by L.J. Shen
“Just fucking stop it,” I demanded on a scream. “Touch my mom one more time and I’m breaking every goddamn bone in your pathetic body.”
My mom. Sweet Jesus. I needed a good dose of a reality check with a generous side portion of spine.
“You tell him, boy!” Nina yelled from her throne on the bed, straddling a pillow, and at that time, I didn’t stop to think about how she looked perfectly okay. Composed, fresh-faced, and mark-free. How she looked so turned on by all of this. And how sick the whole situation really was. “Kill him, Dean! Kill him!”
I broke his nose.
“Show him not to mess with me!”
Mounting him in a crucifix position, another elbow flew across his face. It was the first time she truly acknowledged me, and her voice didn’t reek of boredom when she spoke to me. And I took it. Swallowed the fishing rod along with the fucking bait. Thwack! Whack! Slap!
I was strong. I was athletic. I was capable of finishing his old ass in less than two minutes, it wasn’t even funny.
“Kill him for me, baby!”
“Dean! No. Stop.” I heard Tiffany’s stifled voice from the door. What the hell was she doing there? Not that I particularly cared if they knew she snuck into their house, but she could get into a shit-ton of trouble. Her father was the village’s pastor. “Get off of him. You’re going to kill him. Do you really wanna end up in jail? This guy is insane!”
I kept hitting Owl, but not with the same gusto as before, noticing that he never once tried to fight me. He just took it. And Owl never took any shit from anyone. Least of all me.
My movements slowed down before dying completely, as Tiffany’s quivering voice grew firmer and sharper.
“You really want to get arrested? Is it worth it? Are they worth it?” she pleaded, pressing her palms together. She had a point.
I straightened my spine, hearing Nina shouting in the background, “Shut up, bitch! Get the hell outta here! Do it, Dean! Do it!”
That was when I noticed the camera.
I stood up, my feet unsteady. Owl was underneath me. His face was so blood-soaked, I couldn’t make out his eyes from his nose, or even lips through all this mess. I hadn’t even noticed that my wife-beater was drenched in gore, and it wasn’t mine. I looked straight into the camera. The red dot flickered at me. Almost taunting. Nina held it in one hand and yelled at me to kill him, her voice hoarse from screaming.
Film running.
Act one – record your spawn committing a crime.
Act two – blackmail him with the videotape.
Act three – get rich and bail out on his ass again, this time starting over somewhere new.
The End.
My biological mother never took a picture of me. She never recorded a video of my first step, first word, or any birthdays. Not to mention even owned an album where you could find a picture of my face. But here she was, recording me in my plea to save her. Framing me. Pulling me down into the abyss that swallowed her chance to be a someone in this life.
“The fuck are you doing with that thing, Nina?” I asked, taking one step toward her. My voice was cold, and even though the adrenaline was sizzling in my bloodstream, I was no longer angry. She did it. After all this time, she managed to staple that dark chip onto my shoulder. I would live with it—and die with it—because of her. “You have one second to explain, and it better be good.”
“This is attempted murder,” she slurred. God, she was high. Bitch was all over the place. “I can put you in prison for a very long time for something like this, son.”
“Son?” Tiffany gasped behind me. Fuck. She was still there. Part of me wanted her to leave me alone. A bigger part wanted her to stay so she could serve as my witness. I tilted my head sideways and smiled. Because it finally dawned on me.
My mother was the devil.
My mother hated me.
My mother envied me.
And my mother was never going to stop unless she was stopped. By me.
“You really think you can pull this shit off?” I chuckled. I wanted to scare her, and by the way her face collapsed into a frown, I knew I’d succeeded. “C’mon now, Nina. You’re a goddamn mess. Don’t let my chivalry confuse you.”
She lowered the camera, just by a few inches, taken aback by how well-spoken I was. Yeah, I definitely wasn’t the same polite, wide-smile bastard who wanted to please her. The penny had dropped, and with it, any type of sympathy I’d had for her. I realized that she was going to piss all over my future if I was going to let her have this hold on me.
“Put that fucking thing down, Nina.” I walked over to her nightstand and took out a blunt, lighting it casually, her camera still following me. “I won’t ask twice, and trust me when I say, you don’t want my dad to find out about this.”
Owl cried in pain on the floor, and I kicked him, the rolled blunt still between my lips. “Shut the fuck up, asshole.”
“Should I call an ambulance?” Tiff asked, biting her fingernails, still leaning against the doorframe. I cracked my neck and sighed.
“Owl brought this shit on himself by listening to his junkie, brain-dead wife. Let her take care of him. So, this is how you wanna play it?” I made the necessary steps to Nina, grabbed the recorder, took out the tape, and tore it to tiny shreds, before throwing the camera to the floor and smashing it into a fucking flatbread with my foot. “You wanna blackmail me with a stupid tape?”
Nina’s pupils were dancing in their sockets. Reality started to sink in for her, and it wasn’t pretty. I tipped the ash from the blunt on her sheets, exhaling smoke through my flared nostrils.
“Well?” I growled in her face. “You gonna talk, or what?”
Up until that point, I didn’t know about Walmart. I didn’t know she had abandoned me. I didn’t know she went to get fucking cigarettes and a beer right after she left me to die, naked and screaming, in a public restroom. My parents saved all the juicy parts for themselves, and I didn’t blame them. Their version of things was far easier to digest: Nina had a drug problem. She couldn’t take care of me. So she gave me to them, knowing that they would love me fiercely. Which they did.
“Like you were even going to miss this money!” she screamed in my face, pushing me away. “You got everything! They give you everything, goddammit!” Her Southern twang deepened.
“They do, because you didn’t.” It was my turn to raise my voice. I tried hard not to fling my arms around. To stay composed. But the need to kick something was intense. And Owl was right there, but he was starting to look a little purple so I didn’t want to push it. Nina shot up from her bed.
“That’s right. I didn’t. I threw your ass where you belong. In the toilet. Because you were nothing and a no one!”
The blunt almost fell out of my mouth.
“What?”
She repeated herself. Then shouted the rest of the story of my birth at me. Then she proceeded to cry and attend to her husband, mumbling to him that everything was going to be okay. Tiffany still stood at the door, watching me with a mixture of pity, pain, and horror.
“Get out of here.” I jerked my chin at Tiffany. “Now.”
“But, Dean…”
“OUT!” I yelled, pointing in the direction where the front door was. “I fucking mean it. It’s over.”
And it was. Every single thing about this part of my life was done.
I got on a plane back home the next day and never set foot in Alabama again. As far as I was concerned, the state ceased to exist on the U.S. map.
The fun-loving, happy guy I was died there, too.
And I was present at his funeral. It took place every single fucking day from that point forward.
In my mind.
What makes you feel alive?
Watching the trees flash by, the ocean sparkles, the world spinning around me like a ballroom dress. Knowing I’m a part of it. Accepting that not being a part of it is life, too.
I SAT IN THE BACK of the taxi on my way to the Hamptons, cr
eating a sick playlist for our stay. Romantic, fluffy stuff I wanted us to listen to while we made dinner and love and unforgettable memories.
It was a big day for Dean, and as the gray sky darkened over the shore, I wondered if the weather symbolized how it was going to turn out for him. It was raining hard. I was covered in four layers. Two of them coats. I brought all of my medicine and nebulizer with me in a shoulder bag that weighed no less than I did. Truth was, I wasn’t feeling my best. But Dean booked us a Friday-to-Friday week in the Hamptons, and I so badly wanted to make him happy, now more than ever.
He was going to resolve a thirty-year mystery. He sure paid a lot to do it. I was going to be there for him, in every sense of the word, even if I had to endure a little physical discomfort.
“It’s raining pretty bad out,” the driver noted, pointing at the windshield wipers. They moved furiously across the windshield. The rain knocked on the roof like it was trying to break it.
“It is,” I agreed. “Sorry you have to drive all the way back to New York all by yourself. It’s probably a hassle.”
“Pffft,” the old man hooted. “Don’t feel sorry for me. Feel sorry for the homeless. For the crazy joggers out there. Cyclists. People who actually have to stand out in the rain.”
“I feel bad for them, too,” I said. “Other than the joggers. No one made them go out in this weather.” We passed by a man in a bright yellow rubber coat who ran on the shoulder of the road.
Dean was supposed to be at the house we had rented by now. I texted him earlier to ask if he would be there by seven, and he said yes. It was already a quarter to eight. I hoped the reason I hadn’t heard from him since was because he had a good, long meeting with his biological dad. I hoped that it meant that they were trying to reconnect. I hoped a lot of things, but I tried not to push him by calling and texting too much.
Still, I was worried, so I took out my phone and typed.
Rosie
Almost there. Getting excited to spend all week together. How did it go?
Dean didn’t answer. The taxi parked in front of a Sheffer-designed, single-clad property boasting a front garden that would put the Palace of Versailles to shame. It didn’t escape me that the house was surrounded by greenery, woods, and nothing else. No neighboring houses. No stores. Just the two of us in this huge space. The driver, a plump man in his sixties, poured himself out of the vehicle, jogged to the back, and pulled out my suitcase from the trunk. He then helped me with my nebulizer bag. I ran all the way to the front door, shielding my eyes from the rain, and pushed the doorbell a few times. Twisting my head back, I waved at the taxi driver.
“Have a great weekend!” I called out to him, out of breath. Damn lungs.
“You too, sweetheart.” He sat there for a few more seconds. I waved him off again. There was no need for him to sit there in the cold and wait for me. He finally drove away.
I rang the doorbell again. Nothing.
I fished my phone out and called Dean. The wind from the shore almost swept me all the way to the other side of the street and the frost trickled into my inner organs. No answer. I called three more times, then texted him.
Rosie
Sirius to Earth, where are you? I’m outside, waiting.
Rosie
Okay, it’s really cold, and it’s been ten minutes since I got here. I’m going to call a taxi and wait for you at a café downtown.
Rosie
Next available taxi comes here in thirty minutes. Where are you? I’m worried. Call me back. Love you.
The rain lashed on me, and I threw my fists at the door, praying that he was there. That he couldn’t hear me because of the downpour, or was napping, and that he would answer at any second.
The desperation in my voice threw me off balance. “Hey! Hey, I’m here!”
No answer.
My teeth chattered.
My body shivered.
I was soaked, head-to-toe, with no one to turn to, and my clothes became heavy with the rain. Terror found me in the space between anxiety and dread. I knew what was happening, but couldn’t stop it. And as hail knocked on my face like glass, I wished for one thing above anything else.
Don’t let me down, Dean. I prayed. Don’t be my downfall.
THE EARTH DIDN’T SEEM AS firm under my feet that day. That should have been my first warning.
After wiring the six hundred thousand dollars to Nina’s malnourished bank account, she texted me the name of a café across the road and said that he would be there at noon. It allowed me plenty of wiggle room to get to the Hamptons on time. Even if the traffic was insane, the roads were blocked, and the weather was against me.
“I’m taking the rest of the day off. If anyone asks where I am, just say hell,” I said to Sue, shutting my laptop and walking past the reception area. I shouldered myself into my Valentino tropical print coat. Sue gave me a sidelong look, and flashed me a smile of the eat-shit variety.
“Have a good weekend, Mr. Cole.”
“You too, Miss Pearson.” Fuck her. She wanted to do last names, I was game. Nothing bothered me anymore. Sue was nothing but white noise at this point.
I powerwalked my way to the café across the street. The rain was PMSing that day. Furious as fuck. Not half as much as I was probably about to be, but yeah. The minute I pushed the door open and the overhead bell rang it took me back to The Black Hole and to Rosie, so I managed to draw in a deep breath. I was optimistic about Nina not joining us. She got what she needed and had nothing else to coerce me with. She probably forgot my name by this point. Wishful thinking, and all.
The café was crammed with businessmen and women trying to grab a sandwich on their lunch break, so at first, I skimmed the room through skeptic eyes, wondering how in the hell we were going to recognize each other. Maybe I should have mentioned that I was big on eccentric designer clothes. There was no overlooking my sick jacket.
I walked past the bar and started looking into people’s faces, plates, phone screens, desperate to catch someone who might resemble me.
Three young men in suits. Nope.
Two students sipping coffee with their MacBooks. Next.
An eighty-year-old guy in a three-piece-suit. Like hell. He wasn’t Nina’s taste.
A thirty-something woman who returned a gaze and smiled red and bright at me. Sorry, sweetheart. Happily taken.
My eyes were frantic, begging to find a suitable suspect, and my heart was doing that thing it did when Rosie took off her clothes before we got into bed.
Then I recognized a head of thick gray hair that made my eyebrows dive down and a chuckle leave my lips.
“Dad?” I walked to a small table at the corner of the room. My dad, Eli Cole, sat there, staring into a coffee cup. “Jesus. You’re in town? Why didn’t you say? Is that about the Farlon case?” I asked.
He looked up from his coffee and stood up, but didn’t say a thing.
Not a goddamn thing.
No.
No, no, no, no, no.
I took a step back.
“Where’s Nina?” I asked. I was crazy, right? The kind of sick, twisted shit that went through my mind when I assumed Rosie was cheating on me when she was actually at the hospital. My dad was happily married to my mom when Nina got knocked up. Maybe my biological dad bailed at the last minute, and Eli was here to pick up the pieces.
“Sit,” he said.
“No.” I couldn’t feel my face. “Tell me why the fuck you are here and where is Nina.”
“Language, Dean.”
“Fuck your language, Dad.” I righted myself using a back of a chair. “What’s going on?”
Panic ran in my blood. This couldn’t mean what I thought it had meant. Dad inched closer and put his hand on my shoulder. His squeeze wasn’t as firm as it usually was.
“I wanted to tell you when you were in Todos Santos for Thanksgiving…”
“No.” I laughed, embarrassed. I pushed him away, feeling like someone punched my nose from the insid
e of my head. His back hit the wall, and his shoulder bumped into a woman who stood in line and gave us a pointed look. “My life is not a fucking soap opera, and you didn’t fuck Nina while you were married to Mom.” I said that as a statement, but obviously, this too was wishful thinking. He put his hands up in surrender. “There’s a lot to talk about, son. You should sit down.”
“Stop telling me to fucking sit down!” I raised my voice, smacking his table with both palms.
Eleven years ago, Donald Whittaker was finally admitted to the ER after two days of excruciating pain to help him get over the broken nose, two fractured ribs, and several cuts I had caused. He wasn’t insured, so Owl and Nina had to pay a ton for his hospital stay. What he didn’t know was that the only thing that separated him from death was the preacher’s daughter, Tiffany.
Eleven years later, and I wondered who would be the designated Tiffany to save me from doing something to my dad. Something I couldn’t take back. Because I wanted to fuck something up real good. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to use my girlfriend’s body as an outlet this time.
“There’s an explanation for all of this.” His voice was so low he almost whispered. People stared at us through rims of coffee cups. Dad grabbed me by the bicep and tried to pull me into the seat in front of his chair. I didn’t budge.
“Tell me it’s a mistake, Eli.” The coldness in my voice sent goosebumps down my body.
“It is not a mistake.” Eli narrowed his eyes, still composed, still firm, still himself. “You were not a mistake.”
I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t know what to feel. I didn’t know why my mom was still married to him when he obviously fucked her older sister.
And then it hit me like a speeding truck. I was him.
I was the douchebag who did this. Who came between two sisters. That asshole I flipped the hate switch on? I had all the potential to be him.
“This is how you break it to me?” I spat.