Vampire Dancing by J. K. Gray

halfway through it. Almost time for Mom - the slave - to make another appearance. He sat quiet for a while, watching the sell-o-vision guys line up fish hooks with a tape measure. I had no idea why the hell it mattered to measure everything on these shopping channels. I bet the male presenters constantly measured their pricks.
    “Jean!”
    There he goes again .
    “Jean!”
    Mom appeared in the doorway. "Another beer?"
    “Pour me a Scotch.”
    Oh Jesus, no .
    Mom looked like she'd just been gut-punched, and hard.
    “Are you sure you really need that?” she said. Her voice sounded distant and frightened. She already knew the answer; already knew what the response was going to be, yet she had to ask anyway.
    Dad sat forward and looked around at Mom. He slung an arm across the top of the sofa.
    “C'mere,” he said.
    Mom just stood in the doorway, nervously fumbling around with her hands.
    “I said come here .”
    Mom slowly approached the back of the sofa.
    “Round the front,” he said.
    I wanted to look away .
    Mom rounded the sofa and stood by the table.
    “Hey - don't you want that Scotch?” she asked, her voice faltering.
    Dad handed Mom his beer. “Drink it.”
    Mom shook her head, forced a smile. “I - I'm not really in the mood.”
    “I said drink it .”
    Mom's fake smile faded. She took the bottle from Dad and raised it to her lips. Her hand was trembling. She took a little sip.
    “ All of it ,” he said.
    She tipped more beer into her mouth and down her throat. She didn't like the taste and made a face.
    I looked away for a moment. The floor lamp in the corner of the room caught my attention. Something was fluttering inside the dented bright cream shade. Probably a moth. They were always getting in.
    “Sit down,” Dad said to Mom.
    “You sure you don't want that Scotch?” she asked, no doubt regretting she ever questioned his request for the poison.
    “What I want is for you to sit down.”
    She placed the empty bottle on the table and did as she was told.
    Dad was going to do something horrible to her. I didn't know what, but I knew it was going to happen. My mouth was dry and my heart was pounding. Would he notice if I sneaked away?
    Only one way to find out .
    I quietly got up from my chair and headed for the door. I expected him to ask where I thought I was going. But he never did.
    I made it safely to the bathroom and bolted the door. There was a small plastic cup by the sink. I filled it with water and took several gulps. After that, I splashed water over my face and stared at my reflection in the medicine cabinet. I could barely connect with the image staring back at me. On the surface, I was growing up fast - sixteen years old in a couple of months - but inside I still felt like a little boy.
    A nerve in my upper right eyelid began to twitch. It had never done that before. It felt strange. I focused on that eyelid in the mirror. I could see it spasm. I reached up and placed a finger over it. When I took it away, it started to jerk around again. I didn't like the sensation, and hoped it would soon stop.
    I decided to pat dry my damp face.
    There was no hand-towel on the rail.
    Typical .
    I dabbed my face with my navy blue t-shirt instead.
    I'd escaped the living room, but things weren't much better in the bathroom. I needed all the space I could get - felt like I was drowning in the sound of my old man's verbal abuse - yet here I was, locked in a room not much bigger than a fucking phone booth.
    I looked around. The once bright shower curtain was full of damp spores and green paint was flaking from the walls. The cheap linoleum under my feet was worn to the floorboards.
    I wanted to tear down the walls and scream; ran my fingers through my hair and paced the small area.
    It suddenly occurred to me that Dad wasn't shouting or going on the rampage; wasn't sure if this didn't freak me out even more. I pressed my ear to the door. I could hear him saying something. I could also hear Mom. She