Driven To Tears (The Darby Trilogy Book 1)

by Jason Jauron

  His behavior was starting to sound like a broken record.

  So, no, Jed Darby does not miss the bar scene.

  He sure as hell does not miss the fucking guys like…

   The guys who wore all their idiot brand names to the bars. Even matching their shirts and pants with the idiot superficial labels. Jed never wanted to see Guess, Polo, Levi 501, Nike, or Tommy Hilfiger ever again.

   He sure as shit never wants to see another guy who wears his shirt collar up. What.the.fuck?

   Another category of bar guys Jed feels deserve a kick to the crotch was the “hair sprayers.”

  That’s right.

  Lots of frat boys - along with all the band members, roadies, and groupies of Bon Jovi, Poison, and Motley Crue - contributed to global warming four nights a week as they primped for the bars.

  Guys using hairspray?

  Shouldn’t that result in an immediate revocation of their man-card?

   Another special group of college dudes that frequented bars that Jed would like to throat punch was “The Wet Boys.”

  And since we are beating the proverbial dead horse, let’s be honest. The wet look is unique. The wet look requires a thick full head of hair. The wet look also has a clearly defined “window of opportunity.”

  The fucking window closes at midnight.

  Cause after that, the look is just fucking creepy.

  Yet, these self-conscious dumb bastards would go into the bathroom at the top of each hour and “re-wet” their fucking hair.

   The final group of knuckle-dragging college dicks Jed would like to put in a sleeper hold were the fraternities themselves.

  The look-alikes – anywhere from 10 to 25 - would march into a bar as a fucking herd wearing their so-called badass letters. How.fucking.rainbow.is.that?

  But it was the herd’s noxious odor that gagged Jed and everyone else in the bar.

  These frat morons would simply pass around the same economy-sized bottle of cheap shit cologne as the pack prepared to leave their Greek house for a long evening of bar-hopping.

  These are the same narcissistic douche-bags who would skip all their Friday classes so they could stay and pump iron in the frat basement.

  But it wasn’t just the testosterone that annoyed, aggravated Jed while he drank in public.

  Wait for it.

  He sure as hell does not miss the bitches like…

   The fucking chicks that wore way-the-fuck-too-much makeup. These ladies did not even have an acne problem. Only a veteran archeologist had to skill, patience to chip away at that much foundation. The spackled look is a scary look.

   The babes who wore the bright – sometimes neon -clashing-with-the-rest-of-the-outfit-so-you’ll-notice-them push-up bras. Guys like tits. Duh. But Jesus, leave a little something for the imagination.

   The dolls that are addicted to the holding power of hairspray. The chicks with the no-fucking-way-my-hair-would-move-not-even-in-a-fucking-hurricane or the-result-of-a-direct-hit-from-a-scud-missile-because-of-all-the-hairspray. Those ladies. Now the U.S. and its foreign policy are addicted to oil; these Chiclets can’t stop teasing, spraying, blow-drying, wetting down, spraying, blow-drying, wetting down, spraying, blow drying, teasing, and spraying. These ladies will end up employed in Human Resources at large insurance companies throughout North America.

   The bakers. Yes, that’s correct. Not the candlestick maker or the butcher. But the bakers. You can’t miss them. These indoor tanners loved to wear the sports bra and jean shorts to the bars. Despite the fact that the World Health Organization added indoor tanning beds to its list of human cancer causing agents, and despite the fact that their skin seems to reek of Lexol leather cleaner and conditioner, these mahogany babes continue to religiously log minutes under the comforting fluorescent lights.

   The MTV bitches. Sure as the night is long, these “big hair” mommas liked to wear the oh-so-fucking-short-you-can-get-me-pregnant-just-by-standing-next-to-me skirt, complete with neon thong.

  But the biggest boil on Jed’s butt was when these same over-tanned, over-fucked wannabes got so drunk that they forced him to listen to their impromptu reconciliations.

  It was always late, and he hated listening to their ramblings of forced anal sex and cock gobbling.

  But even during these drunken, awkward conversations – which Jed sometimes wished he could tape - the ladies still gave Jed the impression he was just lucky they were even talking to him.

  And man did these wasted sorority flour lovers love to vent. They would whine - “totally,” and “you know” -throughout their tired monologue. He was forced to listen to their litany of ennui and frustration.

  Jed would nod, and nod some more. He often thought they were right. It must be tough being such a superficial, slow, slutty, sorority skank.

  30.

  “I think Patty is going to fuck Jed over.”

  Linda, 1985

  10:35pm

  As he turned, walked toward the elevator, he heard a bell ring at the front counter.

  He glanced over. A couple, both in their early 30s, waited for service. They were holding hands. The woman was pregnant.

  Jed stopped, watched the woman.

  Her belly.

  Then he walked to the elevator.

  Inside the elevator, he became animated.

  Inside his room, he started pacing, talking with his hands.

  ***

  He was thinking about that sunny day on campus when he and Patty went to see a gynecologist at the university hospital. They had been dating for more than a year, and Patty had become obsessed with the idea she could not get pregnant. This preoccupation occurred about the same time she began disclosing bits of her past. Months of insistence finally broke through Jed’s resistance. And today her intuition would cloud their future situation.

  The problem for Jed was Patty’s tuition was typically a rambling, circular, drunken mess.

  I just thought they were the fucked-up free associations of a drunk as a skunk Patty. Some of her stories were so unbelievable.

  He rolled off the bed. Four steps later he reached into his room’s small refrigerator, grabbed a beer. He had lost count.

  He hesitated.

  Then he shook off his superego like a wet puppy shakes off the rain.

  I just overlooked things, I guess. I doubted what she was telling me, so I just ended up appeasing her. That mindset took me to the gynecologist with her that day. But I should have done more. All her mood swings, her unprovoked crying, her negative self-talk, and her periods of self-imposed isolation - those were signs of trouble. I just rationalized them. Every time she regressed, I went into denial. I was happy, didn’t want anything to change.

  Jed sat down on the edge of the bed.

  I remember sitting in the office waiting for her thinking there was a common sense explanation. It would be that simple. It couldn’t have been rape. It couldn’t have been incest. Fuck, not in small-town Iowa. What kind of a father could do that to his daughter? What kind of human? She was a little girl.

  He waited by himself in the lobby for 20 minutes.

  Those were 20 long minutes.

  He thought of all the words never spoken.

  All the actions never taken.

  Everything that could not be taken back.

  Then, lost in his thoughts, it happened.

  A door opened. A young assistant called for Jed. He followed her down a narrow hallway into Patty’s room.

  He was greeted with a firm handshake by an older man, nearly bald, whose breath reeked of strong coffee.

  “Patty’s getting dressed in the next room,” he said quietly. “She wanted me to visit with you.”

  The doctor spent a minute disclosing how Patty had given him permission to speak with Jed, discuss the matter at hand.

  It took the good doctor all of three minutes to drop Oppenheimer’s toy.

  “The heavy build-up of scar tissue in Patty’s vagina could be
the result of repeated trauma to the area,” said the doctor firmly, professionally. “Her odds of conceiving a child are minimal.”

  A door opened a moment later.

  Patty looked at him. Her taut expression let Jed know that he was terribly wrong to have doubted her.

  She was trembling, couldn’t talk. He embraced her tightly, whispered in her ear.

  As he held her and led her to the car, one thought monopolized his mind.

  Patty McGuire, a ravishing blond who liked to watch Disney Princess movies, would never, ever, be able to conceive a human life.

  She could never, ever have a baby.

  Nevereverneverevernevereverneverevernevereverneverever

  His mind shuffled through all the “nevers” Patty would never.

  Patty would never feel the nauseous excitement associated with the initial bout of morning sickness.

  She would never endure the heartburn, the hot flashes, and the sweating.

  She would never indulge her weird food urges and cravings.

  There would be no shopping for the “stretchy” pants.

  She would carry no “ultrasound” snapshots of her baby in her purse.

  She would not keep a journal of her mood swings, bouts of frustration, and the damn classes where you learned how to breathe.

  She would not experience the rush and adulation of those around her demanding to “touch her belly.”

  There would be no baby room colors to pick out, mobiles to critique, or diaper genies to stuff.

  There would be no “baby smell” for Patty.

  There would be no joy from the first kick.

  She would never feel her baby’s mouth against her nipple.

  She would never get to sing to her baby while rubbing her belly.

  There would be no snuggling.

  There would be no picking names.

  There would be no first spoken “momma.”

  As they drove back to the house they were renting, Patty fell asleep, leaving Jed to navigate his own negative thoughts. Thoughts of James McGuire – of what he did, and what punishments he deserved.

  When they arrived home, he turned, stared for a long time at his sleeping beauty. He made a silent vow.

  “Jed tried to help Patty, to be her white knight…

  “His sense of obligation caused him to lose sight…

  “It wasn’t his job to make her life right…

  “It was up to Patty, this was her fight.”

  Jill Darby, 1987

  31

  The next two years for Patty and Jed resembled the national economy at the time: mostly bull, a little bear, small bouts of cyclic chills.

  Jed was a completely different person.

  Thanks to Patty.

  Their relationship was a source of inspiration and rejuvenation.

  That, and he no longer had the face of a gorgon.

  During this time Jed had survived oral chemotherapy, endured dermabrasion.

  His parents foot the bill for both. They knew the acne nearly destroyed their son, and the experience had clearly altered the nature of their relationship.

  Words that shouldn’t have been spoken.

  Words that can’t be taken back.

  Patty also opened up more, disclosed more of her past.

  She told him of her rocky history with her mom. All sorts of altercations took place; it was another example of how nurture had betrayed Patty and distorted her views on how people treat one another.

  Jed also learned that her previous boyfriend had roughed her up, been abusive – physically, sexually, and emotionally.

  So he knew in his heart that someone with Patty’s background might feel uncomfortable or uneasy with how he was treating her. Because being loved unconditionally was new to Patty.

  He understood the way he loved her in their little abode

  Weighed on her psyche, it was quite a load.

  He never chastised her or raised a hand.

  There was no punishment or love on demand.

  She was not his possession, like a beast inside a cage.

  He was helping her move on, to finally turn the page.

  But Patty was not sure, could his love really be true?

  Everyone who had ever said they loved her, showed it by hurting her too.

  Patty found it uncomfortable that Jed had never hit her or pushed her. He never once forced sex on her, or made her perform sex acts she felt uncomfortable with, or did not feel like doing at the time. She often wondered when he would start.

  Because she knew men only wanted sex, and she knew sex was something she was good at.

  Porn-star good at.

  During the last 24 months Jed was becoming quite the accountant. He had even interned at a large firm the previous summer.

  Patty’s road to becoming an elementary school teacher had its share of potholes, but Jed had come to her rescue.

  Every day was not perfect, but their relationship was as strong as it ever was.

  And then one day, out of the blue, Patty asked him to go with her to visit her father again. She had only spoken with him on the phone a handful of times since their last visit.

  Jed found the request puzzling. And to his surprise, it appeared as though Patty was looking forward to it.

  He was not.

  Jed was having a hard time putting a lid on his emotions. After learning more about how her father had abused her when she was young, he concluded the visit was not a healthy thing to do.

  But Jed was a slave to Patty’s charms.

  So one afternoon, off they went to paint an old shed for her father.

  Patty felt invigorated.

  She was ready.

  She had at last found the courage to stand up to her father.

  This would be her last visit home.

  As the car merged onto the main highway, Jed was visualizing the myriad of ways he could greet James McGuire. He had to be cordial, but he wanted to be callous. The man had repeatedly sexually abused Patty. Jed understood why Patty never told anyone of what happened.

  The guilt.

  The shame.

  The fear.

  But Patty lied to him about not telling anyone. Little 10 year-old Patty had shared what had happened with someone she thought she could trust.

  She had told her brother Tom.

  And she lived to regret it.

  ***

  James McGuire kept telling himself that his young daughter Patty would just take it like a woman.

  With her mouth shut and her panties off.

  He snickered.

  And he believed it.

  Because just seven days after making his only daughter - his 10 year-old daughter - get down on her knees and suck him off, he found himself crouched on his hands and knees behind the green El Camino in the family garage. It was around three in the afternoon.

  His face wore a huge, proud smile despite the intense heat, and the fact that his shirt was soaked with perspiration from the morning’s chores. He was excited, almost hyperventilating, as he watched his teenage son furiously take his daughter’s virginity.

  Young Patty had repeatedly cried out to her brother, begging him to stop, leave her alone. She cried out in pain. But her brother had her pinned down, and he was grunting and growling at her. Neither the smell nor the sight of blood had any affect. He just kept thrusting, forcing his penis inside his sister.

  A few minutes later, James McGuire left the garage. He nodded to himself in approval.

  So as he entered the house to shower, he figured he would give his only daughter a week to recover.

  Then he would come a calling.

  32.

  Patty was singing along to the radio and acting goofy. She kept trying to tickle the hell out of Jed, who was already distracted enough by the enormity of their visit.

  But there was no denying the joy in his heart. He knew their love was true. He wanted Patty to be with him the rest of his days. That morning as he shaved he decided to skip
his classes one day next week and go and buy Patty an engagement ring.

  About an hour into the trip, Jed stopped for gas, drinks.

  Jed lost a game of rock-paper-scissors, so he pumped the gas.

  As Patty walked toward the convenience store, Jed got hard.

  I love it when she wears those frayed, cut-off Daisy Duke shorts.

  He knew he was pussy-whipped.

  But its connotation no longer meant humiliation. His sense of manhood no longer sought emancipation. He had found reconciliation.

  He had also somehow found love.

  I should feel physically addicted to her. I love her. I just never thought I could feel this way. I mean there are no fucking words for what she does to my body. And it’s not like she is taking advantage of me. She’s not. We just fit.

  As Patty left the store, he turned, grabbed the gas receipt and got in the car.

  His erection was still visible, driving with it would be miserable.

  As they drove past the little cluster of shops and stores, Patty shrugged, “I’m bored.”

  Seconds later Jed merged the car back onto the highway. He then took a sip of fountain pop.

  Patty took off her shoes.

  “You said you were bored, so you take your shoes off?”

  She winked at him.

  Then she took her shirt off.

  She was wearing a pink push-up bra. Not that Patty needed the push-up. But the color

  Pink.fucking.bra.

  And Jed had just managed to negotiate his erection to half-mast.

  Oh well.

  She leaned over, sucked on his earlobe.

  Her right hand massaged his crotch.

  “What do we have here?”

  A dick so hard you could pound nails with it.

  She backed away from him, looked down at it. His shorts were nearly bursting at the seams

  Is she really thinking about it?