11. Abigail – “Music is the emotional life of most people.”-Leonard Cohen
11
Abigail
“Music is the emotional life of most people.”-Leonard Cohen
I felt like a complete stalker waiting outside Blake’s house, but it’s been two weeks since the night he took me home and kissed me for the second time. Not to mention, I was minutes from letting him take my virginity in his car. The last time he kissed me, I looked into his eyes and saw a bundle of emotions all at once, but a promise was the most prominent in that dark forest he calls his mind. I woke up to his missed call and a haunting voicemail when I went to bed that night. His words still replay in my ear like yesterday when I was lying in bed, hearing his words blare through my phone speakers.
Call me when you get a life. You know, when you are ready to experience things. Get on my level.
He left it at three in the morning, so after he dropped me back at my house, Lord knows how he ended his night. There's no doubt in my mind that he was on drugs again, so I didn’t even take the random voicemail personally. I wanted him to talk to me and stop playing these games. If he did, I wouldn’t have to be here acting like some psycho girl who is super attached because we kissed. Okay, I would be lying if our kisses didn’t evoke emotion, but I’m mainly here because I care, even if he doesn’t care. Sometimes, I wondered if I cared more about him than myself. I shouldn’t even be worried about him. I should be focused solely on my recovery, but I can’t help it. Blake makes me feel connected to him, even when we aren’t connected by our phones daily. More than just our birthdays aligned and our magnetic pull, the music reminded us. The talks we had, the little glances we shared, his ever-lasting touch on my skin, and his scent. The musky, cedar plant smell that I became addicted to would forever linger on my pajamas because I refused to wash them. I inhaled them every night and tucked them away in the back of my drawer, afraid my mom would find them and wash away his scent.
Right now, the way I’m feeling, all I want is to confront his piece of shit dad or brother, whoever I see first, and tell them that they were horrible at caring for another human being. I hated them with every fiber of my being without looking at them. How can someone be so incredibly selfish? The dad was a complete douchebag who was only into himself. I didn’t want to burst Blake's bubble about his dad because he was so hopeful since he was back in his life, but it was clear Cliff Killian popped out kids and didn’t think it was his job to take care of them.
He was a deadbeat dad who needed to stop chasing women who could support him and focus on himself and his kids for a change. He needs to stop thinking of quick ways to get rich and put his pecker in his pants, and be a dad . And for God’s sake, stop holding onto the fact he played in the fucking NFL. He was an athlete. Get over it. It’s not like he was famous. If I mentioned his name to anyone on the street, I doubt they would know who I was talking about.
Then there was his brother. I had mixed emotions about what I felt for Colt because he shared the same dad, but somehow, he managed to make something of himself, even if I despised his profession. I’m not sure if it’s because Colt had a mom who helped care for him, like Blake said, or it was just who Colt was, someone who never gave up. I never met him, nor did I have a desire to, until now, so I can tell him off. He was probably going to end up like his dad anyway. Spreading his seed as much as he can because the fact he is in the NFL will get to his head, making him think he’s God's gift to earth, then he’ll spend all his money on shiny new toys, women, and child support, eventually go broke and have nothing in the end because he was careless, just like his dad.
I stewed like a crock pot waiting to explode the longer I sat here. I looked at the clock in my sister's car. It had been almost four hours, and no sign of life had left Blake’s house since I arrived. I figured the dad would at least come in and out. He did work from home doing his stock marketing bullshit that Blake mentioned briefly, but the guy didn’t come out to check the mail, smell the fresh air, or anything.
I saw someone faintly push back the curtain, but it was so miniscule that I didn’t know if it was my imagination or Blake’s doing. If it was Blake, I know he saw me sitting out here by now, and I’m sure he thought I was a quack. But if his stubborn, moody ass would just let me know he was okay and acknowledged my existence, then I wouldn’t be here, lurking in the shadows outside his house.
When a text message goes off, my heart races. I expect it to be Blake. To my surprise, it was my sister when I reached for it.
Hey, when are you coming back with the car? Mom made dinner, meaning Dad cooked, so you need to get home ASAP before they know I let you borrow the car.
“Shit,” I murmur to myself. I forcefully throw my phone onto the passenger seat and look at Blake’s house before leaving.
I park the car in the driveway and spring to my bedroom window. I look through to make sure it’s clear and open the window slowly. I hear faint voices that tell me they are in the kitchen. Once inside, I quickly shut the window, lock it, and slip off my shoes. I grab them and quickly walk past the front door, discreetly placing them in the foyer. I suck in a breath before letting out a deep sigh and stepping into the kitchen.
“When you're drinking, your judgment is a little warped on how much salt to add, so adding the beer to the chili won’t cover up the taste.” My mom says.
“Chili, huh,” I say as I sit down.
“There you are,” mom says as she turns around. “Let me make you a bowl.” She gestures for me to sit.
“Thanks,” I say, siping the glass of water on the table. As I quench my thirst, I remember how water makes you feel full, so I don’t stop drinking until the glass is half empty.
Dad sits down as Mom places a bowl of chili in front of me. Chili is healthy. Just eat a bowl and make them happy.
“Where’s Adalee?” I want to start a conversation so they don’t focus solely on my eating.
“That Ahmad guy picked her up.” My dad says, almost sounding annoyed.
“You mean her boyfriend?” I say over my bowl with raised eyebrows.
“Until he can provide, and I know he comes from a good family, I don’t care to call him anything except the man who’s using my daughter.”
He takes a bite of his chili, and my mom sits down, placing a slice of cornbread on my napkin. I look up, and she smiles warmly, and I can’t help but reciprocate. Even though the chili is hard enough to eat without wanting to figure out how many calories I’m eating, I force myself to take a small bite of the cornbread just to please her. And I talk to myself throughout. It’s okay. It’s just a bite of cornbread, and it takes 3500 extra calories to make you gain one pound.
“I noticed your grades are slipping,” my dad says, still looking down at his bowl of chili.
I tilt my head in confusion, furrowing my eyebrows at him. “I made all A’s’?”
“Except for the C I saw on your report card.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “Well, this year, the History and Algebra teachers are real dicks.”
“You won’t get a full ride to college with that C slipping in. Is there any reason you are losing focus? I know your eating has been a problem, but I thought you were handling it. Unless you aren’t, or is it a boy you are focusing on instead of your future education and career?”
My blood begins to boil, and I feel the heat rise in my chest. I want to eat to show them I’m not sick anymore. I healed myself on my own since my dad was too cheap to continue counseling, but knots form in my stomach, and the thought alone makes me want to vomit.
“Speaking of focus, why is yours always only on me? Adalee is in college, and I don’t see you lecturing her. Hell, I don’t even see her around the dinner table because you let her do whatever she wants.”
“Adalee is older, so she receives more leniency.” Finally, my dad lifts his gaze to meet mine.
“She hasn’t even picked out a major, and she’s almost twenty-two.”
“I’m not worried about Adalee right now.”
“Right,” I draw out the vowels.“You aren’t worried since you know a man will swoop her up and provide because she’s the pretty one. Isn’t that right, Dad?” I feel the heat rise in my chest and try to stay calm. but my nerves are getting the best of me. I don’t need to look down to know my hands are shaking.
“I didn’t say that.” He grits his teeth together.
“Sweetie, let's just all calm down.” My mom interjects. But I ignore her.
“You don’t have to. You have been hard on me ever since I can remember. You push education on me, always worried about my grades. You always tell me I’m tough. I can handle society because I don’t rely on my looks, right dad?” Tears begin to well up in my eyes.
“This is about your grades slipping,” he says with his jaw fixed in place, along with his gaze. I hope he can see the pain lurking behind my eyes for once this time.
I've spent all these years comparing my nose to my sister's perfect nose, standing by and listening to every family member, including him and my mom, compliment my sister and how pretty she is. I know he never got any love and affection from his parents growing up, but that doesn’t make it okay for him to treat me the same way. I’m not his personal revenge on his dead parents.
“You’ve always been so sensitive and dramatic. You’re twisting my words around. You’ve had this jealousy with your sister and cousins since you were little. I’m just talking about your grades because I know-”
“I made all A’s!”
The kitchen falls silent. But I don’t back down. “It’s my first C ever, and you are lecturing me on my grades? Are you fucking kidding me?” Rage, my anger has turned to boiling rage, and I can feel my cheeks burning, and I know they are red
“Abigail-” My mom says as if everything is peachy-keen.
“What?” I say tersely, jerking my head in her direction, then back at my dad. “Maybe if I use the word Fuck it will remind you that F is the worst grade to get, not C for Coward.”
“Now, you two, let’s not discuss this at dinner time.” My mom turns to face my dad, but he’s too busy glaring at me. “She’s doing great, Micheal. Why are you pestering her? Just let her eat her food,” my mom says.
I look down, and a text comes through my phone.
Hey, sweetheart, what are you up to?”
Ten seconds later, another one comes in.
I need a favor. Can you help me, Abs?
I reach to grab my phone.
“You know I don’t like phones at the dinner table.” My dad says as he takes another bite of his chili.
I roll my eyes. “Well, I don’t like y-”
“Honey, let's just finish eating, and then you can text your friend back.” My mom interjects.
Friend . Yeah, because I can’t have more than a friend, and she knows it. This is another secret jab they don’t think I’m aware of.
“I’m not hungry.” I push my bowl away from me.
“Honey, you barely ate anything. You have to eat, you’re still a little underweight.”
I was so tired of being monitored when it came to my eating. I wanted to eat everything in sight and then throw it up later just as a big fuck you to both my parents.
My mom never stood up to my dad because he made the money. She knows he treated me differently, and for years, she stood by and watched, but I was getting sick and tired of it. I take a bite of chili and chew, then another one and another one until my stomach hurts from eating so fast.
Abs, you there?
“Done. May I be excused now,” I say with a mouthful of food.
“Do you not want your cornbread?” My mom asks softly.
“No, I’m full.”
“Well, wait ten minutes, and you can be excused. I don’t want you wasting food by throwing it up,” my dad says, his attention back on his precious bowl of chili.
Taken back by his brutal tone and embarrassing words, I stare at him and wonder why the hell I was ever born. Why did they even want a second child if this is how they would treat one? I might have been left off the hook like my sister and cousins if I had been slightly more perfect-looking, but life had a way of making everything ten times harder on me.
My phone continues to buzz, making me remember I haven’t responded to Blake's message, which gave me a little satisfaction since I was pissed at him, too, right now. I went to his house, and I knew he saw me sitting in front of his home for four hours, and now he wants to act like I exist again? When has he been avoiding me at school, too? My sister’s right, men love the chase. Well fuck him, and fuck my dad for being so damn insensitive to everything I’ve gone through. And while I’m at it fuck my mom for being weak and not leaving his ass after he cheated, not the first time but the second time.
I glare at my dad’s balding head and my mom’s obliviousness as she continues to talk about something on the news she saw earlier. My leg shakes as I count down the minutes before I’m dismissed.
My phone starts ringing, and when I look at the screen, I see it’s Blake. What the hell? He never calls me.
Now, both my legs start to shake impatiently, and my dad must feel the tension because he looks up at me and then at my phone before saying, “You can be excused.”
I pushed my seat back so quickly that it made a shrieking noise. I grabbed my phone, squeezed it tight, and stormed into my room.