by Theo Baxter
"I know things look bleak at the moment. but it will get better," I quoted Dr. Blake in a stroke of inspiration.
"Do you really think so?" Melissa asked while looking at me with those big almond-shaped eyes that were a bit shiny from all the tears.
"Yes."
I became too aware of the fact that her lips were really close to mine. Don't think about it.
Then it happened. She leaned in and kissed me, to my utter shock. Suffice to say, I recovered quickly. I immediately responded without a thought, kissing her back with all my might. I’d wanted to kiss her from the moment I met her, so I really took advantage of this opportunity.
Next, I rotated ever so slightly so I could fully enjoy this moment of having her body pressed against mine. You really are a son of a bastard.
When we parted to take some air, it was on the tip of my tongue to ask her to go to bed with me.
Chapter Twelve
It took everything I had in me, all my willpower, every ounce of strength not to take Melissa to my bed. The only thing that stopped me, believe it or not, was Dr. Blake warning me that it would be a bad idea with disastrous consequences.
My dick didn't care about such things. Luckily, miraculously, common sense prevailed. I can't take advantage of her while she is in such a vulnerable state. It wouldn’t be right. Doctor Blake was right on every account. Such reckless behavior will only bring misery to all of us.
"We can’t, " I muttered to her, and she agreed.
As it turned out, my shrink was helping me even when she wasn’t physically present to do so, which I took as a great sign of my own personal growth. After I finished patting myself on the back and lying in bed alone and frustrated to no end, I realized one simple truth. Sometimes, doing the right thing was a bitch.
Unfortunately, the kiss changed everything between me and Melissa. Now that I knew how it could be between us, it made me crave her all the more. And the notion that she felt the same way was mind-blowing.
The attraction burned under the surface for weeks onward, driving me completely mad. I was high-strung, uncomfortable in my own skin as though I were a teenager again while around my first crush, except Melissa didn't fit that bill. She was my father's wife, after all. In other words, completely unavailable to me.
Despite all the difficulties and new developments, I didn't want to stop spending time with her as Dr. Blake suggested I should. If someone more normal and rational were in my place, perhaps he would take that advice. I couldn't. Melissa became my dear friend and I cherished her as such. I tried not to look too closely at my own hypocrisy. If I really, truly considered Melissa to be my dear friend and nothing more, then I wouldn't have the urge to rip her clothes off and lose myself in the feel of her skin any time I was near her.
Alas, no relationship was perfect. And this one was a constant agony. She was someone I’d started to lean on. The mutual attraction changed that, and not for the better.
Our attitude, attraction toward one another wasn't the only issue between those walls. On the other side of that coin was my father, of course. If I considered him to be impossible before, he was downright terrible after. Actually, there were no accurate words to describe his hellish behavior toward all the residents of the house after their argument, after the kiss.
At times, I worried he could sense something was going on between me and Melissa although we were careful. There is nothing going on between me and Melissa, I told myself sternly.
Nevertheless, he always knew how much time we spent together, probably because he still had cameras active in the house, and usually, Melissa paid the price for it. Not even her natural skills could tame him. That didn't mean I was off the hook.
"If you ever say another word to her, I will throw you out like the mutt you are," he shouted at me one time.
"Jealous much?" I countered, unable to contain my fury.
"Of you?" He chuckled humorlessly as though it was beneath him to contemplate something like that.
"Then stop behaving like an insecure old man." I walked away saying that but could hear him breaking some stuff in his office.
I'd really struck a nerve with that. Part of me knew I shouldn't provoke him, yet it couldn't be helped. I had no brakes, especially when Melissa was concerned.
As for her, I noticed how her demeanor would change every time my father was around, and I couldn't hold that against her. I hated that she was so afraid of him. At the same time, it was unfathomable to me that she was choosing to stay. By all the amount of filtration and the tenderness she expressed, it was more than apparent that she loved him.
What am I to her, then? I banished that thought instantly.
"Hey, Dean, don't you think I have the most dashing husband in the world?" Melissa sang, walking down the stairs all dressed up and looking like a million bucks. She was wearing a long-sleeved black cocktail dress that still accentuated all her best attributes. Her long hair was fashionably curled and combed to the back.
I just got back home from my walk and cursed myself to hell that I didn't take another circle around the property to avoid seeing her in such fashion. I started doing that a lot as of late, walking. It was bad for my mental state since it gave me a lot of time and solitude to think about everything, and at the same time, peace of mind not being around Melisa and the temptation she awoke in me. As soon as Patrick gives me a thumbs-up, I will start running as well. It went without saying that I would do anything to avoid the temptation.
I refrained from commenting on my father's look. As always, he was dressed in one of his custom-made suits. He looked like any other day. For him, it was business as usual although by the looks of it, they were going to some gala event. I wondered how she’d forced him to do something like that.
"Hurry up," my father grumbled without acknowledging my presence.
That must mean he was in an exceptionally good mood since when he wasn’t, he did his best to make me feel miserable as well. I wondered what had put him in such a fine mood. Did he manage to make one of his assistants cry? Did he ruin another company? Did he learn Lord Voldemort was based on him? Basically, the options were limitless.
"Do you like the dress your father bought me for this fundraiser?" Melissa continued to question. She was determined that at least one of them should get a compliment out of me. That almost made me smile.
"It's nice." I knew better than to say more than that. I liked to torment my father, but I wasn't suicidal.
"Thank you." She beamed in return.
"Have fun," I added politely. Although with my father as her date, I seriously doubted something like that was possible.
She married him voluntarily, remember? I reminded myself sternly since I sounded like an envious child. I was better than that.
"I hope you're having a lovely time in therapy, sharing your precious feelings, since it's costing me a great deal of money," my father said to me unexpectedly.
There he is, the father I loved to hate.
I smiled brightly. "Yes, Dad, I am, thank you. As always, I am overcome by your generosity."
He narrowed his eyes at me. "Watch that mouth of yours, boy."
"That will be covered in my next therapy session with Dr. Blake," I deadpanned.
He was about to reply, but Melissa beat him to the punch. "Carson, we will be late if we don't go right now."
My father continued to glare at me for a few heartbeats more before reluctantly storming away, out through the door.
Afterward, I scolded myself for those unnecessary comments. I should have just kept my mouth shut. He would leave thinking he’d accomplished something by saying that, humiliating me in front of his wife, and that would be that. The problem was I didn't want to appear weak in front of Melissa. My father couldn't be more right about that.
My father isn't right about me, I corrected. I wasn't weak. Also, I couldn't help worrying all of that would somehow turn around and backfire on Melissa. When frustrated, my father lashed out, and she was the
most likely candidate to be on the receiving end of that since she was, after all, his wife.
Unfortunately, I was proven right. They returned from that fundraiser much sooner than I expected and were arguing the whole time. I stayed in my room, not getting in the middle of their marital problems.
Nevertheless, I learned what happened the next day.
As I was having my breakfast, Melissa came to join me, yet she looked a little absentminded. She didn't look her usual cheerful self. I worried something like that would eventually happen, that my father would suck all the joy out of her.
Her hair was a bit messy, she did nothing to cover her busted lip, and there was a big bruise on her right arm as though someone had held her in place and hard.
My father, clearly angry that I’d managed to humiliate him with my words, took it out on Melissa.
"That motherfucker," I snapped, unable to stop myself. I started to rise, not really sure where I would go since my father was long gone to work.
"It's fine," Melissa reassured me, putting an arm on my shoulder and pushing me back down. "I crossed the line."
"Don't you dare try to justify his actions. He crossed the line." He was so far away from many lines imaginable, it was as though they didn't even exist anymore. But they did, and Melissa deserved to be treated better.
She sat beside me. "I appreciate your concern, but please don't say anything to your father. It would only make things worse," she pleaded.
Although I nodded, not wanting to cause her any additional stress, I simply couldn't stay under this roof and ignore the fact that my father was abusing his wife.
He did the same to my mother and look where that brought her. She had to kill herself to escape that monster. I didn't want the same happening to her. This time, I wouldn't be weak, unable to save the person I cared about.
What happened to my mom won't happen to Melissa, I vowed.
I was still fuming hours later waiting for him to return home. I forced Melissa to take some sleeping pills and retire for the night. Truthfully, I didn't want her around for my confrontation with him.
"What do you want?" He eyed me suspiciously, reading my mood once he came through the front door. I sat on the steps and stood up immediately as he started to speak. "Need more of my money to spend?" he demanded.
"I don't want anything from a miserable human being like you."
He chuckled. "You say that and yet here you are, living in my house, eating my food, having medical bills you expect me to pay—"
"I fully intend to pay you back every cent you spent on me as soon as I get a job."
To that, he did start to laugh, snidely. His meaning was clear. He never expected something like that to occur. He said as much. "Who in their right mind would hire you, and at this rate, you would have to work forever to pay me back!" In my father's eyes, I was completely useless, but I was used to that.
"It doesn't matter how long it takes. I will do it."
"I will be long dead before that."
"Promise?"
He stopped smiling.
"I believe we got sidetracked. I actually wanted to speak with you about something else," I continued.
His bored expression returned to his face. He didn't believe I had anything of consequence to say. "Speak fast. I have an important conference call in five minutes."
That irked me to no end, like everything else regarding my father. Telling myself to calm down did jack shit. I didn't want to calm down. I wanted to rant and rage. He deserved nothing less for what he did.
"Stop abusing your wife or I'll make an important phone call of my own," I threatened.
I didn't even see his hand moving. He was calm one moment and then he wasn't. All the same, I felt the hit. My father hit me straight in the jaw, making my head turn. Something snapped a little. I would fall down if I didn't hold myself on the banister.
"If you ever speak to me in such a manner" —he got into my face— "or try to tell me what I can or cannot do with my wife, I will fucking kill you, you ungrateful whelp," he spat.
At that moment, I completely believed he was capable of something like that. With that said, he turned as though nothing happened and went to his study.
Chapter Thirteen
My father was crazy, that wasn't news to me. He was also a big bully, so this scare tactic of his only pissed me off further and nothing else.
Nevertheless, when Dr. Blake asked me why I was black and blue, and only on that specific place, I lied, saying it was a consequence of one of my seizures. I wasn't one hundred percent sure why I did that. Was I embarrassed I’d let my father sucker-punch me in my thirties? Was I embarrassed I hadn’t hit him back?
I wanted to, yet at the same time, I was afraid, not of him, but of me. I had so much suppressed anger toward the man that I was afraid to let it all out, not knowing if I could control it. Of course, I knew I would have to liberate myself from it in some manner that was socially acceptable. And I wasn't talking about knitting. Patrick still didn't think I was ready for running, and now, after these events, I would much rather stay indoors and hit a punching bag.
All the same, if I told Dr. Blake the truth, she would say it was time for me to leave the house. And I couldn't do that, at least not yet. I had unfinished business, and besides, I worried about Melissa. If my father was this unhinged, he could seriously hurt her and that was something I couldn't allow.
"Do you keep your journal?" Dr. Blake asked me, returning me to the here and now.
"Yes," I replied simply. She forced me to note all of my attacks so we could try to see if there was a pattern to them. We already knew that stress was one of the main triggers, but Dr. Blake wanted to see if there was more to it. I had to admit Dr. Blake's idea was a good one despite my initial reluctance.
"And?"
"More often than not, they happen during the night."
"That makes sense. That is the time of rest, and your body can't do that."
"Because of all the unprocessed stress?" I finished instead of her.
"I believe so, among some other things. Have you ever thought of meditating?"
I shrugged. "I was never really into it, to be honest."
"It could be of great help."
I could understand that. "Maybe I could give it a go," I allowed.
"If you want this under control, you need to utilize all kinds of tools that are at your disposal."
"I know, and something else occurred."
"What?"
"My headache is back."
"You mean you're experiencing headaches prior to your seizures?"
"Yes, it's a strange pressure feeling."
"How long do you have between the headache and the seizure?" she asked.
"It varies. The longest was half an hour."
"And each time you had a headache, you had an episode as well?"
"Yes."
"Let's see if we can change that."
"What do you mean?" I asked, not really understanding where she was going with that.
"I want you to try meditating, especially in those windows of time, to see if we can prevent them."
I had to admit her idea was brilliant. If I could calm down, then maybe I could avoid having a seizure altogether. It was true that my disease was genetic, but it could be triggered by my emotional state. Attacks were worse when I was stressed or anxious. Although I wasn't allowing myself to get too optimistic about the end results, I was determined to give my best and try. At this point, I would do anything to put my life back together.
"You got it, Doc."
"And write everything about the experience, anything you can remember."
I nodded.
"How's your relationship with your father?" she abruptly changed the subject.
"Great, we became close. Just last night, we braided each other's hair."
"Don't be an asshole."
"Funny, that was what I told him last night when he didn't want us wearing matching bracelets."
"Serious now."
"The same. We argue a lot." He punched me in the face. "Same old, same old."
"And Melissa?"
I still want to fuck her. I shrugged. "Same old, same old." Although it wasn't, and not simply because we kissed. I started to notice some things about her that I didn't see before, small things that confounded me.
Yesterday, she pouted all day because my father wouldn't take her to some dinner they were invited to, and afterward when he showed her the diamond earrings he bought for her, she was all smiles, over the moon, dinner completely forgotten.
And before that, when he informed her they would be taking a small trip over the weekend to Atlanta since he had some business to attend to, her whole face fell.
"Atlanta?" she repeated as though saying dog shit.
"What is it now?" my father grumbled.
I watched the whole scene from the other room, and honestly, I was stunned that he cared to ask. Usually, he simply said what he wanted and people responded accordingly, end of the story.
"You know I can't go. I hate flying."
"You can take something for it, sleep through the entire flight," he replied.
So, he didn't mind her taking drugs, only me.
"You don't understand, I can't."
"Don't be childish."
I was curious why he insisted so much. If it was a business trip, then it didn't really matter if Melissa went with him or not. And then it hit me. He didn't want us alone in the house for the whole weekend. That almost made me smile.
"I won't go," Melissa insisted in return, practically sobbing. "I wish I could, but—"
"Melissa."
"My father died in a plane accident."
"Accidents happen all the time, Melissa, car accidents as well."
She stopped him with a wave of her hand. "For once, could you please try to put yourself in my position, think about my feelings instead of thinking only of yourself?" she snapped. That was the first time I'd heard her speak to him in such a manner.
My father remained silent, simply looking at her as though unsure what to do. That was a first as well.