by Theo Baxter
She took a deep breath before continuing. "I know you probably think of it as silly." She approached him. "To me, it's painful, unimaginably."
My father remained silent for so long I could have sworn he wasn't even there if I didn't see him with my own two eyes.
"Fine, I'll do a video conference."
What? I couldn't believe that happened. Mighty Carson Andros was making a compromise. I felt the urge to go look out the window and check if the end of the world was starting. Clearly, this was one of the signs.
Melissa wrapped her arms around him. "That means the world to me," she replied, returning to her cheerful self.
Having full consideration toward her pain and the tragedy she endured, I had to admit that her action was a bit on the manipulative side. It was clear that she didn't want to go to Atlanta, plain and simple. At the same time, I was sure she didn't do that on purpose. It was probably a self-preservation skill she developed while being with my father, and I really couldn't blame her for that.
Dr. Blake didn't question me further about the happy couple and I was beyond relieved. I didn't want to keep lying to her, but for now it was better to omit some things.
As it turned out, not even a change of topic could improve my mood. If anything, it got me more depressed. All this time passed with me doing the work, going to therapy, and my life was still pretty much fucked up, and I couldn't see that changing in the near future.
I was constantly tired, strained, stressing about everything. Not to mention angry and tired of being angry, and above all, frustrated on so many different levels. It was a miracle I could function at all. Instead of recovering from the accident and major seizures caused by my mental breakdown, I found myself in a love triangle.
Of course, I wasn't in love with Melissa, but I was sure the same could be said for my father. He didn’t love her one bit. Nevertheless, I cared about her a great deal, and I definitely lusted for her. In the rare times that I slept, I dreamed of her, which was beyond maddening.
It was like no matter what I did, no matter where I was, I couldn't escape thoughts of her. Obsessed much? Yes, I was.
Dr. Blake wasn't that impressed with me that day, and honestly, neither was I. I knew I had the power to change my circumstances, yet I felt stuck.
The first thing I will do getting home is resume my search for employment. I made a promise to myself. I'd been idle for too long.
"Oh, good, you're home," Melissa greeted me by the door as soon as I entered.
I groaned inwardly. "Hey, Melissa."
"Nancy made me some delicious hot cocoa, want some?"
Say no, asshole. You have work to do, remember? "Yes, please."
We sat in the library, enjoying our hot beverage.
"So, how's therapy?" she asked before making a face. “You don't have to answer if that was too personal of a question," she reassured, realizing her slip-up.
"It's fine, and therapy was fine too," I replied with a small smile.
"I know we only met recently, but I have to tell you I'm really in awe of you."
Huh? "Why?" I blurted out before I could stop myself.
"It's admirable, the way you take care of yourself. You took charge of your life, doing the things you need to do to get better," she explained.
"I wouldn't say it like that."
"Are you kidding me? I know a lot of people who would have succumbed to all the pressure while dealing with all your shit," she insisted.
I was really stunned by her words, her high praise. Also, it felt good to hear something like that. My father always tried to bring me down. Melissa wasn't like that at all.
"Thank you? I guess," I replied, feeling a bit self-conscious.
"Tell me, how old were you when you had your first seizure?"
"Eight. I woke up in the back yard on a tree."
"Really. That must have been scary."
"I had no memory how I got there." My mother had been worried sick, and my father kicked the living shit out of me, of course.
"Were you okay after that?"
"Yeah, just confused. When things like that continued to happen, they all started believing I was simply sleepwalking." Because my father failed to mention his dirty little secret about the condition running in his family.
"And then what happened?"
"I got worse," I replied with a small shrug. "So, they took me to a doctor. After a lot of tests and different theories, they discovered what was going on." My mother was furious at my father who remained adamant that I was simply seeking attention.
Of course, I didn't share everything with Melissa. There was no point in traumatizing her.
"You've taken epilepsy medications all your life?"
"Yes, since I was eight, although at times I wonder why I bother," I added as an afterthought.
Melissa looked at me questioningly. "Why do you say that? Don't you need them?"
"I'm seizing with or without them, but to be perfectly honest, they do manage most of the smaller ones. Without them, I would be seizing all the time, and my brain would fry. Just joking," I added, seeing her face.
"Don't joke about something like that." She playfully tried to hit me. "Do you think you would be having seizures every day without medications?"
"Maybe," I replied since I’d never really tested that theory, or wanted to, for that matter.
"That's horrible. I'm so glad you have your pills, then."
"You and me both."
We toasted to that.
I was really touched that she cared this much about me to have such a conversation regarding my illness. My father never did something like that, and I was sure he never would. Melissa was surprising me each day.
I was truly blessed to have her in my life even if it meant having to suffer my father's disdain in return. Feeling relaxed, touched, I decided to tell her everything.
"You know, I was ten when I first broke my arm . . ."
Chapter Fourteen
I was fighting the urge not to scream like a little girl. After waking and taking care of my morning boner, I decided to take a cold shower as well. And guess what? It was really freaking cold. I gritted my teeth standing under the spray of freezing water. It was a necessary action since I constantly had to fight against my ever-growing attraction toward Melissa.
It gave me small comfort that she was feeling the same way toward me. It was pure agony that I met the woman of my dreams and she was not only already married but married to my own father. Talk about bad luck. If there were any justice in the world, the universe would somehow right this wrong.
At the same time, there was a big possibility that I was blowing things out of proportion. It was true I was attracted to her. It was true that we bonded, but I'd thought Bella was the love of my life as well. This time around, I would be more careful. Besides, it wasn't like I believed Melissa should be with me.
My old self would be like Hell yes, picturing her riding away into the sunset with me. That was the old me, or so I liked to believe. The selfish one. As of late, after meeting Dr. Blake, I'm striving to be a different kind of man. One who could look himself in the mirror and not be disgusted by what he saw. I really wanted to be a kind of man who didn't always look to satisfy his own selfish reasons and desires. Hence the cold morning showers.
It was my core belief that Melissa shouldn't be with my father. He was a nasty piece of work that didn't deserve her. That didn't mean I believed she should be with me, either. I met her during a troubling time in my life, so I really couldn't trust myself or my emotions, for that matter, regarding her.
All that brought me to my brilliant plan, which was to not die of hypothermia. I needed to get the hell out of this house. It wasn't a new plan, simply enriched. I would convince Melissa to go as well.
It was frustrating as hell that I still hadn't managed to find a job even though I sent my resume out every day, applying for all kinds of jobs. It was discouraging putting in all the work, energy, hopes, and dreams into s
omething and not getting anything in return. Sometimes, it felt like the whole universe was against me, making me suffer on purpose.
It was a constant battle getting back on my feet when the world kept punching me in the face. Luckily, thanks to my dear old dad, getting punched in the face was exactly what I was used to. That joke almost made me smile.
It was ironic how in the end, all of my father's torments had managed to shape me into a stubborn son of a bastard who refused to give up. Sure, there were times after hitting rock bottom that I had started thinking of ending things, yet I’d prevailed. Not that my father would ever accept that I was anything but weak. I didn't need his acceptance anyway. Nor would I ever thank him for turning me into this. There were no excuses for what he did to me, making my life hell.
"Please, can someone just give me a chance?" I prayed, sending another email. That was my third application since waking up, and I refused to be discouraged, although I was starting to feel beyond desperate. At this point, I would accept literally any job. The problem was I had zero experience in anything apart from teaching.
That was a good skill to have, especially in this day and age, so I soldiered on. It was imperative for me to leave this accursed house before I did something stupid, something I would forever regret doing. Like sleeping with Melissa.
This house had brought me nothing but pain, and meeting Melissa was no different. Yes, I cherished my moments with her, although it was getting harder to ignore the mutual attraction.
I wasn't refusing to sleep with her out of some misguided loyalty or respect for my father. Far from it. I couldn't care less about that, although I knew he would definitely care if we had an affair.
I didn't want to go down that path simply because I didn't want to be that kind of a man anymore. I was avoiding temptation for me, not for anybody else.
Unfortunately, it looked like the universe had other plans for me. Since I felt like I was doing my best regarding my employment, I refocused on getting into the best physical and mental shape possible as well. I started meditating as Dr. Blake suggested. So far, I couldn't quite see any improvements, yet to master such techniques I would need some time and patience. Regarding my body, I dumped the cane completely, and my physical therapist and I were getting to the end of my program, which was something I was proud of.
Patrick really pushed me hard that day. I was covered in sweat, shouting with each push, and wasn't giving up. I needed to do this, finish this, because I needed to remedy at least one wrong in my life, and to be honest, between my illness, unemployment, crazy father, and hot stepmother, this was the easiest.
"Come on, Dean, let's do just one more set," he urged. "You can do it."
"Okay," I grunted, starting all over again.
It felt good going through these motions despite the pain. While I worked out, I couldn't think about the ways I’d screwed up my life. Win-win. As I said before, thanks to Patrick, I didn't need my cane anymore, and I'd recovered complete mobility in my arm. That made me feel somewhat accomplished.
Perhaps I didn't have a job yet, or a loved one, but I could walk on my own two feet and grab something from the top shelf in a grocery store again without asking for anyone's help. I was on top of the world.
I continued to yell as I pushed the weights upward. I never imagined something like that, but I really enjoyed it and would definitely continue working out, start going to the gym even after my rehabilitation program ended.
"That was great, Dean, I'm proud of you," Patrick complimented, offering me a towel and a bottle of water.
"Thanks." In that small regard, I was proud of myself as well. I was finally the man I was before, even better since I was never in such a fine physical shape.
Mentally, I was all over the place and miles away from where I wanted to be. Dr. Blake was helping me with that. I had to stop keeping things from her if I wanted to see real progress in that area of my life.
At the same time, none of that mattered if I didn't find my own place to live. It would all go to shit, all my hard work and effort to waste, if I didn't find a job, and sooner rather than later. Despite everything, I could sense it was just a matter of time before I'd slip. I wasn't made of stone. I was man enough to admit that, if only to myself. I wasn't strong enough to resist such temptation indefinitely, especially when it was so strongly reciprocated.
I could see the way Melissa looked at me, finding any excuses to stay alone with me, touch me, and it was cracking my willpower to stay away from her.
It sounded corny, but somehow, no matter what, we found a way to one another. No matter how much I tried to stay away, I ended up in her company. Simply put, it was maddening. Living inside my father's house was pure torture, and for the first time in recorded history, not thanks to my father. He was a nightmare, that didn't change, but all his nasty remarks and snide comments paled in comparison to Melissa, being near her and unable to touch her, kiss her, feel her pressed against my body, entwined in ecstasy.
Stop it.
I knew something was wrong the moment I got home. I deliberately stayed out all day after finishing with Patrick so I could avoid Melissa. Like the true masochist I was, I also went to my old university to take a stroll around the grounds. I can't believe I lost all of this for nothing. No one recognized me, thankfully. Now, looking at the mess, I regretted taking the long way home. The antique table that stood in the lobby was overturned. The vase that stood on top of it was smashed into a million pieces. And those were not the only signs of violence I could see. The living room was pretty smashed as well.
My first thought was that we had intruders. I banished that since the alarm looked fine and in order.
"Dad?" I called out.
The house looked empty. It was nine o'clock and it appeared my father was not here. That wasn't so strange. "Melissa?" I tried next.
No one answered me so I went searching upstairs taking two steps at a time. If only Patrick could see me now, he would be so proud. I banished that unnecessary thought immediately.
I entered my father's bedroom. "Dad?" The lights were off, and it was apparent he was not here. Where are they?
I checked Melissa's sitting room next as my mind came up with all kinds of wild theories. What if they were kidnapped? God knew my father had plenty of enemies.
"Melissa?" I called out quietly, as though not wanting to disturb the silence. "Are you in here?" I lingered for a second more before deciding to go to my room.
I was resolved to do something I hadn't in a long time. I'd call my father simply to make sure he was all right. I had a bad feeling something horrible had happened.
"Dean?" I head Melissa's voice behind me. "Is that you?" She was sobbing.
I turned right on time to see her appearing at the door to her sitting room. "I was hiding in the closet," she explained.
"Carson?" I growled in return, unable to contain my fury.
Melissa simply nodded in return. She was a mess. It was more than apparent that she took her first full-fledged Carson Andros patented beatdown.
I wondered why he did that to her. Not that it really mattered. My heart broke for her.
I tried to calm my temper because she looked beyond scared, with tears and sorrow in her eyes, and she didn’t need me raging as well. I hated that monster with all my heart.
Chapter Fifteen
Melissa’s face was completely ruined. That man will burn in hell for all the hurt he inflicted on other people, I thought, and not for the first time through the course of my entire life.
I took Melissa to my room. She needed to be tended to, body and soul. I had a lot of practice with the first part of that equation. With the second, not so much, yet I would do my best. Taking her hand, I slowly ushered her toward my bedroom. "Come on."
I didn't give a fuck if it was inappropriate, crazy, or if my father would blow a gasket. Part of me maybe even counted on that. Regardless of all that, she was hurting, and I wanted, no, I needed to be the one taking care of h
er.
First things first. I made myself focus. I could rant about my father later. Melissa must be my number-one priority at the moment. I would deal with my father later. That was guaranteed.
Although Melissa appeared to have calmed down, she was unnaturally silent as the tears continued to stream down her face. My mother came to mind, looking horribly similar after the same kind of beatdown, and without realizing it, I made fists while gritting my teeth.
Melissa looked at me and just like that, all my anger, if not disappeared, then retreated. "You will be safe here," I promised.
I didn't try to soothe her with empty words how everything would be alright or tell her she shouldn't cry. She should do, feel, and act the way she wanted, needed at this moment to deal with her hellish reality. I would never dare to tell her how she should behave, what she should do. I wasn't my father. I will never be like my father.
"Sit down, make yourself comfortable." I pointed at the bed. "I'll grab my first aid kit," I said softly. I was proud of myself and the fact that my voice didn't show how angry and freaked out I truly was.
"You have a first aid kit in your room?" she asked. Her curiosity made her ask despite her situation. And I was glad about that. That small action showed me she would be okay. Eventually, she would recuperate.
"When you're living with my condition, it's a must-have," I tried to joke. It didn't work.
Quickly grabbing the box from my bathroom, I returned to Melissa. I hated how vulnerable and fragile she looked. Without further delay, I sat on the bed beside her and started unpacking all the things I would need to properly treat her wounds.
This was the first time in my life that I was glad I had such vast knowledge that I'd gathered while treating my own wounds. At the same time, there was something tragic in that, apart from the obvious. I could implement my knowledge because my father had mistreated his wife. I had said knowledge thanks to my father. One would think the world would be a much better, safer, happier place without my father in it.