I’m an abusive fucker like my dad.
I touch the stubble
on my face and raise my chin, feeling the area of my jugular vein while
admiring the rest of my body in the mirror. I need to stay fit until the day I
die. If my abs or dick ever goes slack, I’ll cut this vein and end my life.
“Mark? Every time
I’m here and you lock yourself in the bathroom, something ends up broken or you
hurt yourself.”
“Get dressed, I’ll be
out in a minute.”
“I am dressed. What
are you doing in there?”
“Just read the paper
or something and give me a moment alone.”
She sighs as I clasp
my watch and fix my hair.
“Guess what, Dad?” I
say softly. “I’m about to spend inheritance money on this woman. Yes, a woman . Some of that money’s probably
from my dick anyway, so I have every right to spend it however I see fit. I
worked my ass off for it - literally. And since you’re dead, there isn’t
anything you can do about it besides haunt my mind. I can handle that, but I
bet you can’t. I hope you turn in your grave when I buy her new clothes and
jewelry.” I lean closer to the mirror and grin. “And if I want to put my lips
on hers, I’m gonna fucking do it. I don’t give a shit
if it makes me weak, or if I lose control and cum instantly because it feels so
good, or if it’s an act of love and
unacceptable to you. Your heart’s no longer beating and shit no longer flows
from your mouth.”
“I’m worried about
you,” she says. “What are you whispering?”
“I bet you didn’t
even have a heart inside that cold body of yours when you were alive, and
sometimes I wonder if I’m the same way, or if there’s a small chance mine may
be able to beat again.”
I open the door and
walk past her, getting dressed and then dragging her by the arm down the
stairs.
“Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“I want to clear out
your storage unit so you can get settled in your room. Then we’re going
shopping for the things you need and have done without, and then we’ll continue
shopping for things you don’t need, but that I want you to have, and then we’re
going to talk, and then we need to fuck some more.”
“You’ve always
gotten your way, haven’t you?” she asks as I put my arm through my shoulder
holster and cover my gun with my sport jacket.
“Actually...”
Turning back I see the photo of my son over the fireplace. “No, I haven’t.”
DISCHARGE
M y son knows
what a shitty father I am. He tells me on the phone once a month that I suck
moose balls and he hopes I rot in hell. When he was born, I told myself the
age-old lie that I was going to be a better parent than my father was, but I’m
just as horrible.
My son’s a teenager
now, and even if my wife agreed to fly him out for a visit, he wouldn’t want to
come. I deserve that and I’m proud of him for telling me off. Treating me like
shit after all the years I ignored him and his mother is just fine. I send my
monthly child support and sometimes even tell him he’s a little prick for
mouthing off, knowing our relationship is in a fast decline. He doesn’t listen
to me anyway. My words are meaningless.
Sometimes I’m
bothered that I lost him, mainly because I hate to lose. I’ve offered to give
him a couple hundred bucks to come for a visit, but “It’s not enough,” he says.
I’d hate to have to bribe him with a grand. Dumbass kid.
Although my money
can’t seem to buy my son’s love, it can buy other things.
“I have a king-size
bed and a kitchenette! I feel like royalty.” Jules grins in delight.
“So the room’s big
enough?”
“Are you kidding?
It’s like a castle compared to my car.” She steps away
from the window and admires the curtains I bought to make the room feel more
like a home. “And I even have the Jameson Hotel signature flowers on the
dresser.” She sniffs the Mariposa lilies. “It’s perfect!”
I lean back in the
desk chair and study her movements. With quick steps, a budding smile, and
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