Scars of his father

Chapter 4 A MAN WHO STOPPED FIGHTING

Selma jerked awake when something crashed in the kitchen. For one confused second, darkness swallowed everything around him.

Then came the sound again, glass rolling across the floor. A chair scraping roughly, His chest tightened instantly.

“Dad?”

No answer, only heavy footsteps. Selma pushed off his thin blanket and hurried toward the bedroom door. The apartment sat in darkness except for the weak yellow light glowing from the kitchen.

Rain hammered softly outside, The clock above the television read 2:17 a.m. Rafael stood near the sink gripping the counter with both hands.

His work shirt hung halfway out of his trousers. Rainwater dripped from his sleeves onto the floor. A nearly empty whiskey bottle rested beside him, Selma froze.

The smell hit him first, strong enough to sting his nose. Rafael turned slightly at the sound of movement, His eyes looked swollen, Red veins stretched across the whites.

For a moment he simply stared at Selma as if struggling to recognize him. Then he forced a tired smile.

“Sorry,” he muttered hoarsely. “Did I wake you?”

Selma glanced at the broken glass near the fridge. “It’s okay.” Rafael bent slowly, trying to pick up the shattered pieces, His fingers missing twice.

“Leave it,” Selma said quickly but Rafael kept reaching anyway.

The whiskey bottle tipped slightly beside him. Selma had never seen his father drunk before, not really. Maybe once during Christmas celebrations years ago but not like this.

Not standing barefoot in the middle of the kitchen at two in the morning looking like a man held together by exhaustion alone. Rafael finally grabbed one piece of glass successfully.

Blood appeared instantly across his fingertip. He stared at it blankly, then laughed softly to himself, a strange laugh.

Empty, Selma’s stomach twisted. “Dad” “I’m fine.” But his voice sounded far away. Rafael dropped the glass into the trash bin and reached for the bottle instead.

The liquid burned sharply through the silence as he swallowed. Selma watched his throat move. Once, twice.

Then Rafael lowered the bottle slowly and leaned both palms against the sink, His head bowed. For several seconds neither of them spoke.

The apartment felt smaller these days. Even the walls seemed tired. The bedroom door opened suddenly. Matilde stepped out wearing a silk nightgown, irritation already written across her face.

“What is this noise?” Her eyes landed on Rafael. Then the bottle, Disgust twisted her expression instantly.

“Oh wonderful,” she muttered. “Now you come home drunk.” Rafael said nothing, Matilde folded her arms tightly.

“You couldn’t embarrass yourself enough already?” Still nothing, Selma looked between both parents carefully, Normally Rafael would apologize.

Or explain himself or beg the argument to stop. Tonight he simply stared at the sink silently while rainwater dripped from his sleeves. Matilde clicked her tongue.

“Look at you.” Rafael’s jaw tightened slightly, barely noticeable but Selma saw it, “You smell like a bar.” Silence.

“Did you even go to work today?” Rafael finally answered without looking up, “Yes.” “Doing what exactly? Drinking with mechanics?”

His grip around the sink tightened, Selma noticed the whiteness in his knuckles but Rafael remained quiet, Matilde laughed coldly.

“I honestly don’t know what I saw in you.” That did it, Not loudly, Not dramatically. Something simply faded from Rafael’s face like a light shutting off, He lifted the bottle again and drank longer this time, Matilde scoffed.

“You think alcohol will solve your problems?”

Rafael wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, “No.” His voice sounded rough from whiskey and exhaustion, “Nothing solves them anymore.”

The room fell silent after that. Even Matilde seemed caught off guard briefly, Rafael pushed himself away from the sink slowly and walked toward the small dining table.

His movements looked heavier now. Slower, like each step required effort. He sat down carefully and stared at nothing, the whiskey bottle rested between both hands.

Selma remained standing nearby unsure what to do. Matilde shook her head, “You’re unbelievable.” Rafael’s eyes stayed fixed ahead, empty.

“You know what?” Matilde continued. “Maybe this is better. At least drunk men don’t pretend to be useful.” Selma’s chest tightened painfully, He waited for Rafael to react, to defend himself.

To yell anything but Rafael only reached for the bottle again. Matilde laughed bitterly. “There he goes.” The sound of liquid pouring into Rafael’s mouth echoed through the apartment.

Selma looked away, Something about seeing his father like this felt wrong. Too intimate, too painful. Matilde noticed the untouched food container near the stove and sighed dramatically.

“So you didn’t even bring food?”

Rafael blinked slowly as if the question came from very far away, “What?” “The groceries.” Silence. Then Rafael rubbed one hand over his face tiredly.

“I forgot.” Matilde stared at him in disbelief. “You forgot?”

Rafael closed his eyes briefly. “I’m tired, Matilde.” “Tired?” she snapped. “Everybody is tired!”

Rafael’s breathing deepened. Still he said nothing, Matilde stepped closer now. “You lose money, you lose focus. Now you drink.” Her voice sharpened. “What exactly do you contribute to this family?”

Selma saw Rafael flinch again. Small, Almost invisible but it happened and suddenly Selma hated his mother for noticing weakness the way hunters noticed blood.

She always struck harder once she found it. Rafael opened his eyes slowly, For the first time that night, he looked directly at Matilde.

“I’m trying not to die,” he whispered.

The words stunned the room, Matilde blinked, Selma stopped breathing.

Rafael looked down immediately afterward as if he regretted speaking at all. Rain continued tapping softly against the windows, Somewhere outside, dogs barked in the distance, Matilde recovered first.

“Oh please,” she muttered. “Stop acting pathetic.”

Rafael laughed softly again, that same empty laugh. Then he stood up suddenly, too fast. The chair nearly tipped over behind him, Selma rushed forward instinctively.

“Dad” “I’m okay.” But Rafael swayed slightly before catching himself against the wall.

Up close, Selma could see the deep shadows beneath his father’s eyes. The unshaven beard, The exhaustion, Rafael looked like he hadn’t truly slept in weeks. Without another word, he walked toward the living room couch instead of the bedroom.

Matilde frowned immediately. “You’re sleeping there?” Rafael grabbed the thin blanket hanging over the couch arm.

“Yes.” “Fine by me.” Her response came too quickly, too easily.

Rafael paused briefly, Selma wondered if those words hurt him but Rafael no longer reacted the same way anymore, That frightened Selma most.

His father was disappearing slowly right in front of him. Not physically, Something deeper. Rafael lowered himself onto the couch carefully and pulled the blanket over his body.

The whiskey bottle remained clutched loosely in one hand. Matilde turned away dismissively and walked back toward the bedroom.

A few seconds later, the door slammed shut. Silence returned again, Selma remained standing in the middle of the apartment staring at his father.

The television reflected faint blue light across the room though it wasn’t even turned on. Rafael’s eyes stayed open, Fixed on the ceiling. After several long seconds, Selma walked quietly toward him.

“Dad?” Rafael blinked slowly. “Hm?”

Selma hesitated. Then softly, “You can sleep in my room if you want.” Something moved across Rafael’s face instantly. Pain, love, regret.

He reached out slowly and rested his rough hand against Selma’s cheek. His palm smelled faintly of engine oil and whiskey. “You’re a good boy,” Rafael whispered.

Selma swallowed hard, Rafael’s hand dropped away moments later, then quietly almost too quietly to hear.

He said: “Don’t become like me.”