Page 36 of Milk
My father had made everything clear, ruining every hope and dream I’d had. I wouldn’t be able to return to India. Maybe, though, I’d at least be able to bring the woman of my dreams here with me. I knew that he wasn’t above killing her if he felt she was an impediment. If she wasn’t, then maybe he’d accept her. Maybe we could be happy… Maybe by bringing her to the lair of the wolf, I could spare her the fangs. I saw too late how stupid that was.
My father and I stood in his office in the farmhouse, the day after he and Pria had met over dinner at our house. She took a cab alone to the hotel, but never made it there. I hard marched in to confront him, accuse him of abducting her. My father didn’t bother trying to deny it.
“Damn right I did,” he said. “Bring her in.”
The door slid open behind me and some workers marched Pria in like she was a prisoner of war. She was confused, disheveled, still wearing the red cotton dress she’d worn to meet my father, the one she’d chosen so carefully. Her eyes searched for me, landed, softened with relief.
“Carter—”
“Shut up,” my father barked, then smiled, almost kindly, like a man about to put down a dog. “She’s beautiful. Your little curry fed cunt, isn’t she? Is that what kept you away so long? From your family? Your duty?”
“Don’t you talk about her like that, you miserable son of-”
The rest of my sentence caught in my throat when I saw the gun. My gut twisted. My father raised the pistol. Suppressor on. The sound was still loud. Much louder than expected. A dry ‘crack’.
A perfect, red flower bloomed on her temple. A thud. Pria in her red dress on the floor. A growing dark red pool expanded across her dark hair. She was gone before I could even scream.
Gone.
Something was clinging to my cheek. Warm. Sticky. The smell hit a second later.
Blood.
“Time to grow up, Carter,” my father said, already turning away, holstering the weapon like it was nothing. “I’m done with your childish games.”
I dropped to my knees. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t scream. All I could do was resign myself. Obey. Bid my time until I could kill him.
That’s what I did. I stood by his side. Then I stood over his corpse, blood on my hands, his last breath still echoing in the chamber. I took his place. I went to work. Even if the debt was never settled, I could never go back to Pria or those innocent people. I couldn’t present my corrupted, evil soul and taint them with my wickedness again.
My blood was poison, my life was sin.
Yet, I was falling again. With Tiff. I brought her here. I showed her the horrors of my past, as she told me the horrors of hers. I still couldn’t allow myself to be with her. Just as I couldbarely bear to think about Indian Food anymore. I was terrible and the price to pay for wickedness was loneliness. I’d taint anything and anyone that was good.
The only thing I didn’t regret was killing my old man. He was a mad dog and had to be put down accordingly. It was a twisted joke, my morally best decision was still an act of violent patricide. Even mercy, from me, came with a bullet.
How could I bring Tiffany into that? My perfect baby calf … then again, how could I live without her?
Damned if I do. Damned if I don’t.
Damned either way.
Iwas led out of the infirmary later that day and escorted to Carter’s room -ourroom, according to him - by a couple of the workers wearing those white outfits and wielding cattle-prods. Despite the dystopian sci-fi farmhand attire, they were actually polite and didn’t stare at me as they let me right to Carter’s door. They opened it for me and flanked the doorway. After I entered, they closed the door, leaving me naked and alone in the room.
No. Not Alone.
Carter was there, waiting for me. My breath caught in my throat when I saw him waiting behind a nicely set dinner table, complete with a fancy patterned gold and black tablecloth, candles, China and silverware. Even though I was naked, wearing a bell collar, and smelling like a hospital, this was still the nicest date someone had ever set up for me. Not that thebar was too high; all my other dates had been at cheap fast-food chains or walks in public areas.
This was a date, right? I had all the trimmings. And the food smelled delicious. Exotic, spicy, and unlike anything I had ever smelled in Rural Pennsylvania. I walked to the table, hesitantly, and he chuckled.
“Come on, little calf, don’t be afraid. This isn’t a trick,” he said, that velvety voice so charming.
He was dressed in what I would call ‘cowboy chic’, very farm themed, but well-tailored with nice fabrics, complete with boots. Everything, even his boots, was covered in cow-print. He’d look like a farm mascot if not for how seriously handsome he was. There was not a drip of irony on him. Just an earnest devotion to that style.
“Please, sit. I have a surprise for you,” he said, getting up to pull the chair for me and then walk to his desk.
As I sat down, I watched him walk back carrying a black box which he placed on the table next to my place.
“For me? What is it? A fancier cowbell?”
