Bad Moon Rising Read Online Free PDF Page B

the magazine from the desk,
Patrick leaped from the chair and spun around to face her.
    “Oh my God,” she repeated, her face blanched of color
and her eyes wide with horror as she stared at the photographs in her shaking
hands. “What in God’s name—”
    “What happened to knocking?” he shouted, embarrassment
turning his face red.
    “Where did you get this trash?”
    He glared at her, a gazillion excuses scrambling in
his brain.
    “Answer me, Patrick. Where did you get—”
    “None of your business,” he finally managed, unable to
come up with anything more appropriate at the moment. It was a kid’s right of
birth to turn the tables on his parents when caught with his pants down, so to
speak. To acknowledge one’s own guilt went against the laws of nature.
    “I beg your pardon? None of my business? I find my son
with a pornographic magazine and it’s none of my business?”
    “What’s it matter? I got it, okay?” He shoved by her
and walked to his bed, flopped onto his back, and stared at the ceiling. Genius
or not, there were times when playing stupid was essential to pubescent
survival. “What’s the big deal, anyhow?”
    She sank into the chair. “The big deal is, you’re
sixteen years old—”
    “Sixteen and a half.”
    “You’ve got no business looking at this kind of perversion.”
    He might have continued the argument had his mother’s
voice not begun to tremble. She obviously was on the verge of crying, and if
anything could stop him cold and fill him up with raw, ragged, and bloody
regret, it was his mom crying. Anger and rebelliousness took a backseat to
guilt when it came to disappointing his mother. And although he seemed to be
doing that a lot these days, he just couldn’t help himself. Just like he couldn’t
help not destroying the piece of smut that intrigued him as much as infuriated
him.
    His mother rolled the magazine into a tube while her
gaze continued to bore a hole into him. He wondered if this would be the
impetus for her to finally lose control and start yelling like most parents
when they got pissed at their kids. Often he listened to his friend’s tales of
parental terror with envy. They were normal, and normal intrigued him. Life in
the Damascus household had never been normal.
    “I just don’t know what to do with you anymore,” she
said.
    He watched a model of a stealth fighter slowly rotate
above him.
    “What’s happened to us, Patrick? We used to be so
close. You used to talk to me.”
    “Guess I don’t have anything to say.”
    “Why are you so angry? What have I done?”
    Come into my room without knocking, for one.
    “First I get this call from the principal at your
school, now this.” She tapped the tube on the desk. “I suppose I should speak
to your father—”
    “He won’t give a damn. Why bother?”
    “Stop cursing.”
    “Everyone curses. Even the geeks. What’s the big deal?”
    “Because you’re only—”
    “Sixteen. God, why can’t I be eighteen? Then I could
get the hell out of here.” He rolled to his side, offering his mother his back.
“It sucks here. I hate it. I want to go live with Uncle J.D. He’s cool.”
    His mother crossed the room and sat on the bed beside
him. She touched his shoulder.
    “J.D. comes to my soccer games,” he continued. “We
watch videos together when I’m at his place. He doesn’t treat me like I’m a
stupid kid.”
    “I’d miss you,” she said softly.
    He rolled again to his back and focused on her eyes. “You
could come, too. And Amber.”
    She forced a smile. “Move in just like that, huh?”
    “Why not?”
    “Because I’m married to your father.”
    “So get a divorce.” Her eyebrows lifted.
    “Why not? You two don’t love each other. Not anymore.”
    A deep red flush crept up her face. “You’re not
denying it,” he pointed out. “Because it’s ridiculous.”
    He gently placed his hand on her back, felt her
stiffen. “It’s okay, Mom. I don’t blame you. He treats you