“The ruling is bullshit. My son is an alcoholic and gambling addict. I mean look at what he’s done with his life?” My father roars from the study adjacent from me.
Quietly, I make my way to the stairs until I hear my name roll off my mother’s tongue. “They loved Brayden. I’m not sure what you want me to do. It’s their will, their final wishes, David. This is beyond our control. The Judge made his decision.”
My footsteps falter on the first step, redirecting my way towards the study. What the fuck? What will?
“Mr. Stephens, I realize this must be difficult for you take in, but it’s imperative that I speak with the other Mr. Stephens,” another male voice interrupts.
Knowing damn well they’re talking about me, I shove my way through the double oak doors that lead into the study, catching all three of them by surprise. “And it’s the man of the hour himself,” my father sneers as he waves me in. In his hand he holds a tumbler full of amber liquid, his suit jacket lies discarded haphazardly on the back of the couch, while my mother sits there in her pristine pressed khakis and peach colored blouse, intentionally avoiding my gaze.
“What’s going on?” I look between both of my parents.
“Mr. Stephens,” a deep voice says from beside my father’s desk. I turn to look at him over my shoulder, and right away I can tell he’s an attorney. His gray hair is combed over to the side, and his suit is immaculate. “I’m William Pierce.”
“Brayden,” I answer, walking over to him to shake his proffered hand.
He waves to the seat in front of my father’s desk. “Please, take a seat. I have some things I’d like to go over with you.”
I take a seat. “What’s this in regards to?” I ask.
“Your paternal grandparents’ estate. Have you not received any of my messages?” he asks, perplexed.
I shake my head no as the revelations of everything comes to light.
“This is a bunch of bullshit,” my father states. I can tell he’s doing everything he can to hang onto his temper. Only once I have ever seen my father lose it in front of someone else besides my mother and I. Appearances. It’s the only thing that has made him hold it together in front of others. But as soon as we were home, behind closed doors, the mask slipped away and the real David Stephens appeared.
“David, please? Try and calm down,” my mom interjects.
I don’t know why she even tries. It’s not like he gives a fuck. “Maybe we can do this elsewhere,” I offer. I can’t deal with this bullshit right now.
“I have tried to contact you for the past couple of days, but every time I’m forwarded to voicemail and never receive a callback. Brayden, this is important, thus the reason as to why I have come to you. You should know, the Judge has come back with a ruling.”
“A ruling?” I ask, confused.
“Yes.” He nods. “You’re father has contested their will for the past six months.”
“Six months?” I turn my eyes to my father who’s seething.
“Yes, but the Judge has made his decision. There is no reason that you are not entitled to their assets.”
“I understand. I can come by your office in the next few days if you don’t mind.”
“I’d really like to resolve this sooner rather than later, Mr. Stephens.”
“Of course.”
“No,” My father states firmly. “They were my parents.” He points at himself. “I deserve to know why they left you their entire inheritance and left me with nothing.”
My mind spins with the revelations of what has just come to light. I lean forward resting my elbows on my knees as I stare at the floor below. Never in a million years did I think I’d ever agree with my father, but he’s right. Why would they leave me with everything and him with nothing? Yes, we were close. My grandparents were more parents to me than my own ever were. My grandfather passed right before I turned twenty and my grandmother followed him six and a half years later. I would have been here for her funeral, but I was too busy screwing my life up. It’s a regret that I will have to live with for the rest of my life. But still, my father is their only child. He should be their heir, not me.
“This piece of shit gets everything. I was their son,” my father’s words break through my internal ramblings. I look up to see him swallow the rest of his whiskey in one final gulp. “He’ll do nothing with his life. He’ll gamble and drink away all of their money, just like he did his own.”
“Shut up.” My voice is even and holds no emotion, but the eeriness of it catches the attention of everyone in the room.
“What the fuck did you just say?” my father asks. He sets the tumbler on the table in front of the couch down hard, never taking his eyes off me.
“Mr. Pierce?” I ask, never breaking my father’s gaze. He’s unpredictable, his anger is boiling to nuclear status, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he charged me right now.
He looks between my father and me cautiously before handing me a card. I take it without looking at him. “All my contact information is on there. I look forward to hearing from you.”
I nod. Rage boils right under the surface of my skin. I know without a doubt it is about to get real and unlike my father, I’d hate for anyone, even my own mother to be around when it gets bad. As soon as the doors close behind Mr. Pierce my eyes flicker to my mother. “Mom? Can you give Dad and me a second alone?” I focus back on my father.
She makes a move to get up but is stopped when my father sticks his arm out, signaling her to sit back down. And like the dutiful wife she is, she does as she’s told. Fine, so be it.
“How dare you speak to me that way in front of company? How dare you speak to me that way period,” my father bellows. Veins bulge beneath the skin on his neck, restricted by the collar of his shirt. His cheeks are red with rage, and his hands clench into fists.
“Screw you. Did you not hear yourself and how you were speaking?” I ask. “Don’t be a fucking hypocrite.”
“I am so damn sick of you.”
I shrug. “Yeah, well the feeling is mutual. By the way, I appreciate the messages I never received, and how you went behind my back and contested my inheritance and how you defamed my character. I’m sure you didn’t tell the Judge or your attorneys that you have anger and control issues.”
In three strides my father stands before me, bristling with fury. I look up at him and a smirk pulls at the corner of my lips. I can’t help myself. I know I shouldn’t provoke him, it’ll only make it worse, but I just don’t give a fuck anymore.
“You have something you want to fucking say to me?” he sneers as he brings his face down to mine. Spittle flies, landing on my face.
“Get the fuck out of my face.” My tone is detached and severe all at the same time.
“What the hell are you going to do if I don’t?”
My eyes snap to his. Before me, I stare at a monster that I’ve encountered one too many times. My hands ball into fists, and it takes every ounce of willpower that I can muster to keep from hitting him square in the jaw. “I’m not going to ask you again to get the fuck. Out. Of. My. Face.”
“Make me,” he says, his tone matching my own. “You know you want to hit me.” He taps the side of his chin. “Right here. I’ll even let you have a freebie.” He smiles at me sardonically. He’s a sadistic fuck.
Instead of feeding into his sick games, I turn my face away from him, ignoring his words. Red starts to blur my vision. Deep breaths in and out, I try to rein in my temper. In attempts to block out his taunts, I squeeze my eyes shut tight. “I’m. Not. You,” I grit out between clenched teeth.
“That’s right. You’re not me. You’re pathetic. You’re weak.” He leans in closer, his voice a menacing whisper next to my ear, “You’re. A. Bitch.” The maliciousness behind his words breaks my resolve.
The chair behind me clatters to the ground below as I jump to my feet. Coming toe to toe with the man whose blood runs through my veins I speak the words that I have kept locked up for too l
ong. “See that’s where you’re wrong. You’re the one who’s weak and pathetic. You pick on the weak to make yourself feel better. Now that you can’t use your belt to hurt me you use my failures to break me down.”
“You are a failure.” He laughs wickedly.
I shrug. “Maybe I am. But you will always be a bitter old man. You don’t respect me or your wife. The two people who you are supposed to love more than anything in this world you spit on and treat like shit.” I poke him in the chest making him take a step back. “I’ve been your punching bag for far too long, and I’m fucking done with you.”
“Please stop,” my mother cries out from the couch beside us.
I look at her, tears drip from her chin as she worries her fingers in her lap. “I’m sorry, Mom. I love you, but I can’t do this anymore. I’m too damn old for all this. I only have one life to live, and this is not how I want to live it.” I wave a hand in my father’s direction.
“Then get the fuck out of my house,” my father grits out.
“Done,” I answer with a nod.
Just as I go to leave the room, I look back at him and shake my head in disgust. “You want to know why they left me their inheritance instead of you? Because I’m the son they never had. You couldn’t amount for shit and they knew it.”
My head snaps to the side before I even know what’s happening. A sickening crack resonates throughout my skull as I barely catch the image of my father’s fist flying at me a second time. I duck, barely missing the second blow. I may hate him, but I will never be like him. I will never hit or beat on my own family. Instead of beating his ass unconscious, I reach out, grab him by the throat and slam him up against the wall. My face comes within an inch of his. “That will be the last time you ever fucking hit me and get away with it. The next time, I’ll fucking kill you.” My words are laced with venom and hate. My mother’s screams and pleadings for me not to hurt him really makes me see my family for what it is.
A fucking joke.
Out of all of these channels I pay for there’s not a single thing on TV tonight for Friday night. My eyes flicker to the clock on the wall, well at least for another hour anyway. Then it’s Grey’s Anatomy time. I curl up on the couch, tuck my feet underneath me before wrapping myself in my favorite cashmere blanket. Just as I change the channel to Bravo to see what’s up with some of my favorite housewives, my phone starts ringing. Without pulling my eyes from the TV, I answer on the second ring. “Hello?”
A man replies, but I can barely make out what he’s saying. Music, cheers, and loud noise drown out most of his words.
I press the phone harder against my ear. “Hello?” I ask again. “I can barely hear you.”
“Is this Karmen?” the man repeats what I didn’t hear.
“Yeah,” I answer. I pull the phone away from my ear and check the caller ID to see who it is, but it’s a number I don’t recognize.
“Good. I need…”
“I’m sorry, who’s this?” I ask, interrupting him.
“Sorry. It’s Rick, from Killian’s.”
“Okay…” I stretch out the word because I have no idea how he got my number or why he’s calling me.
“You know Brayden Stephens?” he asks impatiently.
“Uh…yeah. Why?”
“I need you to come and pick him up. He’s drunk off his ass, and in all honesty I’m about to throw him out of my bar.”
“All right. But why are you calling me?”
“Look,” he sighs, exasperated. I know exactly what he’s going through, I used to have to pick my father up drunker than a skunk when I was younger. “He just asked me to call you. So can you come and get him, or should I call the police?” he asks. I’m pretty sure he’s thinking the latter is the better alternative.
I toss my blanket to the side, stand from the couch, slip on my flip-flops and grab my purse as I walk out of my apartment. Turning to lock the door behind me I answer, “I’m on my way. Please, don’t call the cops.”
“I can’t make any promises,” he answers.
“I’m on my way. Just please don’t do anything irrational.” I practically beg just before he hangs up on me. I sprint down three flights of stairs, out of my building and to my car.
The fifteen-minute ride to the bar is filled with a lot of internal debate on my part. Picking up a drunken Brayden is a really bad idea. If he was awful in high school, sober, I can only imagine what he’s like drunk. Plus, I’m his boss. Ethically, it isn’t right, but at the same time we are friends. Morally, I can’t let him get arrested. The numbers from the clock glare eight forty-five at night from my dashboard, and for the life of me I can’t fathom why he’s already drunk. I drink, but I’ve never been one to over-indulge. Once in my life I’ve been drunk, and I swore I’d never do that again. I hope he’s not a belligerent drunk because then I’d probably call the cops on him myself. But then if that were the case why out of all people would he ask Rick to call me. Why not his parents or Drew for that matter? Fear rattles me from deep within when my mind wanders back to how he used to be or so he says. I swear if this is some kind of prank, I’ll fire his ass, and if I lose my job because of it then so be it.
Prom Night, Senior Year…
“I can’t believe you decided to go.” Tammy’s enthusiasm almost makes me feel like I should go. Ever since Tammy suggested I go with her to prom, stag, two months ago, I had told her I wasn’t sure it was such a great idea. I never said yes or no until last week.
I shrug as I apply the finishing touches of my makeup, well, Tammy’s makeup. “I think I should go. I mean it is prom after all. It’s my God-given right as a senior to attend something of this magnitude.” Looking at her out of the corners of my eyes, I see her grinning. “I should have one night of fun, don’t you think?”
“Now you’re getting it,” she laughs.
It took a lot of convincing on her part to get me to go to prom. My not having a dress was only a small reason of why I didn’t want to go. In all honesty, I didn’t want to attempt to make a good memory only to have it tainted by some messed up prank.
“It’ll be fun. Just you wait and see,” she says as she places the cap back on her lipstick.
“Yeah, we’ll just have to wait and see,” I reply, my eyes meeting hers in the mirror.
I’ve had ten minutes to prepare myself for tonight and that was spent in the car on the way over to our high school, Camden High. Our school didn’t really have the funds to throw our prom at some posh hotel in the city. So the gym it was. Other concerns begin to plague me. Would everyone go as far as to ruin prom night? Will I be able to escape from the crowd fast enough? Where are all the exits located? It’s these thoughts that keep playing on repeat over and over in my mind. Most of the time Tammy and I spent getting ready, she didn’t give me a chance to let my mind wander. Between tossing me dress after dress to try on, fixing my hair and makeup, and eating pizza I haven’t been left alone to my thoughts. As we park in front of the massive red brick building with a cougar statue in front, dread seeps into my bones. Deep down, I know, something is going to happen to me tonight. Pressure on my hand pulls my thoughts back to the here and now, and I look at the only reason as to why I’m here in the first place.
“Don’t let them win. We’re going to have fun and enjoy ourselves.” Tammy’s voice is soft and reassuring.
I shake my head and give her my best fake smile and take a deep breath. “All right. Let’s do this,” I answer on a slow exhale.
Stepping out of the car, the humidity that May brings with it envelops me, and I can’t help but roll my eyes. So much for doing my hair and makeup. Reaching down, I lift the front of the black dress Tammy let me borrow. It’s nothing spectacular. It’s plain and simple, but in my eyes it is the nicest thing that has ever adorned my alabaster skin. My hair falls over my shoulders in soft curls to rests against the tops of my breasts. I smile a little. This is the prettiest I’ve ever looked. I'm not vain. It’s the truth. Most of my clothes have
holes in them, are threadbare, and two sizes too small. But I don’t complain because at least I have clothes on my back. The money I do make goes to paying mine and my parents’ bills and putting what little food I can afford in the fridge. In my case, clothes are not a necessity, but an afterthought.
Tammy meets me around the front of the car and I tell her how gorgeous she looks. The plum colored dress she bought at Dillard’s really does look stunning on her. I love that she pulled her hair up into a loose but stylish up-do, leaving pieces of her natural wavy brown locks down to frame her face. I look at her as she gazes at our high school with a smile on her face. She’s really happy to be here. That in turn brings a smile to my own face. I want my friend to be happy. If being in the one place that holds awful memories for me makes her happy, then the least I can do is suck it up for her and be happy, too.
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