Page 23 of Bad Kind of Love

“I’m fine. I don’t need help from a teacher.” She lifts her chin, which only makes me want to laugh.

“I’m not offering you my help.” It comes off rude, but I wasn’t offering. The last thing I needed was to get closer to her, or have her thinking I was her knight in shining armor. When in reality, I was the exact opposite. “I’m just telling you, you don’t have to put up with their shit.”

“I don’t.” She glares with pure fire in her gaze. “If that’s all, I have a chemistry class to get to.”

I let myself burn in her fiery gaze as flashbacks from that night enter my thoughts. Young Becca, terrified, blood… Shaking my head, I realize the class is filling up with students and nod my head releasing her. She quickly spins around, stomping out of the classroom, leaving me feeling frustrated.

And unsatisfied, more than anything.

A feeling I wasn’t used to, and a strange urge to pull her back in this classroom until I was fully satisfied. But I was done being the monster, the bad guy, I needed to keep my distance from O’Connor, even if it destroyed me.

******

Always around the same time at night, I found myself stuck in a comatose as I stared blankly at the TV. The house was quiet, almost too quiet until I heard the sound of the door slam shut. Twisting my head, I watched as Wes waltzed in, dropping his practice bag on the floor.

“How was practice?” I set my cup beside me, while he looked less than thrilled to talk with me.

“Fine.” He shrugs.

“And school?”

“Good.” He pulls out his phone, staring down at the overly bright screen.

This is how it’s always been between us. Ever since his mother dipped, he rarely ever has any words for me. It was more frustrating than anything, to want to connect with him but he immediately shuts that down the minute I open my mouth.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?” I add, begging he at least meets my stare.

Just give me something.

Sighing, he looks up from his phone. “Yah dad I know. I’m just sweaty from practice, tired and have homework to do.” He says impatiently.

“Yah.” I run a hand through my hair, frustrated. “Go ahead.”

He quickly runs off to his room, leaving me alone in the living room once again. Our relationship was deteriorating more and more every day. It was a blow to the gut knowing my own son didn’t want to talk to me, but it was partially my fault. If I would have known Tia was pregnant, I would have dropped everything to be there. But that’s what I get for knocking up a stripper, she ends up having my son and doesn’t tell me for eleven years, or until she was done being a mother and wanted to drop him off at my doorstep. And here we are now, seven years later. Where I’m still trying to form a relationship with my son, he can’t wait to graduate and get the fuck out.

Pulling myself out of the chair, I head for the cabinet and pull out a bottle of Jack, the one and only thing that seems to ease the pain.

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