Rage fills me. My stomach clenches down on a burning ember at its epicenter. My hands fist and shake. I whirl on Dad, ready to tear into him for bringing this woman here. But the words don’t just spill out. I’m…aware. Aware in a way that I never have been before when I’m this angry. Normally, it’s like the anger takes over, kicking me out of the driver’s seat. This time, it’s more like a passenger who’s reached over and grabbed hold of the wheel.
I can choose to remain in control. I do so, because as mad as I am, whatever I would say or do with my anger in charge won’t help Mom or this situation. The choice isn’t easy though, and I stagger, like I’m on the deck of a ship being tossed about by a storm.
“Why are you late?” Dad demands.
I reach out and put a hand against the wall to steady myself.
“Don’t do that,” Glenda snaps. “You’ll leave your oils on the wall.”
My oils? Seriously?
I push myself upright. It’s a greater struggle than it should be. “What are you doing here?”
Dad leans forward, eyes narrowed. “Are you on drugs?”
Glenda makes a noise that sounds like a dying bird trying to laugh.
“New anger management treatment,” I say. I’m trying to be flippant but that’s when it occurs to me that I’ve actually told him the truth. That game. Is it why I’m feeling so weird right now? “It made me miss my plane.”
Dad actually settles down a bit. “Good on you. It’s not easy asking for help sometime.”
“I didn’t,” I snap. My anger bubbles up, stronger. The world feels more stable beneath my feet and my insides feel hot. “Deal is the Doc’s get to try out their program on me and I get out early. Only way to take care of Mom.”
He tenses up again. “Watch your tone with me.”
“Or what?” I ask. “You’ll leave?”
He flinches like I’ve struck him. Good. Maybe this treatment’s going to do me some actual good after all. I think I might have actually hurt the bastard.
“Aaron?” The question comes with the sound of a door opening and I turn to find Mom stepping into the living room, leaning on a walker. A walker. It being there is almost as offensive as Dad’s wife. Apart from the walker and the way Mom’s leaning on it, she looks to be in great health. She has long brown hair, a weathered face with crow’s feet that make her eyes smile, and a fluffy pink bathrobe.
“Mom,” I say, and go to her, stepping awkwardly around her walker to pull her into a hug, which she returns.
“Hey, Kiddo,” she says when we pull apart. “You’re late.”
“Missed my flight,” I say, then glance back over my shoulder at Dad. “Why are they here?”
“Someone had to be since you got yourself thrown in jail,” Dad says.
I whirl, ready to give him a verbal beating, but Mom’s hand on my arm stops me. Calms me. Maybe the gaming therapy isn’t as perfect as the Doc thought. Or maybe I just haven’t played it enough to be completely immune from my own temper.
“Stop it, both of you,” Mom says, the squeezes my arm. “I asked him to be here.”
I want to apologize for not being here. For turning her away when she came to visit me in prison. I glance at Dad. There’s no way I can say those things while he’s here. They’re for her ears alone. So instead of apologizing I ask the next obvious question. “Why?”
Dad crosses his arms and looks down on me. He’s not that much taller but it’s a talent he’s as long as I’ve known him. “You were going to pay for her medical expenses?”
“You’re damn right I’m going to,” I say.
Mom gives me a light smack on the arm. “Language.”
“Sorry, Mom.”
“You owe her an apology for a lot more than that.”
I tense up. It would be so easy to step across the room and break his nose. He wouldn’t even know what to do if I got physical. Despite being bigger than me there’s no doubt in my mind that I’m now the stronger of us. “You don’t get to say what I owe her or don’t. Thanks for coming. We don’t need you. I’ll be taking care of things from here.”
“You are, huh?” he says. “With what money?”
“I’ll have business again soon,” I say. “I was doing pretty good before.”
“Before you got locked up? You’d barely gotten a start when you got yourself arrested. What savings do you have? How long’s it going to take for you to get going again? Build your connections and make enough money to pay for one hospital visit?” He gestures at the walker. “Do you even know how much that cost? How much the wheelchair’s going to cost when she loses her legs? And who’s going to be here with her while you’re out working? Who’s going to be here when you get arrested again?”
“Clarence,” Mom’s voice rings clearly through the living room. “I am not completely helpless yet.”
Dad sighs and puts up his hands. “Emma, you know what I mean.”
The tension between them lowers with Dad’s hands. Me though? I’m strung tight as a guitar string. Much as I hate to admit it, Dad’s right. I’m able and willing to work my ass off to make sure that Mom gets the absolute best care. But if I’m doing that who’s going to be here with her? And how long until I have steady income again? That useless lawyer cleaned out my savings. I don’t even have all the tools I need to get started.
The sad fact, the one that makes me more sick than angry, is that we do actually need Dad to step in. I don’t know how much Mom’s got squirreled away but it’s not enough for what I suspect is coming. But I’m not accepting charity. Not from him.
“I’m paying back every penny,” I tell him.
“That’s right,” he says. “This isn’t a handout.”
Bastard. But I can live with that. Debt sucks but it’s honest debt. I will work it off. And for Mom I’m willing to crawl naked over broken glass.
“But you’re paying me back on my terms.”
“Excuse me?”
Mom squeezes my arm again. Whatever he’s about to say, she knows about it. She also knows I won’t like it.
“I mean that this isn’t an act of charity,” he says. “I’ll pay for everything. Hospice. Medical bills. Even this apartment. But that means you’re going to have to earn it my way.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.
“It means,” Glenda says, sounding irritated. “That it’s time you had some real discipline and purpose in your life. You’re going to college.”
Chapter Seven
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The Nevada heat bore down on Lusitania with all the summery fury it could muster. She soaked it up, pretending to enjoy every moment of placidity in her white bikini and oversized designer glasses that cost more than a month’s rent back in Mississippi where she went to school. Her father’s house was huge and to either side rose more ridiculous monoliths, visible despite the distance. It was all so fake. Then again, Vegas strove to be a city of illusions.
She sipped her tea and watched with envy as Isabella pulled herself from the pool, her black, sporty one-piece wasn’t the only stark contrast she created with Lusitania. Whereas Lusitania was pale, blonde, and had the willowy figure desired by runway models, Isabella was curvy and buff, her dark, dripping hair was pulled back in a ponytail and her bronzed skin was marred by a collection of bruises that the other girl wore like badges of honor. The shiner on her eye was especially prominent.
It should be healed before they went back to Ole Miss, Lusitania thought, then grinned. The woman who’d given that black eye to Isabella wasn’t so lucky.
Her best friend and roommate flopped down casually onto the lounge beside Lusitania. “You’re going to get skin cancer,” she said, taking long gulp from the bottle of water she pulled out from under her seat.
“I’m wearing enough sunblock to shut down a solar plant,” Lusitania said, the barest trace of a growl in her voice.
Isabella raised her eyebrow, the effect pulled at her swollen bruise. “And you’re doing this because…?”
Lusitania glanced at the house behind her, eyes hidden behind her sunglasses. Because Daddy’s a dick-headed dumbass and has expectations.
“Think anyone would notice if we skipped town early?” she asked.
Isabella’s Papa had gotten a new truck and given his old F-150 to his daughter. Lusitania had agreed to drive it back to school with her friend instead of simply flying back like she’d originally planned.
Isabella scoffed. “Please. What do you think your daddy would do when he found you gone?”
You mean when Senator Blowhole finally noticed? Lusitania clenched her fist. “Probably call in the secret service or maybe hire some private contractors to track me down and murder everyone around me.” She wished she was joking.
Isabella laughed. “Might not be a bad way to go. Death by government kill squad. That’d be pretty epic.”
Lusitania lowered her sunglasses and looked at her friend pointedly over the rims.
Isabella laughed louder. “I can only think of one death more epic off the top of my head.”
“Really?” Lusitania asked.
“Yup. Mauled by a bear,” Isabella said. “When you cook yourself into skin cancer, you should seriously consider that. Much better than slowly withering away.”
“Suicide by bear?” Lusitania asked. “How the hell would you even manage that?”
“Easy,” Isabella said. “Drive on out to Yellow Stone, go hiking until you find a mama bear and her cubs, then run up and kick one of those cute little fuckers in the face. Much better epitaph.”
“That’s fucked up,” Lusitania said.
“So’s pretending to cook yourself for several hours pretending to be the senator’s perfect pretend princess,” Isabella said.
Lusitania shot up, face twisting into a mask of fury.
Isabella smirked and Lusitania’s mask fell back into place. Even if her friend wasn’t right, picking a fight with her would be idiotic. Isabella’s Ito had supported his family by becoming a boxer when he’d immigrated. Isabella had followed in his footsteps, becoming a professional MMA fighter. She was going to Ole Miss to get a marketing degree that would help her career. Lusitania wasn’t sure her friend needed it. She didn’t really get how the rankings worked, but she’d watched Isabella’s fight two nights ago and even to her untrained eye Lusitania could tell that Isabella was a woman with which one did not fuck.
She sighed and let herself lie back in her lounge chair, hoping no one from the house had seen. Few people ever saw behind her mask and fewer still could tolerate what was there when they encountered it. It was why she valued Isabella’s friendship so much. Lusitania didn’t have to hide who she was with her friend. That was why it was so painful being back home and having Isabella here. She’d come up for her fight the other night and they had plans to road trip their way back to Ole Miss at the start of the weekend. It couldn’t come fast enough.
“Yeah,” Lusitania agreed. “I’m all kinds of fucked up.”
The sound of a door opening behind them drew their attention back to the house and the pair of men dressed to go golfing stepping out onto the porch. Lusitania affixed her mask in place, assuring her eyes were vapid and her smile friendly as she rose to her feet and flounced over to the men.
“Hi, Daddy,” she said to the taller man, then turned to the shorter, older, and heavier man. “Hi, Mr. Scavo.” I hope you get rabies.
Lusitania’s father, senator John Church, was a tall man whose formerly athletic frame, built up from years in the Navy, was slowly turning to softness. The irony of a man who loved the ocean so much he named his daughter after a sunken ship being the senator of a desert state had not been lost on Lusitania.
His companion was a long-time backer, Henry Skavos, who had never had an athletic frame to begin with. He was round with fat and his face had something rodential about it.
“Lucy-girl,” Mr. Skavos said, pulling her into a hug, his hand brushing over her bikini bottoms. “I keep telling you, call me Henry. How’s my favorite girl doing?”
She’d be better if you took your disease-ridden hands off of her and went to play in traffic. “I’m great, Henry. My bestie and I are just soaking up some sun. The morning is supposed to be the best time for it.”
He gave a sage nod. “That’s very smart of you.”
Not smart enough, it didn’t keep me away from you. She beamed at him, turning up the vapidity several notches. “You’re so sweet.”
“When Henry heard you were here he insisted on stepping out to say hello before we headed to the club,” Senator Church said.
“That’s so sweet.” Pervert. How many whores did you rape this week? No way you could pay a woman enough to fuck you.
Mr. Skavos suddenly seemed to realize they weren’t alone by the pool, catching sight of Isabella, who grinned and waved at them. He started to return the expression when he caught sight of Isabella’s black eye and recoiled.
“Uhg, I cannot stand a woman with a bruised face. Especially a beauty like that.” He looked back and forth between Lusitania and her father, his expression suddenly serious. “Lucy-girl, if your friend is in some kind of trouble, just tell me. One phone call and whoever it is disappears. John, you’ll want to get ahead of whatever this is....”
Senator Church held up a hand, then clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Thank you, Henry, sincerely, thank you, but it’s nothing like that. Isabella over there is on her way to being the UFC’s top women’s welterweight contender.”
Henry let out a laugh, “Seriously? Oh, that’s good. Never cared for women fighting myself, but I see you’ve got your little girl well looked after.”
Senator Church’s grin widened. “That I do. Sorry to ask, but do you mind if I have a quick word with my daughter before we head out?”
“Of course, of course,” Mr. Skavos said, and left, this time without an ass-touching hug.
Lusitania resisted the urge to smirk.
“Thank you,” Senator Church said to her quietly.
“Oh, I don’t mind, Daddy.” I’d like to castrate that bastard and staple his empty scrotum over his eyes so he never looks at another girl again.
“Still, thank you, Sweetie,” he said. “But I really do have something to talk to you about.”
That was new. “Really?”
He nodded. “You remember your step-cousin.”
Oh, that asshole. “Yes.”
“His father came to me and asked a favor. I wouldn’t have done it, but he did marry your aunt. His son, Aaron, is going to be attending Ole Miss in the fall.”
Lusitania didn’t have to fake her sour expression. “Wasn’t her just in jail?”
Senator Church nodded. “Yes, he was. The boy’s a good for nothing and I want you to stay away from him. If he’s not dangerous then at the very least he’s a scandal waiting to happen. So, keep your distance.”
She hadn’t intended to even be within a hundred-yard radius of the impulsive idiot but being expressly told who she could or could not associate with made her blood boil.
Lusitania resisted the urge to clench her fists and instead ran her middle finger up the length of the new scar on the base of her palm. At least now she had an outlet. She’d let out her frustration later.
“Of course, Daddy.”
Chapter Eight
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A week later I’m standing in my new home until the start of next summer wondering how the hell I’d ended up here. The room’s small, maybe 130 square feet, if I’m being generous. It smells faintly of old socks. There’s two beds, two desks, two wardrobes, and two dressers, all set up to mirror each other. They make the room feel crowded, like I’m in a storage closet with things people want forgotten.
I wonder if that includes me.
I throw my backpack on the bed to the left. I’m going to be living in a broom closet with some stranger instead of being with Mom for however long she’s got left. It’s not that different from prison really. Why the hell had I even bothered taking the deal with Dr. Warden?
I take a deep breath. Then another. And another.
The sense of betrayal doesn’t stop cloying the inside of my chest but the urge to smash my phone or cut out the chip in my right hand diminishes to a manageable level. Damn Dad and Dr. Warden. At least so long as I’m here Mom will be getting everything she needs. That’s the deal. I had Dad’s word. Of course, I know how well he keeps his vows.
Shouting in the hall pulls me out of my thoughts. Shouting and laughing.
I go to the door and poke my head out. There’s a few pretty boys in pastel shorts that really should be on girls. They’ve got a third guy’s backpack and are tossing it back and forth over his head. Monkey in the middle. The other guy is shorter than them, dressed in jeans and a shirt that’s about to fall apart. He’s not enjoying their game.
It’s not my problem so I’m about to pull back into my room when the smaller guy cries out, “Come on, my laptop’s in there.”
The other two laugh harder. I’d never done more than visit a high school, but this feels so very, very high school. It’s childish. Stupid. Spiteful.
And suddenly it’s like I’m the little guy. The two frat boys are my father and his wife and it’s my life they’re tossing back and forth like some kind of game with no regard for what it’s worth.
A laptop isn’t a cheap piece of equipment. My own got me through a lot of hard times. Online is the only place I’ve had any luck making friends. Mostly because everyone’s an asshole on the internet so I’m nothing special in that regard. In real life? I’m about as abrasive as a sand paper enema.
How To Train Your Kaiju Page 4