Chapter 14
Istrip down to my underwear and kneel at the side of my bed, reaching under the mattress to grab the scourge that meets my skin more times than I’d like to admit.
Javier was right. I am a liar.
Self-flagellation is something I practice when temptation inches too close to action.
We’re told masturbation is a sin, and I do my best to keep my thoughts from straying into lustful territory, but I’m only human.
In order to keep myself from reaching into my underwear and touching myself with thoughts of Javier—a man and a murderer—I swing the scourge over my shoulder and let the leather strips hit the flesh on my back.
Javier’s face flashes in my mind, more specifically the expression on his face as he was pouring the liquor into my mouth. I swing again.
Flashes keep appearing.
His lips. I swing.
His hands. I swing.
The way my body reacts to him. I swing harder.
My cock remains hard and I fear the pain of the leather on my back isn’t doing its job. I imagine he’s doing the swinging, and I like the idea of him punishing me for the thoughts I’m having about him.
After what feels like forever, but was probably only twenty minutes, I drop the scourge on the floor and make the sign of the cross before delving into prayer. My back stings, but it’s what I need—a reminder to stay on the right path.
When I stand, I make my way to the shower where I keep the water fairly cold, and tell myself I will never see Javier again. There’s no need to.
Each day that I have confessional hours, I hold my breath praying he doesn’t come in, and by the time the hours are up, I exhale in defeat, having held onto a small amount of hope that he would’ve.
I bury myself in work, grateful for the extra duties I have: baptisms, a marriage, and two funerals. I shouldn’t feel grateful for presiding over funeral arrangements, but it’s kept me focused on other things.
One evening, as I’m just getting home, Johnny calls.
“Hello?”
“Hey, kid.”
“Hey. How’s everything?”
Johnny releases a long sigh. “Think you can come by?”
My pulse spikes a bit. “Sure. Did something happen?”
“Just swing by. I’ll see you soon.”
He ends the call before I can say anything. I grab my keys from the hook I just hung them on and walk right back out.
I drive in silence, not bothering to turn up any music. I’m in my head the entire time, wondering what conversation he needs to have in person. I hadn’t been worried about my father since he told me he had talked to him.
This time, when I walk inside, the usual man who’s there checking I.D.’s gives me a nod to go ahead. I walk down the hall and to the office door, taking a deep breath to prepare myself for any news.
I rap on the wood with my knuckles a couple of times, and a few seconds later Johnny opens it up.
I’m instantly studying his face, looking for a hint at what we’re about to discuss, but it gives nothing away. When he takes a few steps back and allows me space to walk in, I freeze in my tracks when I look behind the desk.
“Dad.” The words leave my lips on a breath.
His eyes take me in, and the tiniest of smiles tugs at his mouth. I notice his eyes linger around my neck, and I realize I never changed out of my collar.
“How you doin’, huh?” he asks.
“I’m fine. How are you?”
I take a seat in front of his desk and scrutinize his appearance. He looks fine, untouched. No visible injuries, no bags under his eyes.
It’s been about nine months since I’ve seen him in person, but he looks just as he did then.
I would have never guessed he’s got a target on his back, but then again, my dad has never shown a lot of emotion one way or another.
I’ve never seen him frightened. I’ve never seen him cry. He’s a stoic man unless he’s angry.
His hair has a little more salt than pepper these days, and it’s thinning a bit on the top. And though he has some deep wrinkles in his forehead and a few more around his eyes, he still has the aura of a man you don’t want to cross.
He gives me a slight shrug. “I’m fine. Johnny tells me you’ve been in here a few times, concerned.”
The way he says it makes me wonder if he’s teasing me, like the idea of me being worried is funny and ridiculous.
“That’s right,” I tell him.
“Huh. Well…” He doesn’t finish his thought, instead just leaving it to hang between us.
“What waves have you been making?” I question.
He grins. “Big ones, I guess. Not everyone likes the fierceness of the ocean.”
“Is it over?”
“What? The waves?”
“The repercussions.”
He tilts his head from side to side which lets me know probably not.
“In this business, there’s always a bit of both,” he says. “Someone wants to do something others don’t agree with.”
“I’m familiar with that.”
His eyes narrow slightly but he doesn’t reply directly to the barb.
Dad leans back in his chair. “Well, I think your involvement in this,” he says, gesturing between us, “can be over now. If I could’ve met you somewhere else I would’ve, but I already have someone on the way to pick me up. I don’t want you around here, you hear me?”
“What is this?” I ask, getting angry. “Did we go back in time? Am I a teenager again?”
“Carlo,” he growls.
“I came here because you asked me to pick up a box.”
“I asked Johnny to give you the box. I didn’t tell him to invite you here,” he says, flashing a glare in Johnny’s direction in the corner.
“I kept coming back because I was worried something happened to you, and now I’m wondering why I even cared. If I thought you could change, or if I thought your little box of memories was a sign that you had some sort of heart, you quickly remind me why we aren’t close.”
He inhales deeply through his nose, eyes pinned on me. “You’re not as smart as you think you are.”
I snort. “Nice. Any other insults you’d like to throw my way, Dad? I’m sure there’s a select few you have cocked in the chamber.”
I stare him down, waiting for his reply.
“How’s the church?” he asks, keeping eye contact with me.
“Fine. You should come out. I bet you have some things to learn, or forgiveness to beg for.”
“Ah. I don’t ask forgiveness for anything. Everything I do is for a reason, whether it’s something others like or not.”
“I’m aware.”
“You act like you can’t get out of it,” he says.
“Are you kidding? I went to school for seven years for this. I’ve devoted everything to being what you said I had no choice but to be. I’ve only been making a decent salary for two years, and you act—”
“Right. You’re sounding ungrateful as you talk to the man who has paid for everything you need.”
“It’s only because you didn’t allow me to do what I wanted to do.”
“What? Paint pictures?” He huffs out a laugh. “Yes, I’m sure you’d be making millions off of that.”
“Until I was seventeen, I assumed I’d be following in your footsteps. You never acted like that wasn’t the plan until—”
“Johnny,” my dad says, jerking his head toward the door, dismissing him.
We stare at each other until we’re alone.
“You think you can be what you are and be in this business?” he asks, his teeth grit.
“What I am,” I murmur, shaking my head. “Can you even say it?”
“The answer is, you can’t. You don’t know these guys—how they act, how they talk. You don’t know hatred and violence for being—”
“I’m pretty sure I do know hatred. I’m pretty sure I’ll know it my whole life.”
“Do you wanna be killed? Assaulted? Terrorized? Do you wanna live your life having to look over your shoulder all the time? This business has no place for you. There are rules that’ve been around since before my time.”
“Queer people have been killed, assaulted, and terrorized.”
He puts a hand up to stop me. “You know what I do. You saw and heard more than most people do before you had even hit adulthood. That doesn’t mean you have what it takes to do what I do.”
I huff out an annoyed sigh. “Why am I even here?”
“After what Johnny told me, I thought you’d be happy to see that I’m alive and well.
” He pauses. “Also.” He leans in, his voice lowering.
“I have a phone number to give you. Not many people have this number, but if you happen to need to get in touch, this is how.” He pushes over a piece of paper.
“Program it and then rip it up and throw it away.”
“You leaving again?” I ask, reaching for it as I pull my phone out of my pocket.
“You never know.”
I incline my head slightly as I type in the numbers in my phone. I’m too annoyed to care right now. I put the paper back on his desk, and he reaches for it and rips it to shreds.
Standing up, I pocket my phone. “Well, I guess I won’t worry when you go missing again, that way you don’t need to be concerned about me coming around here. I trust Johnny will let me know if you die.” I cut my eyes to him.
He stands and rounds the desk. We stare at each other for a few seconds before he brings me in for a hug. His arms feel foreign around me. It’s tight and awkward, and then his mouth is near my ear.
“Remember, my blood runs in your veins. Regardless of anything, you are a Gallo. Trust no one but yourself.”
He pulls away and stares deeply in my eyes, like he’s trying to communicate something else. My brows furrow, and as I’m about to open my mouth, there’s a quick knock on the door before it opens.
“Car’s here,” Johnny says.
Dad nods once and goes to his desk. He looks at me and dips his head. “Take care of yourself.”
A few seconds pass before I speak. “Okay. You too.”
I walk out of the building, a cocktail of emotions and feelings swirling inside me.
My whole life, my relationship with my father has felt like a rollercoaster.
Some days we got along, other days we’d be fighting.
One minute, I care about his well-being, just to finally talk to him and wonder why I cared at all.
He’s an asshole. He always has been. But he also has moments where I feel like there’s hope for us.
I’m always left feeling confused, warring with two thoughts: Should I cut him off indefinitely or subject myself to his cruel personality in the hopes of getting a drop of approval?
And the one thing that always sticks with me is the thought that maybe we butt heads because we’re too similar.
On the outside, it wouldn’t seem like that’s the case, but it’s the outside we want people to see. We hide the truth that’s deep inside us.