nightmare,
just as I expected.
I should’ve gone out,
or possibly nuked a frozen dinner at my house. If I had, I wouldn’t have had to
endure Conrad’s wrath in front of my sister and my stepmother. Not that they
weren’t already familiar with our unique blend of dinner conversation.
Conrad was still
harping on the fact that I’d sent Payton on her way without helping her to
retrieve his cell phone. I found it amusing: both sending her on her way and listening to my father bitch about it.
Mighty fucking funny.
But, the fact that I
wasn’t taking him seriously had led to a conversation involving plenty of other
transgressions that he wanted to call out until I could no longer taste the
food I was eating.
Same story, different
day.
I was a glutton for punishment . That was the only logical reason for why I
put up with his shit. Sometimes I just didn’t get it.
Ever since my mother
died, I’d been going through the motions. Eleven years was a long damn time to
muddle your way through life without having any particular reason for doing
what you do. But that’s where I was at in my head — lost.
Completely and totally at the mercy of all the people around me.
Not that I wanted
anyone to feel sorry for me. I’d made my own bed so to speak. By the time I was
thirteen, I’d done time in juvie, and since then I’d talked my way out of a
shitload of trouble, as well. My motto was that rules were meant to be broken,
and I had always aimed to be the best I could be, so that’s what I’d done. Ignoring
the rules had become my benchmark for success. The more rules I could bend or
break, the more successful I was.
Growing up, I didn’t
have much. My mother and I lived in a one bedroom apartment, which was sparsely
furnished with mostly hand me downs from her older sister. My mother busted her
ass to take care of me, even though she was incredibly young — only seventeen
when she had me — and barely able to take care of herself. Her parents kicked her out when she
told them she was pregnant, and they didn’t offer to help even when we needed
it most. We lived paycheck to paycheck and the worst part about it all, I had
never been old enough to get a job and help out before she died. I’d tried
though, working in a couple of mechanic shops for cash, but I never brought
home enough money to make a difference.
Child support was
nonexistent. In order to get child support, your mother had to do something to
make that happen. Rachelle didn’t want to have anything to do with Conrad
Trovato. The most she’d taken from him was his last name when she put it on my
birth certificate. And she’d regretted that every day after.
And as a way of saying
thank you for not fucking up his entire life, Conrad pretended I didn’t exist.
He pretended my mother didn’t exist.
Good ol’ Conrad
Trovato. My mother had been head over heels for him, and the bastard had turned
his back on her. Then again, he’d been married to his first wife, Judy
something or other, at that time and he was already making a name for himself.
It wouldn’t have gone over well if he admitted to having an illegitimate child
with an underage girl.
Yep. Conrad had been
twenty-six and married when he impregnated my seventeen-year-old mother.
Needless to say, the two of them hadn’t been all that concerned with morals and
values when they decided to get together. Or protection, obviously.
Not only had Conrad
built a company that afforded him the luxuries he had today, but he also came
from old money. Money on top of money. I would never understand it.
But when Conrad attempted
to pay my mother for her silence, Rachelle told him to go to hell and kept his
secret for free.
That’s where she and I
differed. I would have taken the asshole’s money and exploited him. Break the
rules; that was the name of the game.
Every damn time I
looked at him, I wanted to break his nose.
Tonight, after putting
up with his tirade for a couple of minutes, I had
just as I expected.
I should’ve gone out,
or possibly nuked a frozen dinner at my house. If I had, I wouldn’t have had to
endure Conrad’s wrath in front of my sister and my stepmother. Not that they
weren’t already familiar with our unique blend of dinner conversation.
Conrad was still
harping on the fact that I’d sent Payton on her way without helping her to
retrieve his cell phone. I found it amusing: both sending her on her way and listening to my father bitch about it.
Mighty fucking funny.
But, the fact that I
wasn’t taking him seriously had led to a conversation involving plenty of other
transgressions that he wanted to call out until I could no longer taste the
food I was eating.
Same story, different
day.
I was a glutton for punishment . That was the only logical reason for why I
put up with his shit. Sometimes I just didn’t get it.
Ever since my mother
died, I’d been going through the motions. Eleven years was a long damn time to
muddle your way through life without having any particular reason for doing
what you do. But that’s where I was at in my head — lost.
Completely and totally at the mercy of all the people around me.
Not that I wanted
anyone to feel sorry for me. I’d made my own bed so to speak. By the time I was
thirteen, I’d done time in juvie, and since then I’d talked my way out of a
shitload of trouble, as well. My motto was that rules were meant to be broken,
and I had always aimed to be the best I could be, so that’s what I’d done. Ignoring
the rules had become my benchmark for success. The more rules I could bend or
break, the more successful I was.
Growing up, I didn’t
have much. My mother and I lived in a one bedroom apartment, which was sparsely
furnished with mostly hand me downs from her older sister. My mother busted her
ass to take care of me, even though she was incredibly young — only seventeen
when she had me — and barely able to take care of herself. Her parents kicked her out when she
told them she was pregnant, and they didn’t offer to help even when we needed
it most. We lived paycheck to paycheck and the worst part about it all, I had
never been old enough to get a job and help out before she died. I’d tried
though, working in a couple of mechanic shops for cash, but I never brought
home enough money to make a difference.
Child support was
nonexistent. In order to get child support, your mother had to do something to
make that happen. Rachelle didn’t want to have anything to do with Conrad
Trovato. The most she’d taken from him was his last name when she put it on my
birth certificate. And she’d regretted that every day after.
And as a way of saying
thank you for not fucking up his entire life, Conrad pretended I didn’t exist.
He pretended my mother didn’t exist.
Good ol’ Conrad
Trovato. My mother had been head over heels for him, and the bastard had turned
his back on her. Then again, he’d been married to his first wife, Judy
something or other, at that time and he was already making a name for himself.
It wouldn’t have gone over well if he admitted to having an illegitimate child
with an underage girl.
Yep. Conrad had been
twenty-six and married when he impregnated my seventeen-year-old mother.
Needless to say, the two of them hadn’t been all that concerned with morals and
values when they decided to get together. Or protection, obviously.
Not only had Conrad
built a company that afforded him the luxuries he had today, but he also came
from old money. Money on top of money. I would never understand it.
But when Conrad attempted
to pay my mother for her silence, Rachelle told him to go to hell and kept his
secret for free.
That’s where she and I
differed. I would have taken the asshole’s money and exploited him. Break the
rules; that was the name of the game.
Every damn time I
looked at him, I wanted to break his nose.
Tonight, after putting
up with his tirade for a couple of minutes, I had
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