Work Text:
Calvin O'Keefe knew that he was in trouble right when he heard the door open.
His father had been out later than normal, which probably meant he'd been drinking. He had also just received Calvin's report cards in the mail. Those two situations combined did not project tonight going well for him.
Calvin had a mantra for these times.
He repeated it now, over and over again in his head. Stay calm. Stay obedient. Stay quiet. Stay calm. Stay obedient. Stay quiet. The repetition and the rhythm helped him stick to its warnings.
Sometimes.
Stay calm, he repeated mentally. Stay obedient. Stay-
"CALVIN!"
Oh no.
"CALVIN," his father hollered again as he staggered into the living room, practically pulsing with anger, "what have I taught you, boy? B. B minus. B minus." Calvin's blood ran cold, and he started to shake a little bit. He knew what was about to happen, what came next. His mantra forgotten, two other words pulsated though his mind- oh no oh no oh no oh no.
"I'm s-s-sorry, Dad- Sir- I tried, I promise!" Calvin stammered and shuffled backward across the living room floor. He was waiting for the last straw. And then, in slow motion, he saw his father's eyes narrow, and his face grow pale, then red. Calvin started to tremble more violently. He knew what was coming. Oh no oh no oh no- no no no no no no no-
"A D!?" His father thundered. "A D in algebra?" Calvin could see his drunken rage seething beneath his skin, behind his eyes. Calvin went felt his face go white, and all coherence left his mind. He hated this part the most. More than the pain, more than the words- he hated that every time, every single time, he was reduced to a shaking, trembling, stammering heap of fear and regret. That one word was spinning, reeling in his mind again, more and more still no no no no no nonononononononono-
And then, his father had his hand in a fist, and then that fist was being pounded mercilessly against his body, and then he was sobbing incoherently, tears streaming down his pale, terrified face. He couldn't form words anymore, and his father was yelling, screaming, and it was all a blur of pain and hate and fear.
He would never be used to this.
Meg Murry was an observant girl. All the Murrys were. And so, when her best friend Calvin showed up at her locker on Monday morning with a plaster smile and bloodshot eyes, she couldn't help but wonder what was wrong.
"Calvin, are you alright?" He looked at her with vacant, slightly bloodshot eyes. His face was paler than usual, and he looked like a deer in headlights at her question.
"I'm fine, Meg." He collected his face again, and his lips curled upward in a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
His beautiful eyes.
Meg thought that without realizing what its implications were for a few seconds. Once she came to, she pushed the thought aside, as there were more issues to attend to. The school bell rung- time for first period English- and Calvin seemed grateful for the excuse to start moving.
Except- was that a limp?
Meg was instantly on edge. What had happened to him? Was he okay? How could she help? Calvin wasn't some equation she could figure out. People could surprise you in ways math and physics couldn't. But she was determined to unravel him all the same.
---
Ten minutes later, in English class, Meg watched Calvin intensely. They were supposed to be doing a worksheet, but Calvin was staring at nothing at all. His eyes were unfocused again, and he was sweating profusely. Meg watched, scared, confused, and sad, as the boy in front of her began to tremble slightly. He raised his hand, and asked his their teacher, Ms. Remora (who was at her desk reading) to go to the bathroom, in another false normal voice. The boy could fake it like a pro. These little things, the sweating, the slight twitching, the paleness in his face- Meg was confident she was the only one who could spot them, and she didn't know how she felt about that.
As soon as she could without arousing suspicion, Meg excused herself to go to the bathroom. Once she left the classroom, she realized she didn't know where she was going- Calvin could have gone anywhere. She had just turned in the direction of the boys' gym locker room on a gut feeling when she heard a soft, strangled sob from that direction. She looked left and right, making sure none of the faculty was watching, and then she walked briskly to the locker room door and opened it.
She almost broke down crying right then.
Calvin, the boy who had endured Camazotz, the boy who had stood by her in the face of everything, the boy who was nice to her when no one else was. Calvin. Calvin, the boy who had done everything he could to be there for her and her family, the boy who was so strong and so brave- was sitting on the bench in the center of the room, shaking, almost convulsing, face in his hands, sobbing and heaving almost silently. He was shirtless, and now Meg could see what had been causing all that pain- he was covered in blue and purple bruises, some bloody, some swollen. He looked so broken, so helpless sitting there- it broke Meg's heart to see him like this. She was next to him in half a second, and had him firmly wrapped in her arms in two.
"It's okay, Cal. It's okay," Meg whispered as he heaved uncontrollably into her shoulder.
Those were the tears of a broken boy.