Page 33 of Wrecked
December
We only have seven more months together until he leaves for college. The thought of being separated from him sends a chill down my spine. He’s become a safe place for me. My favorite person, theonlyperson I want to spend time with.
The only bed I feel safe in…
I don’t even feel this immense peace when I’m with my sister—which is less and less often now that she attends that fancy academy in Pennsylvania.
It’s a school for gifted kids, which is why I don’t attend—a fact my dad won’t let me forget. Katie didn’t want to skip any grades, so this school was the next best solution. Mom didn’t think they could afford it, but Dad made it happen, surprisingly, though Katie thinks he just wanted her out of the house.
Despite her deep attachment to me, I think she was just as happy to leave.
When my dad drinks, it’s hard on everyone. When my dad doesn’t drink, he’s just an unbearable asshole. My mom says he has post-traumatic stress disorder, even though she knows his actions and insults extend beyond a life of combat. His drinking may be attributed to the trauma he endured, but his hurtful words and actions? Those are all him. Still, she firmly attaches those rose-colored glasses to the front of her face and shields her vision from reality. She latches on to anything she can, determined to pretend my father is not the man her family said he was.
Two bottles of wine a night makes this a lot easier to accomplish.
When my dad drinks, it’s no secret that he doesn’t feel very…fatherly. He makes that abundantly clear after a fifth of vodka. But his contempt for Katie exists when he’s sober as well. It’s made even more clear with his deliberateinactions. He’s the only father figure Katie’s ever known, but he still refuses to give her his last name. He’s determined to keep her an outcast in this family no matter how desperately she aches for his love.
Me? I would happily go without it.
There was an unusual change in my dad about three years ago. He went months without speaking to me or even looking at me. He was sleeping in the guest room, avoiding my mom at every turn. Katie and I were hopeful for a divorce, but as sudden as the change came on, things returned to normal. Only now we had the money to send Katie to school. We had college funds. We were no longer afamily barely surviving between paychecks. I assumed my mom’s family gave them her inheritance. I thought maybe she had asked for it, and that was what caused the temporary rift between them.
Regardless, the family dynamic went back to normal. Everything is routine once again, except for the way he looks at me now.
A mixture of disgust…and something else.
My dad started to get very—affectionate—around me when drinking about two years ago. The more comfortable he gets, the more comfort he seeks…and the moreuncomfortableI become. I’ve told my mom about his unsettling behavior more than once. She just laughs it off and accuses me of being dramatic, giving those glasses a nice firm tug.
He’s been drinking a lot more lately, so I’ve been finding comfort at Nate’s house. I spend most nights sneaking into his bed beside him, and I’m starting to find that I can’t fall asleep without him holding me. Nate provides me with the type of security I’ve never felt before.
Last week, he had an overnight campaign with his father, so I was forced to sleep at home. I stayed at the library as late as I could, but the librarian was quick to kick me out at closing. When I came home, I found my dad passed out inmybed, a bottle of jack on my nightstand. I was too afraid to fall asleep in the guest room without a lock, so I took a blanket out to my car and slept in the back seat. I set the alarm in case he came looking for me.
I shudder at the thought of him in my bed, likely waiting on me to return. The thought of being home alone with him sends waves of nausea, unsettling my stomach.
I haven’t told Nate about my dad’s behavior when he’s intoxicated.
Sometimes when he’s sober.
I’m not worried it will change his feelings for me. I’m noteven concerned about the actions that knowledge may inspire. I just don’t want to put any more on his plate. He’s been so happy lately, and he is so close to escaping his own personal hell. I don’t want to add to it or give him a reason to stay behind. Not when he’s so close.
We decided to keep our relationship private until he is out from under his father’s influence. I intend to keep it discreet until I am far away from mine. Unfortunately, keeping our relationship private entails watching half the female population throw themselves at Nate throughout the day. I don’t blame them because I am just as desperate for him. Some girls might be bothered by it, but I trust himcompletely.
My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of footsteps climbing the perron that separates the rows of benches. I glance over at the large concrete rungs, so tall they match the height of the pews in each tiered aisle. The large steps would make anyone’s thighs burn, so it seems strange that someone would climb all the way to the top just to observe the nearly empty track below. Especially considering all the other rows are empty except for the one I am sitting in.
I squint my eyes, trying to make out my visitor. The sun is bright despite the chilly air, so I use my hand as a visor to block out the glaring rays. An attractive older man trudges up the stairs with an easeIdid not exhibit.
Well. That’s embarrassing.
I assume he must be getting some exercise…in a suit, so I give him his privacy and I look back at my book. A few moments later, I hear a throat clear and feel the presence of the man settling onto the concrete seat beside me.
“Quite the journey for a place to study,” he says, a smile in his voice.
“I’m a big fan of fresh air,” I say back, deciding he sounds friendly enough. What is he going to do at the top of thebleachers anyway? Especially with my boyfriend running laps down below.
When he doesn’t say anything else, I turn my head to study him. He’s looking out at the track, watching Nate run around the mile-long circle. His hair is dark brown, cut short, and neat. His eyes are a deep shade of green, but they lack the laugh-lines I’d expect at his age. His skin is tanned, and I can immediately tell that it’s not natural. Looks are important to him, that much is clear. Something about him feels familiar, but in all the wrong ways. I don’t feel the same warmth looking at him that I heard in his voice when he approached me. It takes a certain level of skill to fabricate that degree of sincerity, so I put my guard back up.
“He’s good,” he points to Nate, “very athletic, that one. He probably has a very…set future. One that will take him far in life.” His statement sounds like a challenge, but there is nothing I want more for Nate. I’m not quite sure what he expects me to contest.
“Yeah.” I smile, unable to disguise my affection for him. “He’s going to do really great things.”
