Natalie, but she didn’t take it. She wanted to stay and help with chores, but I refused. Before she left, she turned back to look at me.

She lingered at the door, her breath steaming in the winter air. Her hand hesitated on the knob, like she wanted to say something more, but she just left instead.

“Derek, I’m glad you can accept me again.”

The words stuck in my chest long after she left, like a splinter I couldn’t dig out.

As they slammed the cuffs on, I caught one last glimpse of Marcus’s bloody grin. For a second, I wondered if this was what he’d wanted all along.