Love Defies Us

by Stoneback, J. M.

  Every time I come here something has change… I twist my head and glance around the foyer. What the fuck is that weird-ass noise? It sounds like a whale is dying.

  I stroll pass the foyer and open the door to my dad’s office which is located next to the living room. And I want to rinse my eyes out with soap. My dad sits on top of the oak desk with his shorts hanging off his ankle, with his eyes closed and a woman with jet black hair sucking the life out of his dick. Bile burns the back of my throat and I want to vomit on the red rug. Finally, my dad eyes connect with mine. Shock and embarrassment warp in his cornflower eyes, then he pushes the woman off of him and I get the hell out of there as if my ass is on fire.

  I rush to the living room and sit on the white couch and prop my feet on the coffee table.

  When did Dad started seeing a chick? And why would he want to see another chick so soon after mom died?

  I clench my fist as I grip the cushion. Me seeing him with another woman makes my blood boil. Mom has been dead for eight months and he’s already balls deep into someone else. Prick.

  He rushes out the office, with flushed skin and swollen lips. He’s wearing a black t-shirt and brown baseball shorts.

  “Why are you here so early? You were supposed to show up an hour later.” Irritation laces his tone and I clench my fist.

  What? He’s mad that I interrupted his fuck feast.

  He rubs the back of his head and flops on the couch smelling like he drowned in expensive perfume. I cough a few times, trying to clear my airways.

  “We were supposed to play basketball.” I sit up forward, digging my nails in the navy-blue cushion. “But I guess you had other plans.”

  He crosses his leg on his knee and run his hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. My dad looks like a knock-off version of Johnny Depp. He’s a few inches shorter than me and his skin is tan and rubbery. He’s fit, though. And not like most men his age. He doesn’t have a beer belly hanging over his pants. And he sometimes dresses like an eighties rock star. Leather shirt. Leather pants.

  Thank the Heavens he isn’t dressed like it now.

  I tap my foot to a tuneless beat. “You move on fast, Momma’s been dead barely a year and you got someone to deepthroat your dick. Real classy, Dad.” I can’t keep the sarcasm out my tone, and the way he glares at me tells me he hates my remark. His face shows a new kind of emotion—guilt. Maybe he feels guilty for moving on. Maybe he feels guilty because I caught him with another woman. Either way, I don’t give a shit.

  “You watch your fucking tone with me. Just because you’re grown doesn’t mean you can disrespect me.” His words don’t sting so instead I ignore him.

  “How long has this been going on?”

  “Your mother wanted this. She wanted me to be happy.”

  “Yeah, Mom wanted you to get your dicked suck as soon as she was buried in the ground.”

  He grinds his molars at my words. “We’re serious, so get used to seeing her around.” He sighs. “Just because I found love again, that doesn’t mean I’m replacing your mom or that I loved her any less. She was my first love and will always be my first love. What we had was special. But I’m not going to wallow in my grief. I have to move forward. No matter what you do, son. Always move forward.” His words strike me like lightning, and I understand what he’s saying. The love my dad had for my mom, you hear about in country music. It’s Disney fairy tale shit. If I didn’t witness the love that my parents had, then I wouldn’t believe it existed.

  My dad’s plaything strolls in, her face clean from makeup. She’s tiny and thin as a rail and her eyes are the color of seafoam. Completely opposite from how my mother looked before the breast cancer took away her strength and her beauty. My mother was naturally tan and had blonde hair and she always wore a pixie cut. She didn’t dress in designer clothes but shopped at the thrift store. My mom brightened the room with one smile and greeted everyone. This woman looks composed and graceful, but cold and dead. She reminds me of Maleficent.

  She peers between me and my dad with nervousness in her eyes. The kind of nervousness that someone is waiting for approval. If that’s what she’s looking for, then she isn’t getting it from me. I don’t know her from a can of paint and she’s already leaving a sour taste in my mouth. Who finds it okay to try to date a man who is still in the grieving process of losing their wife? It’s not my job to play Sherlock Holmes so if Dad doesn’t want to find out why this woman is sticking around, then that’s his problem not mine. I don’t dabble in personal business.

  She sits next to him and their fingers entwine. I roll my eyes. Their relationship is a joke.

  “My name is Patricia.” And she holds out her hand. “You’re Felix. Your dad can’t stop bragging about you.”

  “Funny, I haven’t heard jack shit about you.” Her eyes widen to the size of saucers and she laughs nervously. And I stare at her hand then she puts it by her side awkwardly.

  My dad glares at me, giving me his ‘you better fucking behave’ look, the same look he used to give me as a child. Yeah, that glare doesn’t work on me. I’m a twenty-four-year-old man. What’s he going to do, ground me?

  “I have to go.” She stands up, brushes off her pencil skirt.

  “OK, love,” my dad says, and the way he says love makes my flesh crawl. It shouldn’t surprise me that my father started dating someone after mom died because he’s always been a family man. He married my mom right after they graduated from high school and then went to college together and had me when they were both twenty-five years old.

  Then she leaves the living room and my dad’s eyes glisten with sadness.

  “I don’t care how pissed off you are that I moved on, but you will respect Patricia, you hear me, boy?” His tone is sharp. The lines on my dad’s forehead deepen and he furrows his brow.

  “What-the-fuck-ever,” I mumble under my breath, but not loud enough for him to hear it. I’ll take their relationship serious when the world realizes that mayo doesn’t go on sandwiches. “You ready to get your ass beat in basketball?”

  I change the subject. Me and dad have one thing in common: we’re both competitive.

  “Yeah, I need to let off steam.”

  “You did that already with Patricia,” I mumble under my breath.

  When I glance around the room, there are no pictures of my mom anywhere. There used to be a picture on the mantelpiece of the fireplace, of my parents’ wedding day. And I notice he changed a few things around, my mom’s favorite fake plant is gone. It’s as if he’s trying to wipe every memory of her. My blood fucking boils, and I lace my fingers together as my knuckles turn white.

  I get up from the comfy couch and head to the glass doors through the spacious kitchen and my dad follows suit. I don’t want to be reminded of this place where my mom took her last breath on this couch while watching one of her favorite reruns of Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.

  When I go outside in the backyard, the sun beats the shit out of me with its heat. But that’s the south for you, leave it to the heat to be hotter than fish grease.

  My dad had my old hoop from high school replaced with a new one that’s made out of metal. And next to it, we have a tennis court, followed by a swing from an oak tree that my mom used to love. He grabs the basketball and the sound of the ball bouncing against the concrete echoes through the humid air. We play for twenty minutes and he wins this round. My dad and I never bonded over music. I get my music talent from my mother. My dad and I bonded over basketball. Growing up, my childhood was different from the kids I grew up with. I didn’t have a chef to cook my food, nor did I have nannies. We did have a maid because the manor was too big for my mom to clean. My parents wanted me to have a normal childhood and to learn the value of people not material stuff.

  We sit down on the white bench that’s next to the court and his new maid, Sarah, brings out fresh cold water and I drink some of it then I drench the rest on my hair. The water drips down my face. Fuck that feels good.

 
“Be right back,” he says, then disappears into the house. Moments later, he returns with a weird-looking white envelope. I think women call it eggshell or some shit. I tear the envelope open and it’s an invitation of Mae and Brody’s wedding. The same fucking venue where we were supposed to be wed, and the same day. I clench the invitation. Those two are on my fucking shit list. The knife in my back digs deeper and deeper into my flesh and fresh blood leaks from the wound that they created.

  “I’m not going to that shit.” I wrinkle my mouth and my dad pins me with a look of pity.

  I try to keep the anger from my tone, but this anger is growing faster than a disease.

  Why the fuck are they trying to rub that shit in my face? They think I will go and be like “oh good luck and have a prosperous marriage.”

  Fuck that and fuck them.

  The press painted a picture to the world that I was the neglectful fiancé. For months, I didn’t go out in public unless I had to because paparazzi rode my dick harder than a strung out prostitute that needed money to get a fix Mind you that when I found out that she cheated on me, we had just done exclusive engagement photos with People Magazine. And that’s the thing about living in the spotlight. The world will attack and there’s nothing I could do about it.

  “Are you going?” I ask and guilt nibbles on his face.

  His eyes move back and forth, and he wipes the sweat from his forehead.

  “Yeah. I’m the best man.” His tone is low. My anger is turning into rage. He’s fucking supporting them.

  “I thought your loyalty was to me.” I raise my voice. I stand up and poke him in the chest.

  “It is.”

  “Then why go support him?”

  His decision shouldn’t surprise me. He’s always sticking up for his younger brother. Brody can do no fucking wrong. My dad acts Brody is Jesus. Fuck both of them.

  “This marriage isn’t going to last; you know how Brody is. Once Mae gets older and he’s loaded her up with his babies. Then he’ll dump her, just like the last three wives.” He exhales and I move into the shade of the oak tree, putting some distance between us. “This whole thing is a shit show.”

  “He took advantage of Mae,” I blurt out. Mae is very naive and if any guy promises her the world, she’ll hop on the gravy train. How did I manage to stay with her for four years? Honestly, it was because I was lonely. Being a rock star can be lonely and not having someone to understand the lifestyle is really hard, is as rare as the sky turning the shade of green grass. All me and Mae did was fight once the band hit it big. I got super busy and I couldn’t give her the attention she needed.

  He scrunches up his nose and his breathing slows down to normal.

  “Yeah, but she could have kept her legs closed. She was a whore. I knew something wasn’t right with that girl.”

  “Don’t blame this all on Mae. They were both wrong as fuck and you know it.” I pause. “Brody and Mae knew what they were doing and honestly, I’m sick of you defending him,” I yell and my pulse thumping like a rabbit thumping its foot on a log.

  “I’m not justifying his actions; I’m just saying that don’t just blame it all on him.”

  “You know what? Fuck them. Fuck you if you’re going to support their union. Eat cake, celebrate, and be so fucking merry.”

  I stomp towards the front entrance of the gate.

  I normally don’t do outbursts, or disrespect my dad, but this family has gotten on my last nerve. This shit is a circus and I’m not going to be a part of it.

  If I had known that Mae was a selfish person, I never would’ve given her the time of day. If I had known that she would fuck my uncle and leave me high and dry after I took care of her and her sick parents.

  I’m not a bad person, I travel to different countries to feed the homeless. I walk old people across the street, I open doors for women, and I even volunteer to be a Big Brother at the Girls and Boys Club. I’m not cruel to people, like East. In fact, I love people. And I’m a social butterfly. I’m not saying my shit doesn’t stink, but I didn’t deserve to be played.

  I make it to my red pickup truck and kick my front tire.

  “Fuck!” I scream at the top of my lungs.

  Sadie

  The thing I hate about time is when things are going south in your life, time ticks off slower than a snail, but when you’re having fun, time ticks off faster than the roadrunner. Right now, time is going by super-duper fast. Three weeks have passed since Felix blackmailed me into fucking him. These last three weeks have been wonderful, and I haven’t had this much fun since college. We have sex everywhere at his place, on everything and in every position that I never knew existed. We once had sex in the bed of his pickup truck.

  It’s the first week of April and Georgia is known for its April showers, so it’s pouring down raining and I listen to the pitter patter across the glass window of my living room. I sip my hot tea and the liquid warms my belly.

  Jasper lurch in with nothing but a pair of red shorts, sporting morning wood, and his hair is tangled and unruly.

  His muscles are chiseled and his skin is smooth as marble. I tell Jasper all the time that he should be a male model, he’s a people person and has a way of making women swoon over him. And he can use that good charm towards a career, but he’s also insecure.

  He flops down next to me, kicking up his feet on the glass table. Our two-bedroom apartment is elegant and simple. The beige couch was imported from Italy and the gold rug that’s under the coffee table is laced with fine fabric. I appreciate expensive interior designs. I tried my best to make our apartment feel cozy and homey, and not like the cold and empty place I grew up in.

  I tuck my legs under my butt and point to his crutch. “You might want to adjust that.”

  He tilts his head sideways, then adjust himself. “We’ve been living together for three years, don’t act like you haven’t seen my morning wood.”

  “And every time I see it, it makes me want to gag.” I pinch the bridge of my nose.

  He takes the velvet pillow from the couch and smacks me with it, and I snatch it from his hand and toss it to the polished wooden floor.

  His mouth twists up into a devilish grin before he clutches my cup of tea from my hand and takes a long sip from it. “Who popped your cherry and got you coming back for more?”

  I swat his arm playfully as a wicked smile litters my face. “How did you know?”

  “When I checked your room at night, you were gone. And the only things that’re open after two is the Waffle House and legs. And you hate the Waffle House.”

  Jasper’s sex life is an open book, he discusses sex as if it’s a normal conversation at a dinner at his parents’ house.

  Me, on the other hand, I’m a private person so his question causes my cheeks to burn hotter than lava.

  I clear my throat and place my freshly manicured toes on the coffee table. “Felix Sawyer.”

  Jasper’s eyes glint and his lips curl into a wide smile. “You dirty whore. You finally gave into his advances?”

  “No, not quite. He blackmailed me.” I pause, my stomach pitter-patters with butterflies and my heart clenches in my throat. I shouldn’t feel shamed or embarrassed by my sex life. Every adult with a pulse has one. In my family, sex before marriage is shameful, because it might end up with an illegitimate baby. But it’s enforced because my parents care about their precious reputation. They don’t want me or Axel to look like whores.

  “He stole my journal and read it, and if I don’t fuck him for three months then he’ll snitch to my dad about how I plan to go behind his back and buy out the company.”

  “That clever bastard.” His eyes grow intense. “Are you aware what’s going on?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Ahh, innocence at its finest.” He sits up straighter and he eyes my face wearily. “Do you know the real reason why he blackmailed you?”

  I shake my head.

  “He sees you as more than a dirty fuck.”


  “No he doesn’t,” I say in defense.

  He lifts his bushy eyebrows so high, they touch his forehead. “You think a man that can get cunt anytime, would jump through hoops just for one girl? He literally can walk down the street and women will throw themselves at him.”

  “He told me he’s obsessed with me, but he means in a sexual way.” I cross my legs.

  He sighs. “Sometimes men don’t know they like a woman because they are too busy thinking with their dicks.” He rests his arm on the back of the couch.

  “He does ask me to stay for breakfast sometimes, but I turn him down, Felix is just being nice,” I tell him.

  What if Jasper is right? No, he can’t be. When I’m with him, I don’t feel the weight of being the daughter of Tanner Bennett. I don’t have to worry about the high expectation and watching what I say or do worrying about tarnishing the Bennett name. If my mother knew I was sleeping with Felix, she’d throw a bitch fit. He doesn’t fit the bill as potential suitor. No, he’s as forbidden as the fruit in the garden of Eden. My mom wants me to marry someone that’s a CEO and shitting out millions a day. Whatever. I’ll do what I want.

  “Well… have some fun while it lasts and don’t wear your heart on your sleeve.” He looks me up and down, then his face darkens. “We don’t have to worry about that with you. You hardly get emotional about anything.”

  True. I was taught that emotions are weapons that can destroy people. That they make a person weak and they have no place in the business world. So, I tuck them away like they’re a best-kept secret. Strolling through life acting like nothing ever bothers me. That’s one of the reasons why I started writing in my journal. If I’m banned from showing any emotions, then it was no harm in getting them down on paper.

  A few moments later, Stacey pussyfoot into the living room, and she stares at me with disdain playing on her face.