I wanted to be there for my father, and I also took it as an opportunity to focus on my next semester, take up some reading for my English degree. I wanted to become a second grade teacher, spread creativity, and help develop young minds the right way. It had always been a dream of mine.
I drove home the day after I finished exams. I could check my scores online. In that moment, family was more important. It took me an hour and a half to get home. As soon as I did, I called Izzy before getting out of the car.
She answered, her tone chipper.
“Izzy, you didn’t text me back earlier.”
“Sorry, Chlo. I got caught up with unpacking, and Dylan wouldn’t leave me the hell alone.” She groaned. “But I suck because I totally forgot to tell you that I can’t even come home this summer. I may be on a bit of an academic probation.”
I gasped. “What the hell? How?”
“All that partying.” I knew she was shrugging while putting on an innocent face. “It gets the best of you. But I swear, I’m going to get it together. I have to. My dad will kill me if he finds out. Hey, do me a favor and don’t bring up the summer school thing. I kind of told him that I volunteered to help for a summer camp for teens.”
“I… won’t. What makes you think I’ll even get the chance to talk to him?”
“I don’t know. You guys always talk. He asks about you all the fucking time like I’m supposed to know how you’re doing when you’re two hours away from me. I’m like, ‘Dad. We don’t go to the same school. I don’t know what Chloe’s doing.’” She laughed.
My heart stuttered, and I looked through the rearview mirror, spotting the familiar home that belonged to the Blacks. He asks about me? That was the first time I’d heard that one.
“Anyway, I’m sorry Chlo. I think summer school ends like two weeks before the fall semester begins, and if so, I’ll come see you. I don’t know. We’ll see. But until then, hang in there, and update me on Papa Knight. I can’t believe your mom, by the way. Total bitch move.”
I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “You’re telling me. I’ll call you or something soon. Make sure you focus, alright? Tell Dylan to get lost. Books before boys!”
“Always has been!”
“Always will be.” I smiled, Izzy laughed, and I hung up, blowing a sigh as I stared at the home ahead of me. My home. It felt so unfamiliar to me now.
My sick father was in there. Fortunately, there was a certified nurse also looking after him so I wouldn’t be completely on my own, but this was frightening. What if he forgot my name? Or the fact that he even had a daughter? The last thing I needed was my parents forgetting I existed.
Picking up my tote bag and slinging it over my shoulder, I pushed out of the car and shut the door behind me, adjusting my wool fedora hat and then my shorts. It was humid outside, the air thick with the California heat. My clothes automatically clung to my skin. I needed to get inside.
I walked to the door, pulling out my house key. I couldn’t believe it felt so strange to be home. And worse? Right across the street from the man I had constant fantasies about. Before entering the house, I glanced back. The garage gate was closed, the driveway empty. Lights out.
No one was home—well, he wasn’t home.
Work, possibly? I don’t know. His schedule was foreign to me now, but I used to know it like the palm of my hand.
I twisted my lips, walking inside and shutting the door behind me. The AC was strong, cooling the hidden parts of me that were hard to keep at a decent climate. I took off my hat and placed it on the wooden rectangular table by the door, calling for anyone to appear.
Several seconds later, a short Hispanic woman with curly brown hair appeared. Her cheeks were chubby, as well as her fingers. She was at least four inches shorter than me, but her smile was way bigger than mine could ever be. It was weird. She didn’t look like how I pictured her when we were on the phone a week ago. I expected a younger woman wearing loose clothing and her hair pinned up. But her hair flowed to her shoulders, her floral blouse and khaki’s proving she was exactly how she dressed. Simple.
Still beautiful, nonetheless.
“Hi!” the caregiver chimed as she came rushing my way. She extended her arm, and I shook her hand. “You must be Chloe!”
“In the flesh.” I smiled.
“Wow,” she gasped. “You look so much like your father.” She placed a hand on her hip.
“I get that a lot.”
“Well, welcome home! It’s so good to meet you. Margie, by the way. You know, just in case you may have forgotten.”
“I didn’t forget,” I laughed.
“Great!” She walked past me, entering the kitchen. “I was just coming down for your father’s soup and crackers. He has a bit of a head cold, but other than that, he seems fine today.”
“Today? What do you mean today?” I walked in the kitchen after her, head tilted.
Her eyes met mine briefly before she focused on the bowl she was placing on a tray. “Your dad has his days… some where he’ll know exactly who and where he is and some where he won’t even know why there’s a portrait of him with two strange girls on the wall beside him.” She looked up at me again, waving a hand. “The strange girls being you and your mother.”
“Oh.” I looked away, folding my arms. Margie walked around the island counter and went up the stairs. I was hesitant on following her up, but when she glanced back and caught my uncertainty, she quickly gestured for me to follow.
“Come on up! He’s been anxious to see his baby girl.”
I smiled, nodding as I took the stairs with her. For a heavyset woman, she moved fast. I loved it. It was just what my dad needed after living such a fast-paced life. Taking the stairs by twos, I followed Margie into my parents’ master bedroom. The room was much colder than the rest of the house, the way my father always liked it. The walls were no longer a pale shade of blue but more of an indigo. It suited him. A tranquil color. My father was never the type to be on edge. He was a laid-back guy, way easier to talk to than my mom… whenever he was around anyway.
A king-sized bed stretched across the center of the room, a TV mounted right across from it, and on the bed was my father. He was sitting upright, the blue blanket I knitted for him while I was in summer camp in 8th grade spread out across his lap. Pill bottles were lined up on the dresser on the east wall. There were at least ten little orange and white containers.
Entering the room, my eyebrows glued together as I stared at him. It seemed he hadn’t eaten in weeks. He was skinnier with dark circles beneath his eyes, lips a shade whiter. His dark skin was still smooth, though. A nice chocolaty-brown complexion.
I stared from the bedroom door, wanting so badly to cry for him. He looked lonely, but I knew my father. He would never show it, and he damn sure wouldn’t admit it.
“Daddy?”
Dad whipped his head to the right, eyes immediately turning bright as he looked from the quiet game of golf on the TV screen to me. “Baby girl!” He opened his arms, and when he did, I rushed forward, sinking into them as I sat on the edge of the mattress. “How’s my ladybug doing?” he asked, kissing the top of my head.
My eyes burned even more, bottom lip quivering. I pulled my shit together and said, “Never better.” Then I gently removed myself from his embrace, meeting his sad brown eyes. “How are you? Margie tells me you have a cold?”
“Ehh.” He waved a hand, dismissing the idea. “No cold. Just a runny nose.”
“Hmm. You sound a little sick to me.”
He laughed and then held up his forefinger and thumb like he was about to pinch something. “Maybe just a little.” He looked me over, proud to see I was still holding my own. “You look great. How’s school? Your grades?”
“You know my grades are great. School is nice. Finally got along with my roommate,” I informed him.
His eyes expanded. “Good. I know how hard it is for you to make friends. Speaking of, where’s the little girl? You know, the one you grew
up with from across the street?”
“Izzy?”
“Yeah, her!”
“Izzy is spending her summer at a camp. She volunteered to help some kids near her school.”
“Oh. How nice of her.” He placed his hand on my forearm, shaking his head. “You know you didn’t have to come watch over me. That’s what I have Margie for.”
“No, Dad,” I said as his lips pressed. I squeezed the hand that was on my arm. “I needed to come back. It’s been a while. Plus, I missed you.” I took a swift look around the room. “I missed being home.”
“And you know I missed you.” His smile was genuine.
I scrunched my nose and looked at the TV while Margie placed the tray on his lap. “Since when did you start watching golf?”
“You kidding? I watch golf all the time? You remember when you used to come to the golf courses with Uncle Clay and me? You loved it!”
“That was so long ago,” I laughed. “And you didn’t watch golf back then unless it was in person.”
“Same thing. But you remember, right?”
“Of course I do.” I was surprised he could.
“See.” His eyes lit up as he picked up his spoon.
My face stiffened as I watched him try to eat his soup with the handle instead of the ladle of the spoon itself. And what hurt most to watch was him thinking he was doing it correctly, struggling to slurp tiny droplets. I glanced at Margie who stood in the corner, ready to come to his aid, but I shook my head, grabbing the spoon and fixing it for him.
He didn’t say anything. I was surprised he allowed the assistance. I guess he was tired of struggling to eat. After catching up with him a little further, I let Dad eat the rest of his soup in peace. I told him I was going to my room to take a quick shower.
That quick shower turned into two hours of moping in my bedroom and checking my laptop for final grades. I refreshed the page frequently, but nothing appeared on the portal.
Before I knew it, darkness had fallen, and when I went back to check on Dad, he was sound asleep. Margie informed me that she would be downstairs tidying up. After cleaning, I heard the TV turn on in the living room. Then, an hour and a half later, I heard her come back up, check on my father, and then enter the guest room. This was obviously the usual routine. She could hear if my dad needed her through the monitor she carried.
It saddened me to see him this way—almost like a helpless child. It made my heart ache. I wanted to weep for him, but Dad hated tears. He hated to see his girls down. I sucked it up, turning off my lamp and lying flat on my back, gazing up at the glowing stars on my ceiling.
I remembered the day Izzy and I put them up there, bouncing on the bed with our palms flat, sticky side of the stars up. I was a little taller, so I got more up than she did. Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure she only got three of the ten up there. There are stars on her ceiling too. We shared the package.
Headlights flashed across my wall, and my thoughts were interrupted. I sat up, my heart catching speed, knowing the lights usually only came from one direction.
The Blacks’ house.
Walking towards the window, I placed a single finger behind the curtain and peeked out. A black Dodge Charger with matte black rims and LED headlights parked in the Blacks’ driveway. With my curiosity getting the best of me, I continued watching. I’d never seen the car before.
Another new toy of his?
Finally, the passenger door opened and a young girl that looked about two or three years older than me stepped out, fluffing her blonde hair. She said something as she ducked down and looked inside the car again.
I frowned. From where I stood, she was beautiful. Her makeup flawless, the streetlights reflecting off her nose ring. Her lips were full, body slender in a gold club type dress. Her wavy blonde hair swam to the middle of her back, her high heels making her appear way taller than she was. She walked around the car, and the driver door swung open. And out stepped none other than Mr. Black.
So… that was his girl toy, huh?
All of my questions were answered in that single moment.
She had blonde hair.
No, her butt wasn’t bigger than mine, but she definitely did a daily routine of squats.
I wouldn’t say she was prettier than me, but we were kind of on the same scale. She just wore more make up, so she could have been less attractive beneath the layers.
Her legs looked better, though.
And her hair was obviously styled by an expensive hairstylist.
She reminded me of a knock-off Mrs. Black. It was depressing to think he’d searched for someone that reminded him of his deceased wife.
Theo stumbled out of the car in a drunken manner, shutting and locking the car behind him and then following after the girl to get to the house. Before they made it inside, his arms draped around her waist from behind and his lips pressed on the bend of her neck. His laughter was loud, but she was clearly irritated with the state he was in.
I felt somewhat sorry for her because I knew exactly what she was dealing with—only, I didn’t think it was that bad dealing with a drunk Theo Black. She treated him like a child, brushing him aside, scolding him, and demanding him to get it together. He wasn’t obnoxious, but he could get annoying when you attempted to help him.
They entered the house, and the door shut behind them. My eyes remained glued on the house, watching a few lights turn on. Shadows passed by the windows, their silhouettes getting higher as they made it up the stairs.
The bedroom lights were the last to flicker on. Their silhouettes stumbled in front of the window, lips glued. My heart pounded in my chest, my eyes unfortunately wet. I swallowed the thick lump in my throat, trying to force myself to look away, but I couldn’t.
I felt pieces of my heart snapping off, my insecurities increasing. How could I feel like this? Why did it hurt so much to see? It had been so long, but apparently time couldn’t even take away my feelings for him.
They made out for quite some time. And I don’t know why the hell I couldn’t pull away. It was like watching a train wreck. It was heartbreaking, but I couldn’t help but look. She was clearly over her bitching and whining, divulging in Theo’s embrace, hot kisses, and hard, delicious body. It was easy to look over the way he acted once you caught sight of him.
Finally, they stumbled away from the window, shadows disappearing. I was over the edge, nervous, waiting for something to happen. I wanted her to argue, back out of the make-out session. Leave the house. Take the Charger and go. Leave him alone. Something bad needed to happen. Right now.
And it finally did.
Only, it wasn’t bad for them.
It was bad for me.
The lights turned off and it was obvious what was about to go down. He was staking his claim. He was doing the very thing I hoped he wouldn’t.
Making her, his.
I stepped away from the window, my heart barely beating. Why it hurt me so much to see after so many months without him, I do not know. I mean, after all, I was the one that left him hanging in the driveway before I went to school. I was the one that avoided him and didn’t bother trying to speak to him for three years. I was the one that fucked up, so why be upset? Why let knowing he’d moved on hurt me?
I shrunk in my bed, staring at the wall across from me. It took a while to fall asleep, but I managed and, of course, it was just my luck that after what felt like months, I dreamt of Theo Black again.
All of his masculine glory.
All of his tattoos.
His beautiful smile.
His thick, sensual cock.
The patch of grass he fucked me on a few days before I left for school. The way he shushed me, begging me to stay quiet but also wanting me so badly to scream to the sky. I dreamt of all of him. Every single thing about him.
Then I woke up, facing reality at five in the morning.
I felt defeated. And stupid. And… weird about all of this. What the hell was I thinking, coming back
to this place?
Fucking Primrose. It never failed to let me down.
SEVEN
The next morning, I smelled the crisp, salty scent of bacon. It’d been years since I smelled anything cooking in the mornings. Sitting up, I pushed out of bed and lumbered my way to my bedroom door, cracking it open. The aroma was much stronger as I peeked out. I inhaled, and then my stomach growled.
I felt severely hung over after witnessing Mr. Black with his toy. Something fatty, greasy, and unhealthy was definitely needed to cure me. Brushing my teeth and washing up a bit, I tossed on a pair of sweatpants, tied my hair up, and then hurried downstairs, barefoot. The soles of my feet landed on the wooden floorboards as I met downstairs.
Rounding the corner, I spotted Margie in the kitchen, my father at the bar counter. He sat there, almost lifeless. I came to a halt, watching as he tampered with the edges of the newspaper spread out in front of him.
When I was younger, during the times when he would actually be around, the paper would be in one hand, the other occupied with a piping hot cup of expensive Colombian coffee. But today, both hands were vacant, his stare empty.
Margie spotted me and hurried my way after placing the hot plate of bacon on the counter. “I’m guessing today is one of the bad days?” I asked quietly.
Margie looked at me, eyes full of sorrow. “I’m sorry. Hopefully he comes around. He took his pills. They should help.”
I blinked my tears away, nodding and then sighing as I walked ahead. I took the stool beside him, picking up the box of Cheerios and dumping them into the empty bowl on the counter. “Morning, Dad. How you feeling?”
His head turned vastly, eyes boring into mine. “Dad? I’m not your father.” He blinked, confused. “Hey, lady!” he hollered at Margie, who rushed to his side. “Who is this girl? Why is she calling me her dad?”
“You are her father, Mr. Knight. This is Chloe, your daughter. The one in the pictures on your nightstand.”
He looked around the kitchen. After studying his surroundings for nearly ten seconds, leaving us in an uncomfortable silence, he asked, “Where am I?”
Tainted Black Page 7
