"Have you been going through my books?" he asked, his eyes filled with rising anger. "This wasn't where I put it."
I stood there dumb struck.
"He pay you to screw me and then take my stuff? Is that it? You didn't think I'd find out because you both thought I was dumber than the two of you."
The downward arc of the yearbook snapped me out of it. I moved back as it whistled past me.
"I don't know what's wrong with you," I screamed. "I did look through that book because I wanted to know...something about you! You never let me in! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snoop. I saw the pictures of your mother."
He eased up at the mention of his mother.
"My mother."
I carefully took the book out of his hand. "She was quite pretty."
"Yes."
He was calming down. I didn't want to make him angry, so, I lied about the things I'd read in his journal. "Have you talked to her recently?"
"She's dead."
I put my arms around him but he didn't move. His body was like ice. Frozen and stone cold. "I'm sorry," I said, unsure what to do next.
"Me too. She and my Grandmother raised me."
"What about your father?"
I felt the ice suddenly become rage. He stepped away.
"My Grandmother said my father was an evil man. He beat and raped my mother. She got pregnant with...me."
"Was he arrested?"
"No. He had connections with the police, so, they just let him walk."
Something told me he was lying-- either to himself or to me. "Do you know his name?"
"Why are you asking so many questions?" he pondered.
"I care about you and want to help."
He pulled away. "No, you don't. You're here to see what I know," his fists were balling up.
I moved out of the way just as he began to swing.
I ran to the door and left.
I heard his fists pounding the door as I fled.
