Page 41 of Unmasking You

I pick up the phone and scroll until I find my father’s number. I press call, followed by the speaker button.

“Morning, sir. I just called to let you know I need to take a couple more weeks.” The gelid silence that follows my words pushes me to fill it. “I’m not well…”

My father’s voice breaks through my words and stops me from finishing my thought. “Nothing has ever stopped me from going to work. New generations don’t know what working hard means. They spend more time on their phones than doing actual work.”

He inflicts jab after jab, leaving me without a chance to say a word. I stop trying, hoping he’ll run out of steam soon. When he does, I jump in.

“I was in an accident. I broke my arm and leg. I’m not spending my time online.” I try to keep my mood in check before I lose my shit and shout my frustration. He’d make me regret it by taking away something I love or what makes me happy.

“Probably one of those dangerous sports you love so much. Or that damn bike.”

“No. It was a car, and I was saving a dog.”

“Risking your life for a dog,” he scoffs, unamused by my behaviour, and then inflicts another jab. “Are you stupid? I can’t believe you’re my son.”

He says the same thing every single time, so I should be used to it. But his comments cut me every fucking time. I spent my life trying to please him, but there was no pleasing him.

I want this conversation finished quickly. I don’t want Jamie to hear what he’s saying and think I’m like my father, because I’ve spent my life working hard to be different from him.

I want to ask Jamie if I’ve succeeded, even though his answer will beno. And while I believe he’s right, I couldn’t face it coming from him.

My father continues, but I’m no longer listening, as I know nothing good is coming out of his mouth.

“Anyway, make sure to be back in a couple of weeks. I hate when things don’t go as planned. Don’t make me pull the plug on that foundation of yours since it’s only wasting your time.”

The phone goes dead, and my rage sparks. Not even a fucking “How are you?“ I grip my phone so hard my fingers sting, but that’s the only thing stopping me from throwing it across the room until it smashes against the wall.

I raise my arm, ready to do just that, but a knock at the door has me stopping mid-air and turning towards it.

As soon as I spot Jamie, I know he heard the whole conversation, and he heard how useless I am, according to my father. I wait for him to speak, to say something nasty, to use this newly discovered weakness against me so I can finally atone for my sins.

Instead, he enters the room, and while pretending to tidy up, he gives me the time to calm down. I watch him move around the room, his body light on his feet. I watch his back and his body, with well-proportioned shoulders, a slim waist, and a pert backside that looks amazing in those black jeans he’s wearing.

Lost in the wonderful view he offers, it takes me a while to realise he’s not going to use whatever he heard against me. Another sign that he’s a better person than I am.

“It’s time for your medication.” His tone is abrupt, but it’s missing the usual punch that keeps me at arm’s length every single time.

If I had doubts before, I don’t anymore. Jamie heard the full conversation, every single beautiful word my father said to me.

Is he pitying me now?

He shouldn’t let the way my dad treats me influence the way he sees me. I was as bad as my father. I was a prick, and I made him suffer when I chose my friends and my dad over him. So everything coming my way, I deserve it.

“I’m sorry,” I say, because I can’t stop, and because maybe this time he won’t throw it back in my face. Even if he has every right to do so.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says while handing me my pills. I touch his fingers when I take them, and for a second, every single memory of us touching fills my mind. I want to grab them and never let go.

When he moves away, it’s like I’m losing a limb. I have to let him go. I don’t have the right to want him close.

His hand, though, doesn’t pull away as fast as it usually does, and a glimmer of hope grows inside me. I savour the sensations and the emotions that this barely there touch brings. When it’s gone, I want to cry because I want more of it and because I’m sure I won’t have it again.

This call with my dad taught me yet another thing: if I want to be different from him, I can’t force Jamie to listen to me, and I can’t force him to accept my reasons. If my trying to explain is making him sad, upset, or hurting him, then I need to stop.

I need to respect his wishes, even if all I want is to give him everything I took away before. I’m ready to have my life turned upside down just to witness a real smile touch his lips, hoping one day he’ll allow me to kiss him and to worship his body in the way he deserves.

I let my hand fall on the sheet and watch him walk away, continuing to tidy the room. One thing I understand now is that Jamie doesn’t likemessy, and he has a need to control everything that happens in his life. Since I moved in—and I wish it wasn’t the case—he’s been cleaning non-stop, maybe to keep the mess my presence brings at bay.

I’ve heard him at night when he can’t sleep. He walks or he types on his laptop, and the speed varies depending upon how nervous or frustrated he is.

---