Chapter 14
DOMINIC
Iwas aware of Rose staring at me worriedly, but I was too far gone to care.
Of course, I remembered that picture. It was the day my life changed completely. The day I discovered the truth about my parents’ marriage.
I hopped off the barstool, needing to get out of there and do something to pull me out of the past.
“If that’s all, then I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Rose,” I said, knowing I was being rude, but incapable of doing anything about it because of the raging maelstrom of pain and anger inside me.
“But…what about dinner?” she asked softly.
“I can’t eat yet,” I replied. “I’m going for a swim first.”
Without waiting for her reply, I went into my bedroom and changed into my swimming trunks.
She was still in the living room when I came out in a bathrobe and slippers.
I gave her a polite nod as I walked into the elevator and pressed the button for the pool.
Rose said nothing, merely watched me silently until the elevator doors closed.
The pool was empty when I got there, which was a blessing.
Gran went for an evening swim sometimes, but I was glad she wasn’t here today, because I didn’t have it in me to talk to her right now.
I dived into the deep end of the pool, and all the memories of that night washed over me as I went under.
It was my seventh birthday, and as usual, my father was too busy to attend my party. My mother smiled her way through the party, but her smile slipped after the last guest left, and she began to call my father frantic with worry because he had promised to come home in time to cut the cake.
Her calls went unanswered, and he strolled in a few hours later, reeking of liquor.
He patted me on the head before he sent me off to bed.
But I couldn’t fall asleep, so I ventured into the hallway.
And that’s when I heard it. The sound of a slap and my mother’s cry.
It went on for quite some time. I sat on the stairs, wanting to rush to her aid, but terrified to move, lest he attack me as well.
When she cried out loudly, I couldn’t hold myself back, and I barged into the room to rescue her.
I found her cowering on the floor while my father was standing over her with his belt in his hands.
A wave of helplessness took me under, and I thrashed my way to the end of the pool, resting my arms on the edge before I dived in again.
That was the night I understood the truth about my parents’ abusive marriage.
And after that night, my father didn’t feel the need to hide the abuse from me.
But my mother began to lock her door just to protect me from it.
My father spent very little time with us, but whenever he came home, I’d stand outside their door, trying to get to her. To rescue her. To help her. But there was nothing I could do. Mom made me promise I wouldn’t tell anybody what he was doing to her because she loved him.
Love. People wrote poems about the emotion, but I knew it as nothing but a weakness.
One that turned the bravest soul I knew into a weeping mess, unable to break the cycle of violence because she was trapped in it by love.
Every time he hurt my mom, my father would break down crying and promise to do better because he loved her right back.
If only she would stop making him angry.
Didn’t she know he was under a lot of pressure at work?
Why did she nag him about the other women?
Why was she so possessive? It was always her fault, and never his. And she still put up with it. For love.
She would play music loudly when he beat her, so I wouldn’t have to hear it.
But I could hear everything since I stood with my ears glued to her door.
To this day, the sound of music took me right back into my nightmares, where the sound of my mother’s cries mixed with the strains of the guitar, where the drums clashed with the sound of my father’s slaps.
As I grew older, I begged her to leave him, but my mother wouldn’t hear of it because she really believed his love for her made up for his abuse.
Our nightmare ended only with his death, and it took my mother years of therapy to accept that she was trapped in an abusive marriage, and that it wasn’t love she felt for him, but fear. Sheer, abject fear.
She was healed now, as was I. But I could never forget the true nature of what people called love. It wasn’t an emotion. It was merely a mechanism of control. And I wanted nothing to do with it.
I did forty laps of the pool without a break before I got my anger back on the leash. I felt calmer as I climbed out of the pool and slightly ashamed of the way I had walked out on Rose without a word. I hoped she didn’t think it was because of the way we ended things in the hot tub.
When I went back to the apartment, the living room was empty, and the photograph was gone.
In its place was another picture, taken a year earlier, with Rose, Aunt Polly, Mom, and me smiling at the camera from a picnic blanket.
It was probably taken at the annual Harvest Festival, and funnily enough, Rose was sitting on my lap. There was a note next to the picture.
Have asked Trev to crop out the moms in the picture, it said.
It was as if she understood that the previous picture had sent me into a bad place emotionally, and she was trying to get me out of it, while still not intruding on me.
My nose twitched as I smelled something delicious, and I turned to stare at the oven.
That smelled familiar, I thought, as I walked into the open-plan kitchen and bent down to peer at the oven.
There, bubbling away in a pan, was what looked like lasagna. Rose’s famous lasagna. The one Aunt Polly always made when Mom took me for a visit.
“I thought you could use some comfort food right now,” she said from the doorway, and I straightened up hastily. There was a hard lump in my throat, and this time, it wasn’t desire. It was gratitude.
She didn’t know why I’d reacted to the photograph the way I did, but she knew I was upset. And she was offering the only form of comfort she could. Through food. And happy memories.
“I can’t wait for it to be ready,” I said gruffly.
“Ten more minutes,” she replied with a soft smile that wound itself right around my heart.
Just then, there was a loud cry of distress from the window outside the kitchen. We whirled around in surprise.
“That sounds like Sweetpea,” cried Rose, running to the window. She slid the window up and poked her head out to see where he was.
“Oh no! How did you get there, you jackass?” she wailed, and Sweetpea miaowed plaintively.
Rose drew her head in and looked terrified as she turned to me.
“He’s stuck on the ledge next to the kitchen window. I think he was trying to get into the kitchen, but the window was shut and he got stuck outside.”
“Why’d he do a damn fool thing like that?” I asked in disgust, and she glared at me.
“Because he is a cat, Dominic. And cats get stuck on ledges sometimes. It’s a fact of nature. Now, help me get him off the fucking ledge.”
“Hey, he got on it, which means he can get off all by himself,” I retorted.
“If he could, he’d be in here, going for your balls right now. But he can’t, which is why he’s still stuck outside, bawling his little heart out,’ she snapped. “Now, help me bring him in and feed him some lasagna.”
“My lasagna?” I demanded in outrage, and her glare only got brighter.
“Didn’t you learn to share in kindergarten?”
“I skipped kindergarten and went straight to first grade because I was so smart,” I informed her loftily.
“Yes, we’re all very proud. Now, can you grab some oven mitts and go rescue my cat? I’d do it myself, but I can’t quite reach him,” she snarled.
“Shorty,” I coughed, as I put on the oven mitts to rescue a cat who looked like he was plotting my doom.
Beelzy took one look at me when I poked my head out of the kitchen window, and his hackles went up.
“Down, boy. I’m all that stands between you and a certain death.
If you fall off that ledge, you’re not going to land on your feet after falling ten storeys, trust me,” I drawled.
“Now, pretend you’re a good kitty for five minutes and let me bring you in.
And don’t even think about going for my lasagna. ”
Rose pinched me in the behind when I said that, and I yelped in surprise, banging my head on the top of the window.
“Hey, watch it,” I yelled, and Beelzy reacted by swiping at my face.
“Darn you, Beelzy,” I yelled again, and Rose pinched me one more time.
“His name is Sweetpea, and you’re scaring him,” she snarled.
I ducked back inside and put my hands on my hips as I glared at her.
“Well, if you stop pinching me for five minutes, maybe I could find a way to grab that son of Satan,” I pointed out.
“Fine! But if you’re mean to him, you won’t get any lasagna,” she warned, as I poked my upper body out again.
The ledge was located right next to the kitchen window, but slightly higher. It was a bit of a stretch, but I managed to grab the cat by the scruff of his neck and dragged him off the ledge and into my arms, yowling and scratching for his life.
He scratched me despite the oven mitts, slashing at whatever part of me he could reach, and I was relieved when Rose reached out and grabbed him from me.
“Sweetpea, look what you did, you silly kitty. You left scratchies on Dom’s arms,” she cooed, and I couldn’t believe she was acting like he was a poor, misunderstood kitten.
If ever there was a cat that represented true evil, it was this one.
He lounged against her chest and glared up at me, his tail swishing in displeasure.
Just then, the oven dinged, and we all turned to look at it.
“Lasagna’s done,” said Rose, setting the cat down.
He marched towards the oven, tail up in the air proudly. Rose switched the oven off and turned to me.
“Let’s clean up those scratches,” she said.
“I’ll be fine,” I said, with a shrug. “It’s not the first time he’s attacked me.”
“Well, these are worse than the ones on your leg,” she argued. “Besides, I’m your fake girlfriend now. Tending to your injuries comes under the purview of girlfriend duties, sub-section c, cuts, scrapes, and boo-boos, the care of. And that is a grade four boo-boo.”
“It is not a boo-boo,” I snarled. “It is a legitimate war wound.”
“Come on, grumpus. Let’s put a bandage on your owie,” she said, taking me by the arm and leading me to the couch. “Where’s your medical kit?”
“In my bathroom,” I replied, trying to stand up. “I can get it.”
“Sit down and don’t move,” she ordered, pushing me down again.
Two minutes later, she was back, with the box containing medical supplies.
“You do know we don’t live in a war zone,” she huffed as she set it on the coffee table and sat next to it. “It looks like you’re stocking up for a zombie apocalypse. What’s with all the different bandages?”
“I’m a bit of a collector,” I admitted sheepishly.
“So creepy,” she murmured as she poured some antiseptic on a cotton ball. I braced myself for the sting, but I couldn’t help roaring from the pain when she dabbed the antiseptic onto my wounds.
“Oh, stop being such a giant, grumpy baby, and let me take care of you because your mother will never forgive me if I let you die of tetanus,” snapped Rose.
“It stings,” I snapped back.
“What do you expect?”
“A little sympathy,” I pointed out angrily. “I got these wounds from saving your useless cat.”
“First of all, these aren’t wounds. They are merely scratches. And secondly, I am extremely grateful to you for your help,” she said frostily.
“I don’t want your gratitude,” I grumbled. “Just a little kindness and sympathy will do.”
I knew I was pouting and maybe I was a giant, grumpy baby like she said, but it hurt, darn it!
“Will this do?” asked Rose, setting the ball of cotton down and taking my face in her hands. When I looked up in surprise, she planted a soft kiss on my forehead, another on each of my cheeks, and another on the tip of my nose before she ended with a soft kiss on my lips.
Fuck me, but that helped a lot, I thought dazedly.