by Tijan
them. "You guys are idiots."
They looked at me.
"If you guys were forced to do something like that, would you tell people?"
They all grimaced and looked anywhere, but at me.
"Ignorant, ignorant, ignorant. And you're idiots," I chastised before I caught a glimpse of Becky Lew, who had been watching us. "Why is she looking at us?"
The guys seemed to sigh in relief at the same time. The topic had been changed.
Bryce relaxed beside me and threw an arm across the top of the booth. His hand brushed my shoulder.
"Because she's hot for Scout," Harris said with a cocky glint.
Bryce smirked and reached for his drink. His hand started to rub up and down against my shoulder.
He asked me, "You want something to eat?"
"I'm good."
"I could eat something. Let's go to Donadeli," Chet requested and the decision was made. The guys stood one by one and all trailed towards the door. I caught a sneer from Becky Lew, but she turned and flung an arm around some other guy. As we cleared the back section, I tucked my fingers inside of Bryce's back pocket and stopped him.
"Who's the guy?" I gestured behind us.
"Braven Locke. Why?"
Why? Because the guy next to him was salivating just as much and I remembered seeing that same guy with Leisha. She had been blushing and had even ducked her head, flirtatiously. I wanted to know, that's why.
"Is he friends with the other guy, the blonde?" That's who had caused Leisha to blush.
"I guess. His name is Carlos Hunstville." Bryce shrugged. "Why do you care?"
I shrugged and moved past him. When we got outside, I threw over my shoulder, "You're driving."
Bryce nodded and I sat shotgun with Harris in our backseat. Holster rode with Chet.
Bryce flipped some music on and it drowned out any conversation until he pulled into Donadeli's small parking lot. Donadeli was a locally owned Italian deli with red plush booths and floors that had polka-dotted tiles. They specialized in meatballs, but served sandwiches to the majority of their customers. The guys' liked the deli because they gave large helpings and Becky Lew's crowd generally looked down their noses at the Italian eatery. It was a place to hide when the mood struck.
I liked going to Donadeli because the owner's son had a crush on me.
"Hey Marcus," I said warmly, sultry, as we strolled inside.
He dropped the menus from his hand and stood paralyzed for a second, which didn't seem too far from his normal blank-eyed stare. I somewhat felt sorry for Marcus at times. He stood around five feet and nine inches. His hair were black strands that just seemed to hang off his scalp. And his eyes were always covered by his glasses. I never looked long enough to notice what color they were. Over all, Marcus was just blah and most of the time, he acted blah.
Bryce reached around me and grabbed a few before leading the way to our table. That was another thing. We sat where we wanted. We never waited to be seated. It had annoyed the owners at first, but Marcus must've said something for us because they never said anything.
I lingered at the hosting table and flirted with Marcus, my normal routine. This time, I got us free breadsticks and drinks, but Marcus said we needed to pay for the entrees. He almost choked in fear as he told me this.
He put our order through while I moved to the seat across from Bryce.
They all waited until I commented with a proud smile, "Breadsticks and drinks."
A collective 'nice' sounded around the table.
"And he put your orders in."
Another collective 'sweet' went around.
The guys always ordered the same thing. With the quick order, we usually got our food faster than the customers who'd already ordered before us.
Just then Corrigan dropped into the one empty seat nearest the aisle. He sighed dramatically and looked irritated.
Chet, Holster, and Harris quieted.
Bryce and I shared a look before I ventured, "What'd you do?"
Corrigan ignored me and griped, "Did you order already? Where the hell are our drinks?"
"Dude," Bryce said quietly, watching. "We just got here."
Corrigan swore and turned his chair around to straddle it. He looked a bit frazzled, but it was the anger in his tone that made my knot of dread double in size.
"What'd you do?" I asked again.
He ignored me again and asked abruptly, "What free stuff did you get us?"
I gave him a pointed look.
"I didn't do anything." He cursed. "Back off."
If anyone except Bryce had spoken to me like that, Corrigan would've been the first to throw a punch.
I never needed his protection before and I didn't need it now.
I slid a knife out from the silverware wrapped in a cloth napkin and stabbed it in his chair's cushion, right between his legs.
Corrigan yelped and jumped off the seat. Startled, he cursed some more before he settled back in his chair, now watchful.
He snapped, "What?!"
"What. Did. You. Do?"
"Are you going to jail for it?" Bryce asked instead.
"No. No jail." Corrigan answered Bryce and looked at me. "And I'll tell you later. It's not dinner talk, you know."
Fine.
Marcus brought the drinks and two orders of breadsticks. He grabbed another drink for Corrigan and said, with his head hung downwards, that he'd put in Corrigan's order too.
Corrigan ignored him and downed my drink. He stood up and refilled it behind the cook's doorway.
Marcus stood helpless behind him.
Corrigan returned to the table and sat it in front of me.
"You're a jerk," I murmured.
Corrigan shrugged, but he patted my knee underneath the table.
"So we got a game going." Chet spoke up and the conversation was off and running. Corrigan lapped it up. He wanted a distraction from whatever he didn't want to talk about.
A few minutes later, Marcus brought the drinks and our food wasn't too far behind. I sat back and poked at my salad as the guys talked more about soccer and Harris' party. They started planning an elaborate drinking game that consisted of a chart with relays when my phone rang.
I didn't recognize the number so I answered.
"Hi, sweetie," my mother's sickening sweet voice drawled across the other end.
I stilled and asked, tensely, "What do you want?"
"I wanted to let you know my new number, sweetie. You should've gotten my message, but I know you don't always think to check the house's line."
Her voice disgusted me and I had to take a deep breath to clear the nausea.
"Fine." It was all I could manage out as I choked on the inside.
"Honey." Only my mother could make concern sound like contempt. Not to mention condescension.
"I'm fine. Really." I gripped the phone harder, but I knew my face looked fine, probably a little bored.
"Do we need to talk about this? I want you to know, Sheldon Eva, that I am your mother and I love you very much."
Funny. She sounded like she'd been drinking.
She continued, "This is for the best. It really is. Your father and I just reached a point in the marriage when it was time to part ways."
"Did you sleep with someone?" It's something she'd do.
"Sweetie." Sharon hadn't liked that. She heaved a dramatic sigh. "Are you angry with me? This really is for the best. A harmonious parental unit benefits the child better. Neil and I were not harmonious. This is for you really, honey, more than your father and myself."
"What?" My eyes went cold. "Did you pick up that language in therapy?"
She was quiet for a moment and then said stiffly, "Your father and I did try some marital counseling."
"You went once and said it wasn't for you?" I guessed.
"Sheldon, you need to watch your tone with me."
"I am watching, Sharon. My tone is completely calm and ladylike. I am not angry," I bit out. "I am not bit
ter," I spat. "I am not sad," I chewed out. "And I am most certainly not feeling abandoned at all." I finished with a smile.
She drew a sharp breath and said flatly, "Fine."
"Fine."
"I love you, sweetheart."
"Sure you do," I said smoothly.
"I really do. I'll see you over the holidays."
"You're coming home for Thanksgiving?"
"Yes. I'll need to pack my things and look for a new home."
"And who'll be looking with you?"
"You don't need to worry about that. Just a little friend."
So she had slept with someone.
I asked, "You're still sleeping with him?"
She sucked in her breath again and admonished, "Sheldon Eva, I will not put up with your tone of voice any longer. You are to respect your mother. This is hard on all of us, trust me, but I think it's a bit more tiring on your father and myself. You've told us many times to get a divorce."
"Great, mom. So you're just fulfilling one of my wishes." If I could cut glass with my voice, it would've happened then and there.
She sighed, sounding rightfully tiresome. I rolled my eyes.
"Have you heard from your father?"
"Yes." I didn't share our conversation.
"Is he well?" Sharon really wanted to know what he'd said and if I loved him more than her.
"He is well." And I'll let you worry if I love my father more than you. You deserve it.
"Alright, well…I love you, sweetie."
I hung up.
The table had fallen silent throughout my entire conversation. I didn't need to look to know that Bryce and Corrigan were both watching like hawks.
I breathed out one clear breath and stood up.
"Where you going?" Corrigan said quickly.
"I'm going home." The calm was forced in my voice. I knew my eyes spoke volumes, but only to Corrigan and Bryce.
"Sheldon…" Bryce murmured.
"I'm fine. I'm going home to do schoolwork. Beg off…please." The request was sincere.
The guys took it as such and both remained in their seats.
The drive was too short for me. I had plenty to stew over and my hands shook as I parked in the garage and hit the button to close the garage door. I didn't look for any more notes or messages as I made a beeline for the case of beer still on the kitchen table.
I dropped my purse and at the same time I uncapped a beer. I downed that one and did another.
With three clenched in my fingers, I moved into my father's study. I decided to start with the computer and I effectively deleted every single business document he had kept as a reserve on the home computer. After I made another search, I emptied the trash can and then removed the hard-drive.
From the hidden liquor cabinet, I placed all the liquor bottles on his desk. When that was done, I grabbed a poker stick from the fireplace and swung it hard at every crystal vase in the library, every picture frame, every and anything that would break. I left the couches and chairs untouched and moved into my parent's bedroom with a bottle of bourbon in my hand.
With a knife in hand, I visited the closets and slashed the most expensive clothing. I threw all of Sharon's undergarments and lingerie into a box that'd go to a local thrift store. Neil's tuxedos were next for the knife. And all of the neckties, socks, and suits went into the thrift store box.
I ripped his shirts to pieces and let them fall on the floor.
The shoes—they'd started to go a little blurry by that time so I left them in one piece.
I lay on the couch in one of the rarely-used sitting rooms and thought I might save my mother a trip. I could hire some movers to pack it all up. She needn't bothered.
I'd decided to divorce my parents in turn, not like they'd even notice.
Chapter 11
When I woke up, I heard my cell phone beeping first. Bryce and Corrigan had called. And then I realized I heard scuffling from the inside of the house.
I glanced at the clock in the sitting room and saw it was 2:54 in the morning.
No doubt the scuffling was from the guys. They must've come looking for me.
Yawning, I made my way slowly down the back hallway. I knew it by heart so I left the lights untouched. Even though it was nighttime, the moonlight filtered in through the windows and lit the side hallways that ran around the house. I passed our backdoor and I was able to see the bench that ran the entire length of the wall. My mom had stored various items into bins that were all underneath that bench.
The dining room opened onto the kitchen. There were two hallways that connected to the dining room. I had walked down the side hallway that's never used.
So it was a bit disconcerting when I walked into the dining room and saw a man in the kitchen.
I didn't recognize him and he didn't know I was there. I had walked silently, like I always do, but the guy wasn't Bryce or Corrigan. He wasn't my father. And I hoped he wasn't my mom's newest bedmate.
Just then a walkie-talkie that was attached to his belt crackled to life. "Jimmy, are we clear?"
The guy snatched the radio from his belt's holster and answered, "That's a right-o, Jimmy John. We are in the clear."
"You've checked your entire section."
Jimmy sighed impatiently and snapped into the radio, "What did I just say? Did I not say that we are in the clear? That's a right-o."
It was surreal. He stood in the moonlight with his back turned to me and he was shifting through my kitchen's drawers. I stood thirty feet from him, five feet from my doorway.
If he had looked, I might've resembled a ghost.
My heart pounded in my ears and I stepped slowly, silently, backwards. He kept shuffling through the drawers and I kept reversing until I was hidden in the hallway. At the back door, I took a calming breath and kneeled on the floor. Blindly I felt around until I found the flap that kept our security keypad hidden from eyesight.
I coded in the alarm and a second later, an earsplitting alarm sounded throughout my home.
Jimmy cursed savagely. And I heard more curses and shouts.
"Jimmy, what the hell happened? That code came from your section. We aren't clear. We aren't clear!"
Jimmy dropped whatever had been in his hands and a second later, I heard his pounding footsteps on the floor.