Messy Love(84)

“Oh really? From our common friend’s words, you wanted to see where I was.’’

“Common friend.’’ I shook my head and glared at him, reminding myself that I wasn’t the kid I used to be. Once Marissa had told me to stop being a scared little boy. She was right. “That asshole is bad news, just like you. I don’t want anything to do with either of you.’’

“You let me in.’’

“Because I have a question for you,’’ I said, voice even as I pushed my back into the couch. I was determined. I’d get some answers, and then he was out. I was taller than him, and if it came to hands, I could get him. I wasn’t a kid. I wasn’t.

“Let me guess.’’ He steepled his hand under his chin. “Why did I abandon you?’’ He mocked me. He had no shame, no respect. That didn’t surprise me. Nor did it surprise me when he got an old flask from his jeans pocket and gulped some liquor, without a doubt the cheap kind that burned through your stomach and liquefied your insides.

“No.’’ Teeth gritted, I unclenched my fists and gripped my thighs. The denim was coarse under my fingertips. “Why did you keep it? WHY?’’

His eyebrows raised just as he pocketed his flask. He didn't look fazed. “What are you talking about?’’

I shook my head and bent down to blindly grab his gift stored under the coffee table. When my fingers closed around the mangled thing, I pulled it out and held it up.

“The fucking stuffed turtle! You abandoned me when I was eight. Eight!’’ Words poured out of me, louder and louder as my chest heaved. “I remember everything from that day. You told me how useless I was, garbage and stupid. A dead weight. You said that it was my fault Mom left. And the worst is that even after everything I wanted to stay with you. Even after you beat me up for years, had your friends beat me up, had a fucking pervert come all over me while I had to touch his saggy balls as he jerked off. Even after I had to listen to you fuck women, saying that it’d teach me for later. Even after I starved for two days alone in a crappy apartment while you went on a bender. Tell me how fucked up is that that I wanted to stay over being abandoned? And now you’re back, and you leave this at my door, my old stuffed animal. Why do you have it?’’

“Don’t raise your voice with me, son.’’

“I’m not your fucking son!’’ I yelled and stood up, towering over him from the other side of the coffee table. I didn't detect a hint of regret in his dark eyes. “A father doesn’t do what you did to me. Now answer me.’’

“Paint me as the devil all you want. I kept the stuffed turtle for a reason.’’

“To fuck with me when you wanted?’’

“So you would let me in when I would see you again.’’

“Right.’’ I snorted and raked my hands through my hair.

“And it’s a souvenir of you. I gave you that stuffed turtle when you were three.’’

My next words, sure to be vitriol, never left my mouth. Just like that, I stood there with my eyes on a man I despised who told me that my most treasured possession as a kid came from the monster. I had always thought, even distantly, that it was a gift from my biological mother or another distant relative. Not from him. He had never shown me any kindness.

“You seem surprised, son.’’

“I don’t believe you.’’

“Then don’t.’’ He shrugged as if it didn’t change a damn thing for him. But for me? Shit, it changed something. It had to. It meant that maybe he wasn’t just a monster. Maybe he was screwed up and twisted, but not a monster. To me, it made a difference.

“What do you want?’’ I asked quietly, shoulders dropping and eyes on the floor. My walls were on shaky foundations, my anger smothered by confusion and still the ever-present fear, that bitch of a best friend.

“Help.’’ He waited until my eyes locked in his to go on. “I’ve been evicted, and I need a place.’’

“You can’t stay here.’’ I rushed and shook my head.

“Not me. I need to keep something here, that’s all.’’

“What is it?’’ My guts twisted.

“What do you think? Coke. Heroin. Marijuana. Hell, some pills too.’’

“You’re shitting me.’’

“I’m in a bind, alright?’’

“And you thought that coming here after years to ask me to keep your stuff was a good idea? Get out of here.’’

He jumped to his feet then and pointed at my face, coming closer until his whiskey-scented breath hit my nose and I saw his dilated pupils. Could be from anger, alcohol or even drugs. Could be anything really, but it didn’t scare me. It drove me mad.

“Get out of my face,’’ I blurted and pushed him away, but he barely budged. He was still as sharp as he used to under the appearance of a weakened man. Or maybe I was the weak one, unable to push away his fucked up genitor.

He grabbed the neck of my shirt and pulled until it ripped and we were nose to nose. His breath made me squint, and the lingering stale smoke on his clothes had me cringing. But I didn’t pull away. I let him maneuver me once again, heart beating wildly and limbs limp.

“I raised you for eight years, son. You will help me.’’