by Theo Baxter
He looked older, of course, a little frailer, but alive and kicking. I didn't feel the need to go and greet him. There would be plenty of time for us to catch up without my bothering him during his precious moments of rest. I always liked him. He was a good man, a true saint considering he’d managed to tolerate my father for all these years.
With such thoughts, I returned to my room without encountering anyone, which was a true blessing, and I immediately fell asleep despite my growling stomach. I will make it up to you tomorrow was my last conscious thought.
I spent a dreamless night, and I couldn't remember when the last time that actually happened was. The next morning after I woke, I waited for my father to leave the house before leaving my room. Some would say it was a cowardly move. I saw it differently. In my mind, it was a strategically brilliant move. If we never saw each other, then we couldn't get on each other's nerves, argue, and fight, so problem solved.
I couldn't wait to have some waffles, or eggs, or both, with a lot of bacon on the side.
"Oh," I said, startled, surprised to see Melissa in the dining room.
And I couldn't explain why I was that surprised to begin with. This was her house now, after all. That notion was something I would need time to get used to.
"Perfect timing." She beamed. "I was hoping you would come down so we could have some breakfast together. It will give us an opportunity to get to know one another," she said all in one breath.
"Sure," I mumbled, too stunned to form a more complicated reply.
"Come, sit," she urged.
I did as I was told, looking at her discretely as she fussed about. It was hard not to question why she was so nice to me. Why would she want to spend any time with me, get to know me? I was sure my father wouldn't approve. Putting that to the side, why would she bother? It wasn't like there was something for her to gain out of getting to know me. My father hated me and wouldn't be too pleased if he saw us like this together.
Maybe she is simply a nice person, a small voice inside pointed out. Was it possible that I'd become so jaded that something like that didn't even occur to me? Definitely.
Sadly, someone being nice was a concept I wasn't too familiar with, especially in this house.
My mother was a nice, good person, and she definitely didn't last long as such. I wonder if Melissa will share her fate? I instantly banished that thought and one of my mother, too. Thinking of her, especially since returning here, only brought me pain, and I didn't want to remember her in such a way.
I liked to picture her smiling. We used to have picnics in the garden when I was really small, and I cherished those days of happiness since they were rare.
"I didn't know what you preferred, so I asked Nancy to make a little bit of everything." Melissa explained the spread in front of me. I approved since I was starving.
"What do you like?"
"Everything looks delicious."
Nodding, she placed some bacon and eggs on my plate. The smell was simply divine. I almost swayed as my mouth watered.
My ecstasy was short-lived. As she served, I noticed her makeup was just a little too strong for a Wednesday morning. That could only mean one thing, so I really looked at her. Yup, she was covering a black eye. My father didn't lose his touch, I thought glumly.
Apparently, Melissa did something that elicited that kind of response from him. I seriously felt sorry for her. Of course, I said nothing of it to her, pretended not to see it.
And then it hit me. Did she get that black eye because of me? She did step into the middle of an argument I had with my father. Although he warned her to stay out of it, she didn't, even pointed out his blood pressure. To him, those were all capital offenses. Not that I was justifying him in any way. He was a bully and a motherfucker. It was only that I understood his thinking process.
"So, I heard you're a professor of psychology. That must be exciting," she started conversationally.
If she knew that, I was sure she also knew I got fired and was simply being polite by not saying it. "I was. I'm currently between jobs."
"Because of what happened to you, the accident?"
Partly. "Yes."
"Well, I'm sure something even better is right around the corner," she encouraged. "I also heard you wrote a book. I don't think I could ever do something like that."
"It was only an academic study." Nothing special. It wasn't like I was Dan Brown or something.
"It's impressive."
Despite my initial wariness, I found myself talking, laughing. It went without saying that she turned out to be far better company than my father ever could.
Luckily, he was constantly out for up to ten hours a day or more dealing with his business since he had his own company to run.
Melissa and I started to spend all of our free time together. I completely forgot about searching for a job at some point. We sunbathed by the pool or ate. We did that a lot. Whatever we asked for, Nancy would prepare for us. It was a complete delight. I had so few joys in life that I cherished those.
Despite the initial black eye, Melissa was working hard at keeping my father pacified, and that was considerably proven true as he returned home one night in a terrible mood.
Without any provocation, not that he ever needed one, he started accusing her of doing nothing, simply idling around and spending all his money.
I could hear him yelling from my room. I especially started paying attention once he mentioned me. "I already have one leech in this house. I don't need another."
Aw, Dad, that was so sweet of you. I adored his pet names for me.
I couldn't actually hear her or what she told him in return, yet in mere minutes, my father calmed down and then actually started to laugh. I was stupefied.
Carson Andros’s whisperer strikes again.
Chapter Eleven
"Do you want me to get you another glass of wine?" I offered to Melissa.
We were sitting on the terrace enjoying the view of the sun setting.
After I returned from my physical therapy, we spontaneously met up here and started talking about everything and nothing in particular, like most days.
"I really shouldn't," she replied tentatively. And I knew why. She was thinking of my father.
"Oh, come on, live a little," I teased.
"Only if you join me," she replied with a smile.
Her lips looked incredibly attractive, kissable when she did that. Stop that. "I would love to, but I can't."
Her whole face fell as though that was the moment that she remembered why I couldn't drink. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I completely forgot," she said as though in fear that I was offended, or worse, hurt.
"It's all right, I actually prefer that you forget I'm this frail being who can't enjoy alcohol." It was meant as a joke, of course, but Melissa didn't see it that way.
"I don't see you like that at all."
I was glad about that. It was apparent that she had a lot more to say, yet she never got a chance.
"You really should," my father said, appearing at the door. "If he" —he gestured with his chin toward me as though he didn't even want to bother to say my name— " knows the truth about himself, so should you. He is a weakling who's caused me nothing but trouble all his life. I should have never had him in the first place."
Each word should hurt like a hot iron through the heart and probably would have if I hadn't heard that same speech, or variations of it, all my life. Now when he spoke, I heard wind passing through the trees. Life was much simpler that way.
That didn't mean I remained quiet. "Aw, Dad, it's nice to see you too."
"Carson," Melissa said in exasperation.
"It's okay, Melissa, I'm used to hearing my father's expressions of love," I said sarcastically.
In return, Carson Andros ground his teeth. If there was one thing that he hated the most, it was when someone, namely me, tried to make fun of him. I promised myself I wouldn't tolerate his bullshit anymore. He could say whatever he liked to me,
as always, yet this time around, I would say everything that came to mind in return. My days of cowering from him, trying not to elicit his wrath, were over. And by the looks of it, my father was only now starting to realize that same thing.
He didn't look too pleased about that, either. Not that I gave a shit. More to the point, I was glad when I managed to make a crack in his perfect despotic world that he’d created for himself.
Reading the room, and all the anger and hostility that were simmering under the surface, Melissa jumped to her feet to properly greet her husband. "How was your day at work, my love?" She sang in her usual manner. As she approached to kiss him, he moved out of reach.
"Have you been drinking?" he accused, eyeing the empty glass of wine at the small table. "You know how I feel about women drinking."
I did. He considered that a trait only women with a lack of morals had. A proper woman, a married woman, never drank. I was about to interject, lie how that was mine, when Melissa beat me to the punch.
"Only one small glass of red wine after dinner." She tried to brush it off with a wave of her hand. "It's good for health," she pointed out.
That kind of argument didn't work on my father. His opinion was the only one that mattered. His word was the law.
Despite the fact that I wanted to roll my eyes at this whole ridiculous situation, I was also fearful. My father was angry, mainly at me, and now I was afraid he would use any excuse to lash out at Melissa.
"Let's go," he ordered, sending a last look of hate toward me before turning. I love you too, Dad.
"Are we going somewhere?" Melissa inquired.
Of course, he didn't reply, simply started walking toward his bedroom. She followed suit.
Just another day in paradise. I really didn't understand my father. He had everything in this world. He had good health, all the money he could never spend, and a beautiful, loving wife, and he still wasted time on hate and anger. He had all the means to be happy and would never be happy because he was too firmly set in his ways.
I didn't want to end up like that. Sighing, I stood up and started cleaning up. The balcony door to his bedroom must have been wide open because I could hear their argument perfectly.
"What's the matter, Carson?" I heard Melissa asking softly. After everything, she was actually concerned for that asshole. It was incredulous. "I am sorry if I did anything to upset you."
"I don't want you spending time with him," my father growled in return.
"With whom? Dean? He's your son," Melissa replied, clearly confused.
"Dd you hear what I just said?" he boomed.
I could only imagine the look on his face as he yelled that. I was the recipient of it too many times to count and didn't care for it one bit.
I couldn't believe my father was actually jealous of me. And at the same time, I could. It felt good. He was possessive to the core. I was sure he hated me because my mother showered me with attention more than him after I was born. Once I started seizing, that was only an excuse for him to justify himself, plain and simple.
"As you wish," Melissa replied eventually, softly. She sounded tired yet resigned. He was her husband, after all, and she would do what he asked.
My blood boiled. That miserable old motherfucker. I hated the way he treated her, as though she were his slave. Melissa was a good person, smart, kind, full of joy, and didn't deserve such treatment in life, especially not in her marriage, from her husband. It was preposterous. My father was trying to take everything that was good in her, everything that was a shining light in her, and squash it. As though he couldn't stand to be around anyone who was not equally or more miserable than him.
This wasn't the first time I got upset because of the way he was treating her. I couldn't care less if he was nasty and abusive toward me. I had my whole life of practice not to care. I was freaking Teflon when it came to him. All that shit just slid off me. Melissa was a different story altogether. She was delicate.
The way he was treating her as though she was nothing more than a thing he owned was maddening. The way he was controlling her every move brought back really bad memories for me. At times, I felt overwhelmed.
That night was the first time since returning home that I had an episode. It was a short one, and I never left my room, as far as I could tell. It worried me, especially since I still hadn't put a lock on the door.
I knew why I was stalling, of course. A lock on the door meant I was settling here, and that was something I couldn't allow.
Safety issues had to come first, though, I tried to reason with myself. So, I promised I would take care of that as soon as possible. A lock would not change my desire to leave this place. Sadly, something else could.
A small part of me was starting to worry about Melissa. I didn't want to leave her here alone with him. What the hell are you thinking? I snapped at myself. She is his wife, and their screwed-up marriage is of no concern to you. That was maybe true in theory, but in reality, I felt like I should do something more than be a silent bystander. Which was completely insane.
As the days went by, I discovered I was getting stronger. My physical therapy was going great. The guy who helped me with it, Patrick, was amazing. I rarely used my cane anymore and my head felt clearer, and that was thanks to Dr. Blake. Of course, I wasn't saying my life was all of a sudden perfect, it was far from it, but there was visible improvement.
Getting a job and leaving this hellish house would get me even closer to perfection.
Each time I thought of moving, Melissa came to mind. It couldn't be helped. We grew closer, despite my father's warnings. It brought me pleasure, more than it should, that Melissa chose to ignore my father's words.
I couldn't believe he was actually jealous of his own son. At the same time, there was no wonder a control freak like him had trust issues as well.
Dr. Blake noticed I was slightly distracted during our session. "What's on your mind, Dean?"
So far, I'd refrained from speaking with my shrink about Melissa. That day, it was as though I was compelled to let all of that out and share.
"I fear I've started developing feelings toward Melissa."
I didn't have to elaborate on what type of feelings I was referring to.
"You've grown close?"
I shrugged. "We hang out every day, talk about everything. She's a good person."
"But?"
As always, Dr. Blake saw right through me. "I'm tempted all the time while around her."
"We talked about that before. It's not real," she insisted.
"I know, and I can't help myself. I'm attracted to her."
"Would you be attracted to her if she wasn't your father's wife?" she challenged.
If I were being honest, that did add to the appeal, but this time, I’d actually had a chance to know the woman. Melissa was a good person. It was all so confusing, a mess.
"I don't know," I replied honestly. "Maybe, maybe not."
She nodded, pleased I was being honest about my feelings. "Either way, I will tell you something you already know. Having an affair with her is a terrible idea," she warned. "And that is implied to all parties involved, including your father."
I appreciated how clinical she was about everything. The last thing I needed was someone else judging me. I already had that from my father.
"I know, Dr. Blake," I instantly reassured her. "Believe me, I'm doing my best. I just hope it will be enough."
It helped that Melissa had zero interest in me. She didn't look at me as though I was her son, more like I was her friend. At this moment in my life, I really appreciated having someone like that by my side.
"Are you really? Doing your best, I mean?" she challenged.
"Excuse me?"
"If she's proven to be such a temptation for you, then maybe you should avoid it, avoid her, altogether."
Her proposition sounded unimaginable to me. I couldn't stop spending time with Melissa. I needed her. I said as much, if not in so many words. "She's a frie
nd, and I won't tarnish that."
Dr. Blake nodded at that, but I couldn't decide if she believed me or thought my words were nothing more than an empty promise or wishful thinking. At times, I wondered about that too.
Once I returned home, I continued to contemplate everything we discussed during the session. I was so wrapped up inside my head I almost missed the fact that Melissa was sitting alone in the unlit living room. She was crying, which horrified me. I was instantly alarmed.
"Melissa, are you all right? Where is Carson?" I demanded, walking in.
She looked startled. Apparently, I was not the only one unaware of the surroundings. She instantly wiped the tears and tried to smile.
"I don't know where your father went. We had a small argument."
That was a load of bullshit. My father never did anything small. "Are you okay?" I asked again.
"Oh, yes."
"Then why were you crying?" I challenged. I realized I was coming on too strong—being upset did that—so I tried to rein my temper in since this was not about me, but her.
"I'm being silly."
I sat on the sofa beside her. "Tell me what's the matter."
She looked me straight in the eyes, long and hard, before shaking her head. "I don't want to dump my problems on you."
"Dump away." I tried to make a joke. "I'm here for you."
"It's just . . ." She repeated the gesture with her head as though having trouble formulating her thought, expressing her feelings. "I'm trying so hard to make him happy and he . . ."
Is an ungrateful bastard? I bit my tongue not to say that out loud.
"I don't know what else to do." She sounded really exasperated, gloomy. "I'm lonely and sad all the time."
That was because she was in a relationship with the wrong man. I wanted to ask her if she thought about divorcing him but didn't since this was about her, not me. I had to respect her wishes, and she clearly wanted to be with my father for whatever reason.
Not knowing what to say, I simply put an arm around her. I tried not to think about how good that felt.