Page 3 of Hate That Blooms

“Mijo?” his voice carries from the kitchen.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath and turn the corner into the open kitchen. Dad stands in front of the fridge, pulling out the leftover pizza.

Guess that’s what’s for dinner: pizza, three nights in a row.

“What’s up?” I ask, standing in the doorway that leads to the back of the house and my room.

“What took you so long?” He looks at his watch as he sets the bags of leftovers on the counter, then cracks open a can of beer.

Great. Now he’s gonna get drunk.

“Sorry, I got caught up talking with the guys in the park on the way home. I lost track of time.” I cross the room and grab a plate to put some pizza on.

Dad gives me a disapproving look but doesn’t say anything. I can tell he’s not buying my excuse, even though it’s not an excuse. I quickly take a bite of the pizza, hoping to divert his attention.

As I chew, I can feel his eyes on me. The tension in the room is palpable, and I know I need to say something to diffuse the situation.

“So, how was your day?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

Dad takes a swig of his beer before answering. “Long and exhausting. Work was a nightmare today,” he grumbles.

I nod sympathetically, knowing that he works long hours to provide for me. It’s not easy for him. He works on the irrigation crew for the city, and he had me apply as a temp worker at the end of summer. So now whenever dad needs help, he has me.

Silence settles over us as we eat our pizza. After a few moments, Dad breaks the silence. “Listen,mijo, I know things have been tough around here lately, but I need you to take some responsibility. You being late and smoking is not okay. I know the divorce hit you hard, and I know I’ve been working, so I’m not around to parent you. You’re a good kid,mijo. Keep it that way.”

I nod, grabbing my plate and a soda from the fridge. “Can I eat in my room so I can start my homework?”

“I guess. Just make sure not to leave the plate and can in your room.”

I grunt at him in response.

Once I’m in my room, I fire up my computer. Logging into the group chat with the guys, I lean back in my chair and eat.

As I eat and chat with my friends, the overwhelming feelings of relief and frustration take over. Dad’s lecture on responsibility always hits a nerve, reminding me of the mistakes I’ve made. The one’s I continue to make, that on his worst nights he reminds me how much of a screw up I am. All I do is remind him of my mother. The divorce took a toll on both of us, and I understand that he’s doing his best to provide for me. But sometimes it feels suffocating, like I’m constantly walking on eggshells.

I dive into my assignments, and the sound of Dad’s footsteps thudding down the hall and the faint clinking of his beer can remind me of his presence. I wonder if he’s disappointed in me. The weight of his expectations hangs heavy in the air.

Hours pass, and I finally finish my homework. Exhaustion washes over me, but a sense of accomplishment also lingers. I quietly put away my school supplies and tiptoed to the kitchen to return my plate and can. Dad is nowhere in sight, presumably already in bed. I feel a pang of guilt for not spending more time with him and for not being the son he needs me to be.

With a heavy sigh, I retreat to my room and prepare for bed. Now that I’m showered and lying in the darkness of my room, I’m on my phone doom scrolling social media. I type her name into the search bar, and her picture pops up. Clicking on it, all of her pictures from the summer fill my screen. None of them have my mom in them, or her dad, for that matter. She’s in barely there bikinis, showing off her curves. I click on one where she is wading in the ocean waist-deep, her tan skin glistening with water.

My dick doesn’t seem to get the memo that I hate her because it is painfully hard and straining against my boxer briefs. I groan, looking over to my bedroom door to make sure it’s locked. I set my phone down and opened my nightstand drawer, taking out a bottle of lube and squirting some into my hand, pulling my underwear down, and coating my dick.

I zoom in on her tits in the picture and stroke myself, slowly at first. Stroke after stroke, I thrust my hips into my hand, imagining that it’s her I’m getting ready to blow my load on. Her body is perfect—curvy in all the right places, full tits that would fit my hands easily, and a round ass that I would love to hit from the back. “Fuck,” I hiss through gritted teeth, “you stupid bitch. Why do you have to be so fucking hot?” I moan her name, dropping my phone on the bed and picking up the pace, mercilessly edging myself toward coming. I let out a string of deep, guttural moans as ropes of cum hit my stomach and cover my hand.

Cleaning myself off with my shirt, I chuck it into the hamper across the room. I pick my phone back up, and just as I am about to exit the app and put a movie on to lull me to sleep, a notification pops up, saying I have a message. My thumb hits the icon, and her picture sits in my inbox.

Hey, I don’t know why I’m reaching out to you. I just want you to know I’m here if you ever want to talk about the situation. I kinda already get the feeling you hate me, and I just thought maybe if we cleared the air between us, I dunno, there wouldn’t be any animosity. Just know that I don’t hold any ill feelings toward you because it was your mom, not you. Well, I guess good night and see you at school. -Gabby.

I should just close the message and lay there in my post-nut bliss, but fuck this. I quickly typed out a response and hit send.

Speaking aloud, “See you at school,Gabby.”

Chapter2

Gabriela

Fuck you.

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