“You’re the first visitor Kyle has had since his arrival. May I ask who you are?”
“I’m Art, his son,” I reply, following the nurse down the hall.
“My name is Octavia. I’m the head nurse in this ward. When I was told Kyle had a visitor, I had to come see for myself. Though your father has some cognitive abilities and can talk a little, he’s rarely responsive, so I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”
Hope is a fucking fantasy to me. It doesn’t exist. If it did, I’d already be dead.
I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing here. I felt compelled to visit him before leaving for North Carolina, like this would be the last opportunity to be able to.
“Okay, here we are.”
I peek inside the open door to see a figure sitting in a chair, facing the window. The room is devoid of life and color. No paintings on the walls, no family photos, no vase filled with flowers on the small table by the queen-sized bed. The old man has the means to put him in an upscale facility. It’s obvious he chooses not to.
Part of me wants to race inside the room and wrap my arms around him in a tight hug, a lost little boy needing his father. The other part of me wants to rant and rave about what a pathetic bitch he is while beating the shit out of him. He should’ve put my mother and grandfather in their place a long time ago. He doesn’t realize how much power he had over them.
“Go on in. He may not show it, but I know he’ll be excited to see you on the inside.”
I step through the door and remain there.
Fuck, I should just leave. No, man the fuck up and face him.
I grab the chair to the right of the door and slowly approach my father. I put it directly in front of him then sit down. His hair is almost snow white. Deep, defined wrinkles cover his face, neck, and hands. The morning I found Cole’s lifeless body floating in the pool caused a chain reaction of misery and despair. I would give anything to turn back the hands of time. I replay the night in my mind over and over and over again. He was fighting for his life, petrified. I wonder what his last thought was. Did he think about me? Did he call out my name? When my brother took his last breath, I was getting high, fucking some nameless bitch.
Why, God? Why? I want to die too. I swear I can’t live with this pain anymore. It’s driving me insane.
My father doesn’t acknowledge me, but I don’t expect him to. He’s staring slightly above my head, his mouth slack.
“Do you know who I am?”
Nothing.
“Look at me.”
Still, he gives no reaction.
“August thirtieth,” I say.
The day Cole died. His eyes slowly focus on me, and there’s a spark of recognition in them. Tears glisten in his eyes before running down his cheeks.
“You were never around, but you should’ve been.”
I start crying like a pussy, but I can’t control my emotions.
“Damn you, damn her, and damn me. We failed him. It should be us in the ground.”
He opens his lips, attempting to speak, but unintelligible sounds leave his mouth.
“What are you trying to say?”
“Sorry,” he says in a cracked, barely audible voice.
I lean forward in the chair, clutching his face and looking into his eyes. “Being sorry isn’t going to bring Cole back!” I yell.
We deal with the loss of Cole in our own ways. My mother chooses to pretend he never existed, my father hides inside his own mind, and I attempted suicide.
He cries harder.
I remove my hands from his face, leaning back against the chair. I wipe the tears from my cheeks.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be back to see you again, Dad. I’m going to live with Ricky for a while but after that, who knows. Goodbye.”
I leave the room without looking back.
I exit the facility, hopping onto my motorcycle to beat a path to North Carolina. The cold air whips across my face as the miles fly by. Mommy dearest already had my stuff delivered to my uncle’s house. I didn’t seek her out before leaving this morning. Her car was in the garage, which is surprising, because it’s rare for her to stay home on a Friday night. I guess she wanted to play the role of mother by seeing me off. The old man tried to persuade me to move in with him a few more times, afraid my uncle is going to turn me against him, but I refused.
I made it through another Christmas without him. I stayed in bed with the lights off. Grief never goes away or gets easier like some people claim. The urge to buy cocaine consumed my every thought until I finally left home on a mission to get high. Before I made it to my destination, I came to my senses. That’s a dark path I don’t care to venture down again. I parked my motorcycle on a side street then took off running. I ran until my body shut down and my mind became numb. I collapsed to the cold hard ground and crawled to the side of a building to lean against it. That’s where I stayed for several hours before walking back to retrieve my motorcycle. There are three days that bring me to my lowest: August thirtieth, December twenty-fifth, and February fifth—Cole’s birthday.
I remember the day he entered this world. My nanny brought me to the hospital. I was so excited to meet him. He was a wrinkled weird-looking little thing, but that didn’t matter to me. I was a proud big brother. I was allowed to sit in a chair and hold him. I thought to myself, I’ll always protect him. I’ll always be there for him. I’ll be the best big brother. But I wasn’t. There are only two aspects of my life now—before Cole and after Cole. Before he died, my life was filled with limitless possibilities, but after he died, my life became an all-consuming darkness. Now every day I wake up hoping it’s going to be my last day. If only I’d cut a little bit deeper, I would be six feet under right now.
By the time I arrive at Ricky’s house, it’s pitch black outside. It took me about twelve hours to drive to my new home. I park my motorcycle directly in front of the house. I check the time on my cell phone.
8:03
I climb off the motorcycle, stretching my stiff limbs. It’s been awhile since I last stopped, so I have to take a piss. The house is yellow with white shutters. All they need is a white picket fence to qualify for the all-American family award.
I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.
I walk up the porch steps then knock on the front door. Ricky answers with a wide smile on his face. I can tell he’s nervous and the smile is forced. He knows he has a ticking time bomb on his hands now, and he has no idea when it’ll go off.
“Hi, Art, how was the ride over? I was a little surprised when your mom told me you’d be riding your motorcycle here.”
“It was fine. Is your plan to play Dr. Phil and try to fix me? Unfortunately, for you to accomplish that, you’ll need superglue, tape, a needle and thread, and a bunch of other shit to put me back together again. The only thing that could help me is not remembering.”
“I’m not trying to put you back together again. Only you can do that. That’s a battle going on inside your mind. It’ll take a very long time, and it’s going to be really tough to win that battle. Hell, you may lose, but no matter what, I’ll always be here for you. I’ll be a listening ear if you need someone to talk to.”
He’s so fucking sincere, but I don’t want his help. “You’re breaking my black heart,” I say sarcastically. “Are you going to let me in? I have to take a piss. Or should I just go all over your porch?”
“Oh right, sorry.” He steps to the side, allowing me to enter.
This house is a home, nothing like the mansions I grew up in. Shoes are lined up beside the door. Family photos adorn the walls. The burgundy-colored furniture set is worn and matches the curtains. A jacket is draped across the back of the loveseat. Magazines cover the coffee table in front of the wide-screen television.
“Follow me. The bathroom is just before the bedroom you’ll be sleeping in. The kitchen is down the hall from your bedroom, so it’ll be convenient for you if you want a late-night snack or drink. All of your stu
ff arrived this morning…”
Now he’s rambling.
“Just breathe,” I say.
I walk into the bathroom then slam the door shut. After washing my hands I open the door to find Ricky standing there with some woman. She’s a beauty with mahogany-colored skin, deep chestnut-colored eyes, and short curly black hair.
Here comes the welcoming committee.
“I’d like you to meet my girlfriend, Missy.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Art. Can I call you Art? I was told that’s what you prefer to be called.”
“Our bedroom is to the left upstairs,” Ricky says.
“Wait, she lives here?”
“Yes, and her daughter too.”
“Ricky, don’t you know it’s a sin to shack up? Missy, what type of role model are you being for your daughter?” I ask, shaking my head.
“I don’t know exactly what you’re used to, Art, but I can imagine. In this household, you will show respect,” Ricky says.
“What did I do?” I ask innocently.
“You know damn well what you did,” Ricky snaps.
“Ricky, it’s fine.” Missy grips his forearm. “Why don’t you go get the kids so we can eat dinner? Art, you can take a look around in your bedroom. It’s just down that hall.”
I turn away from a seething Ricky to walk towards my temporary cage.
“If that fucker gives you any problems, you let me know. I’ll be over there in a heartbeat,” Trevor says.
I’m sitting cross-legged in the middle of my twin-sized bed, having a Facetime conversation with Trevor. My cousin, Lilah, is standing at the window like a lost puppy waiting on her master to come home. When she found out about Art, she invited herself to dinner. She loves fucked-up bad boys. He’ll most likely be drooling all over her as soon as they meet. She’s the complete opposite of me. She’s super girly with enough ass and titties for the both of us. Her jeans fit like a second skin, and her ample-sized breasts are practically spilling out of her tight black V-neck sweater. Her curly hair is in a ponytail. It’s going on eight o’clock, but we still haven’t had dinner because my mom said we had to wait for the guest of honor to make an appearance. She has been in the kitchen for several hours, alone, insisting that she cook the meal by herself. I’m very afraid.
“Don’t worry.”
“Josh told me all about that sick bastard.”
“Trevor, I can take care of myself.”
“I don’t want you to take care of yourself—that’s what you have me for.”
“Lilah, will you move away from the damn window?”
She waves me off without looking back.
“Okay, big macho man, I’ll play the damsel in distress and call on my prince if the dragon tries to slay me.”
“Good. Are you leaving the window open for me tonight?”
Trevor climbs up the trellis to my window for a night time romp on occasion. He has a strong sexual appetite. I was a virgin when we started dating almost three years ago. Of course, he was not.
“I don’t know. I’m a little tired,” I tease.
“Come on, babe, you’re killing me,” he complains.
“I’ll leave it open for you, you big baby.” I laugh.
I hear the rumble of an engine in the distance. Lilah starts jumping up and down.
“He’s here! He’s here! He’s riding a motorcycle. Oh my God, that’s sexy as fuck.”
“He’s not an A-list celebrity, so calm down. I’ll see you later, babe,” I say.
“Okay, wear the lace red thong I bought you,” Trevor says.
I roll my eyes. “Okay, hound dog.”
Trevor starts to howl, and I laugh.
“Later, babe,” he says.
Leaving the bed, I’m curious to see what has Lilah’s panties in a bunch. As I stand behind her, the figure leaves the motorcycle and walks up the porch steps.
“Damn, he looks good enough to eat,” Lilah whispers.
She’s a hot mess.
Lilah grabs her titties to push them up more.
“Hey, any more of that and your nipples will be showing,” I tell her.
“Just when I thought the school year couldn’t get any better,” she says.
“I better go tell Josh he’s here. I’ll be back.”
“I don’t see why I have to spend my Saturday night at home because of him. I should be with my friends,” Josh grumbles.
Josh sits to my right while Lilah sits across from me at the table.
“Be quiet before he hears you,” Ricky whispers.
“I don’t care if he does hear me.”
When my mom clears her throat, we all glance at the entrance to the dining room. He’s not at all what I was expecting. His hair is disheveled, but in a sexy kind of way. He has a nose and lip ring as well as pierced ears. To top off his bad-boy persona, he has a tattoo of flames dancing up his arm to end just below his ear. His black jeans hang low on his hips, and the white T-shirt exhibits his lean but taut muscular arms and chest. Where Ricky’s eyes are dark green, Art’s are a light clear green. He’s a bit taller than Josh.
Lilah jumps out of the chair, nearly knocking it over when her eyes land on Art.
“Hi, I’m Lilah. It’s nice to meet you,” she says.
She can barely control her eagerness. She holds out her hand in greeting, but he doesn’t take it. Instead, he looks at her hand like it’s a piece of dog doo-doo. She drops her arm to her side.
“Where do you fit in this big, happy family?”
I see a flash of silver on his tongue as he talks. He has a tongue ring. He’s full of surprises.
“Missy is my aunt. We’re all happy to have you here. I’m free to show you around town, and when school starts, I’ll be your personal tour guide.”
Give me a fucking break. I take a drink of my water.
“Nice rack,” Art says.
Water spurts from my mouth as I cough uncontrollably. Josh pats my back to help me out.
“Art,” Ricky warns.
“Thank you,” Lilah gushes.
“She’s the one showing the girls.”
Poor thing doesn’t realize the comment for the insult it is. My coughing subsides.
“He’ll fuck her by the end of the week,” Josh says for my ears only.
“I say, he’ll fuck her in a few hours,” I whisper.
“What the fuck did you do to your face?” Josh asks.
And here we go. I have a feeling it will not be peaceful in this house for the remainder of the school year.
“Jealous?”
“Fuck, no.”
“Let’s have a peaceful family dinner,” Ricky says.
“That entire bedroom can fit inside my closet at home,” Art says.
“Dad, do you want to give up your master bedroom for the king over here?”
Ricky slams his palm down on the table. Art and Josh give each other death glares.
Art moves slowly past Lilah to take a seat across from Josh, resuming their staring match. Lilah happily sits next to Art.
“This is my daughter, Cin,” Mom says.
“What type of stupid ass name is that?”
“It’s short for Cinnamon,” I snap.
“You’re named after a spice. It must suck to be you,” he replies.
“It must suck—”
“I cooked a special dinner for you, chicken Marsala. I hope you like it.” My mom attempts to break the tension in the dining room. Lilah reaches for the bowl of rice, then the chicken, to serve Art a large portion.
“Since you’re the guest of honor, you should be served first, of course,” Lilah gushes.
I’m going to be physically ill.
He puts a forkful in his mouth, then immediately spits it out.
“I wouldn’t feed this crap to a pig.” He brings his face to the plate and sniffs. “It looks like vomit and smells like shit.”
By my mom’s facial expression, I know she’s crushed.
I stand, pissed on my m
om’s behalf. “You don’t have to be so mean.”
His gaze leisurely travels over my body with disgust written all over his face. “I see your cousin was blessed with all the titties and ass in the family. If you cut your hair, you could pass for a boy.”
“That’s enough, Art,” Ricky says.
“It’s not nearly enough,” Art replies.
I pick up my glass and throw the remainder of the water in his face.
“Cin,” Mom admonishes.
“He deserved it,” I say.
I’m surprised when I feel cold water hit my face. Even though I threw my drink at him first, I wasn’t expecting him to retaliate. I grab a handful of chicken Marsala and throw it at him, but he dodges out of the way and it splatters on the wall behind him. He snatches the bowl from the table and collects a handful of his own before launching it at me. I’m not as quick as him, so my face ends up covered with tonight’s dinner.
“Seu filho da puta!” I shout.
“An eye for an eye.” He smirks.
“Art, go to your room,” Ricky tells him.
“Go to my room? That’s rich.” He laughs.
“I mean it.” Ricky puts on his best stern face.
“Where I’m going is to get a decent meal,” he replies.
“Wait, I can go with you and show you where all the good spots are,” Lilah offers, standing.
He doesn’t acknowledge her as he leaves the dining room. She sits back down, dejected.
“Nice going, Dad. You brought that asshole into our house, though he isn’t lying about the chicken Marsala. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Missy, but it’s awful.”
“Sorry, I’ll order some pizza,” she says in a defeated voice.
“I’m going to go clean myself up,” I mutter, feeling foolish.
Well, that was a great introduction. One point for Art, zero for Cin.
I travel down the road at eighty miles per hour. They must fucking hate me now, which means this living arrangement won’t last too long. I wouldn’t be surprised if my uncle sent me packing when I get back. I didn’t go in there with the intention to royally fuck this up, but I couldn’t control myself. Lilah is going to be an issue. She basically gave me an invitation tonight, but sex hasn’t been a part of my existence for a long time. I’m a teenage boy, so of course it crosses my mind, but I haven’t had the urge to follow through. I lost my virginity at age thirteen to a twenty-seven-year-old who frequents the same social circles as my mother. I may be young, but I’m no stranger in the art of pleasing the female body.
When Art Rises: Living in Cin: (A Twisted Interracial High School Love Triangle) Page 3