Page 25 of Rowdy Boy
“In my day, we just had faggots. Are you telling me you’re a faggot, Jacob? Bisexual…” He shakes his head and scoffs again, then sneers before continuing.
“You think if you cast a wider net, you stand a better chance of finding someone to love you? You’re such a goddamn disappointment. A fucking stain to the Whitely name. You’re unfocused and reckless. You’ve always got that stupid smile on your face. Your head’s in the clouds instead of focused on school and sports.
“Do you think if you prance around and use your fancy faggot terms, I’ll pay more attention? I pay plenty of attention, sonny. I know I’m not missing a goddamn thing. I’ll tell you this much, though. No child of mine is going to live off my generosity while pretending to be half gay. Things are going to change around here, mark my words. Things will change, then you will change.”
He paces the kitchen, circling the island and leaving me speechless where I stand. I want to be anywhere but here. But I know better than to try to get away before he’s done.
“Bisexual. Jesus Christ. I’d have half a mind to ship you off to the military academy if I didn’t think you’d like it so much.”
The memory plays back on repeat as I stare at my inverted ceiling. Sometimes the memory changes. Sometimes his words are even crueler. I’ve replayed that night so many times I don’t even know what parts are real anymore.
Except I do. I fucking know.
What I needed that night was a parent. I needed my dad. Someone to love me and hold me and tell me it was okay: that I fucked up, but it wasn’t hopeless. That I’d made bad choices, but I’m not a bad person. I’ll never forget what he denied me.
As if the rejection wasn’t enough, he’s made it his personal mission to make my life hell ever since. The little jabs. The passive-aggressive comments. The mind games. The emotional abuse.
It all hurts. It all hurts so much.
Most days I’d rather he just hit me.
Some days I even fantasize about him throwing a back hook that knocks me out cold.
Then every so often, like today, I wish he’d pummel me into the ground, let my brain smash against my skull, cut off my airway, and end it once and for all.
Chapter 12
Iwakeupclawingat my throat. I can’t breathe. My airway is completely closed off. Scrambling, I sit up and swallow.
I open my mouth wide and try to let out a sigh of relief. I’m not suffocating. At least not yet. My mouth is just so dry that my tongue is glued to the roof of my mouth.
My head is still hazy, but I’m too thirsty to care. Thirsty and starving. If I thought I was hungry before, I’m ravenous now. I glance at the time on my phone: it’s almost eleven p.m. I scoot to the edge of the mattress and consider my options. If I sneak to the kitchen and he’s still downstairs, he’ll hear me for sure. But if he’s already gone to bed, I can easily get down and back up without him noticing.
The safest bet is to hold out a little longer, but I’ve never been good at waiting.
I pad across my bedroom and undo the lock before ever-so-slowly turning the handle. I heel-ball-toe it to the top of the stairs, then strain for any hints of sound.
I smack my hand over my mouth to keep myself from audibly reacting when I hear her voice.
“I don’t think I can do this anymore.”
It comes out soft, like a whimper. Like she’s scared to speak the words out loud. I clamor down the top few stairs as quietly as I can, squatting low and peering through the banister rods.
I don’t need visual confirmation, but I just fucking got it.
Standing in the doorway of my dad’s study is none other than Courtney Sinclair.
What the fuck is she doing here?
She’s been calling all night. Did she show up because I didn’t call her back? Did we have plans I forgot about? And why the hell is she talking to Joe?
I press my elbows into my knees, then rest my head in my hands—trying to make my body as unnoticeable as possible. I’m still high, and I don’t trust that I won’t give myself away.
I’m uneasy—confused, disoriented, and worried about her. It’s not until my father speaks that a fine mist of dread forms a shroud over my sense of self-preservation.
“From the sounds of it, you haven’t actuallydoneanything,” he sneers. “We had a deal, young lady. Your daddy’s already enjoying his promotion, and your tuition’s been paid. But if you can’t keep him loyal…”
What the actual fuck? Joe’s talking like he knows her—knows her beyond the few times they’ve met in passing because of me.