Page 33 of The Wallflower

I finish stalking through her recent browser history, and pause when I discover a dress she'd been looking at, that she added to her cart but never ended up buying. It takes less than a minute to copy the link, log in, and purchase it for her. If I buy the damn thing, I will feel absolutely zero guilt when I rip it off her little body before shoving my cock deep inside her pussy. Which I will be doing again and again. The image of it makes my cock harder than steel.

Fatherflashes across the top of the screen, and I contemplate tossing the damn phone across the room instead of answering his call but choose against it. The damn world had better be coming to an end if I’m not answering his calls. Slamming my finger against the green answer key, I bring the phone to my ear.

There are no pleasantries or kind greetings. My father isn’t exactly your typical dad. Not even close. "What the fuck did you feel the need to spend ten grand on?"

I inhale deeply through my nose and go to that dark place in my mind where I disappear too when I need to speak to my father. "Oh, you know, Pops, the usual: hookers and blow."

“Did you not hear me the first fucking time? This isn’t a joking matter. Now answer me, or I’ll have the nurse forget your mother’s pain medication this evening.”

I grit my teeth, a spiteful response sitting on the tip of my tongue. It's less violent than what he usually threatens me with, but it’s still fucked up. Using my own mother and her health against me. It’s insane to me that a man could use his own dying wife as a bargaining chip, but it’s not surprising. It’s always the thinly veiled threats of refusing to give her pain meds or treatments. It’s either stay in line or risk losing the only person who’s ever given a shit about me a little faster. I’ll always choose to keep my mother because as long as she is still here, I know pieces of good remain inside me. "She’s not just my mother, but also your wife, or have you forgotten that?”

“What did you just say to me? I think you’ve forgotten who you’re talking to. I’m not one of your stupid fucking friends. If using your mother against you is the only way I can get through to you, then I will.”

Biting back the desire to spar with him, I answer his question instead. “The money was for costs associated with The Hunt."

“I see, and how was this year's event?” It’s crazy to me how quickly he can switch to business mode.

I shrug even though he can't see it. "Attendance was good. Best show out for a semi-public event in the past few years."

He hums in the back of his throat. "Good, good. Next time, clear the expenses with me first. I know you like to think you have special privileges as my son, but we run by a code. Things need to be done the right way."

No fucking thank you.I don't say that out loud, though, and choose to remain silent instead. Sometimes saying nothing is better than saying something but never being heard.

My silence encourages him to continue talking. "I’m sure you got the notification from my secretary already, but an eventis coming up soon. Your attendance is expected. Black tie, of course, but donotbring a plus-one.”

I never got notified, nor did I know about the event, but he doesn’t care. All he cares about is his name and image. "I’ve never shown up with a date to your events. Dating isn’t really my thing, and let’s be honest, Dad, no one I bring will live up to your standards anyway.”

It’s a punch in the dark, one I’m sure I’ll pay for in due time, but it still feels good to let the words fall off my tongue. He makes a noise. Some type of growl mixed with a grunt.

“Donotfucking test me, Drew. I have no problem hitting you where it hurts most. And speaking of pain, I better see some improvement in your grades soon. You’ve been playing ball too much and not studying enough. Football is another trophy on the shelf, but not your entire life. Without an education, you’re nothing, and you will not tarnish our family name by refusing to study and get good grades.”

I press my lips together, biting back all the responses bouncing around inside my head. Says the fucking man who just ordered me to come to one of his stupid parties. No matter what I do, I’m never good enough. We win the game, and in his eyes, we could’ve won by more. I attend his stupid events and smile, playing the perfect son, but away from the public eye, I’m shown it’s not good enough.Nothingis good enough.

"You will attend, dressed appropriately. You will not bring a date, and you will behave and act respectfully or else.” The warning hangs between us.

"Yes. I'll be there.”

The words stick tight in my throat, making me want to find the man and punch him in the face. If I didn't need him, for now, we would have gotten into it a long,longtime ago.

When he doesn't continue, I ask the question that will surely ruin his day. "How's Mom?"

"If you want to know how your mother is, then get off your ass, go to the estate, and see her for yourself."

I’m tempted to press him and ask him when the last timehesaw her was, but I stop myself. I don't want this conversation to last any longer than it already has.

"Fine. I'll go see her." I say it because it's what he wants me to say. I say it because I'm two seconds from unloading my shit on him, and that will only make things worse for me.

"How’s school? What rank is your team currently?"

Anyone listening might think he's asking because he cares. I know better. "First, of course."

"Good. Always the best. Nothing else will do. Just remember, as I said, football is another trophy on the shelf. Your education and our family image are everything else." It's a speech I've heard a hundred times, a hundred and one times, and I don't need it again.

"Did you need anything else?" I keep my tone flat and businesslike so he doesn't chastise me further.

Thankfully, he can't see my face right now. "No, that's all. I'll make sure the secretary sends the invitation with the time. I’m sure I don’t need to put into words the ramifications this could have.”

He hangs up without another word, and I squeeze the phone a little too tightly, then toss it onto the desk. My hands are shaking, my muscles tense, and I’m five seconds away from destroying something. I count in my head.

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