man? I could
laugh, if I didn't hope so desperately for it to be true. My whole
life, nobody’s seen anything in me but a waste of space, a bad
influence. That Emerson Ray, they say. He didn't even know
his daddy, but the man was no good. And you know about his momma.
That boy will sure enough wind up just like them one day.
You hear something long
enough, you start believing its true, until soon enough I figured,
why not prove them right? It was in my blood, after all. Poisoned.
Worthless. If they thought I was past saving, then I wouldn’t waste
my breath trying any other way. I would fight and screw and do what I
damned hell pleased.
Except... It wasn't
what I wanted, I see that now.
All I wanted was her.
Someone to look at me, and see past my bullshit. Someone to think I
was worth a damn.
Juliet.
I catch my breath, just
thinking about her. The way her body leapt to my touch, the innocence
to her passion. I've fucked a hundred girls, but I've never watched
them like that: stared into their faces as the feeling flooded over
them, pushed them higher just to know the look in their eyes as they
fell. It was something precious, sharing that moment with her. Holy.
I hear a creak in the
hallway and look up. Brit has come out of her room, yawning, in PJs
and an oversized shirt.
“What are you doing?”
She frowns at me.
“Just thinking.”
“Don't break
anything,” she quips, stepping over my outstretched legs to go
through into the kitchen.
I pull myself up and
follow her. She opens the cabinet, and pulls down a box of Oreos.
Gets milk from the fridge. I fetch two glasses, and we sit around the
table in the light from the porch outside.
“Can't sleep?” I
ask.
She shrugs.
“Mom leave a note?”
She shakes her head.
We dunk cookies in
silence for a moment.
“So how's the girl?”
Brit asks.
I play dumb. “Which
girl? You know I’ve got them in every state, baby.”
She snorts, and tosses
a chunk of cookie at me. I intercept, and shove it in my mouth. “The
one from here,” she says.“Julia.”
“Juliet.” I correct
her.
Brit smirks. “See, I
knew you liked her.”
“I didn't say that.”
“ Juliet .”
She mimics me, drawing out the word. “Please, you don’t have to
say a thing, it's written all over your face. Emerson's in looooove,”
she adds, singsong.
I glare at her. “How
old are you again?”
Brit laughs. “So when
do I get to meet her? With her clothes on, I mean.”
Now it’s my turn to
shrug. “I don't know...” I say slowly. “The party got busted,
Larry took her home.”
Brit pauses. “She's
got the kind of parents who care?”
“About this?” I
remember her mom’s face, seeing Juliet escorted up the front steps
by a deputy sheriff. “Yeah.”
“Must be nice.”
Brit says, and the wistful sound in her voice hurts me like hell. I
give her the last cookie.
“It won't always be
like this, you know.” I tell her softly.
“Yeah,” Brit sighs.
“Maybe one of these days, she won't come home.”
The truth sits between
us, the elephant in the room. We’ve both thought it, how could we
not? Equal parts guilt and hope, shame and anger.
Because it would be so
much easier if, one of these nights, mom didn’t come home. If she
could just stay gone. Then we wouldn't go through this cycle over and
over again: Brit waiting for her to shape up and be a real mom, and
me hoping for... Hell, I don’t even hope anymore, I lost that a
long time ago. But I'm left to clean up the mess, every time, and
when I think about a version of my life without that – without
waiting for the call to come get her, wondering what she’s gone and
done this time...
What would that life be
like? Safe. Normal. Easy.
The kind of life
worth sharing.
“You should get back
to bed,” I tell her, getting up to rinse our glasses.
“You too.”Brit
replies. “You need your beauty sleep. You look like hell.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Tough love, big
bro.” Brit circles the tale and
laugh, if I didn't hope so desperately for it to be true. My whole
life, nobody’s seen anything in me but a waste of space, a bad
influence. That Emerson Ray, they say. He didn't even know
his daddy, but the man was no good. And you know about his momma.
That boy will sure enough wind up just like them one day.
You hear something long
enough, you start believing its true, until soon enough I figured,
why not prove them right? It was in my blood, after all. Poisoned.
Worthless. If they thought I was past saving, then I wouldn’t waste
my breath trying any other way. I would fight and screw and do what I
damned hell pleased.
Except... It wasn't
what I wanted, I see that now.
All I wanted was her.
Someone to look at me, and see past my bullshit. Someone to think I
was worth a damn.
Juliet.
I catch my breath, just
thinking about her. The way her body leapt to my touch, the innocence
to her passion. I've fucked a hundred girls, but I've never watched
them like that: stared into their faces as the feeling flooded over
them, pushed them higher just to know the look in their eyes as they
fell. It was something precious, sharing that moment with her. Holy.
I hear a creak in the
hallway and look up. Brit has come out of her room, yawning, in PJs
and an oversized shirt.
“What are you doing?”
She frowns at me.
“Just thinking.”
“Don't break
anything,” she quips, stepping over my outstretched legs to go
through into the kitchen.
I pull myself up and
follow her. She opens the cabinet, and pulls down a box of Oreos.
Gets milk from the fridge. I fetch two glasses, and we sit around the
table in the light from the porch outside.
“Can't sleep?” I
ask.
She shrugs.
“Mom leave a note?”
She shakes her head.
We dunk cookies in
silence for a moment.
“So how's the girl?”
Brit asks.
I play dumb. “Which
girl? You know I’ve got them in every state, baby.”
She snorts, and tosses
a chunk of cookie at me. I intercept, and shove it in my mouth. “The
one from here,” she says.“Julia.”
“Juliet.” I correct
her.
Brit smirks. “See, I
knew you liked her.”
“I didn't say that.”
“ Juliet .”
She mimics me, drawing out the word. “Please, you don’t have to
say a thing, it's written all over your face. Emerson's in looooove,”
she adds, singsong.
I glare at her. “How
old are you again?”
Brit laughs. “So when
do I get to meet her? With her clothes on, I mean.”
Now it’s my turn to
shrug. “I don't know...” I say slowly. “The party got busted,
Larry took her home.”
Brit pauses. “She's
got the kind of parents who care?”
“About this?” I
remember her mom’s face, seeing Juliet escorted up the front steps
by a deputy sheriff. “Yeah.”
“Must be nice.”
Brit says, and the wistful sound in her voice hurts me like hell. I
give her the last cookie.
“It won't always be
like this, you know.” I tell her softly.
“Yeah,” Brit sighs.
“Maybe one of these days, she won't come home.”
The truth sits between
us, the elephant in the room. We’ve both thought it, how could we
not? Equal parts guilt and hope, shame and anger.
Because it would be so
much easier if, one of these nights, mom didn’t come home. If she
could just stay gone. Then we wouldn't go through this cycle over and
over again: Brit waiting for her to shape up and be a real mom, and
me hoping for... Hell, I don’t even hope anymore, I lost that a
long time ago. But I'm left to clean up the mess, every time, and
when I think about a version of my life without that – without
waiting for the call to come get her, wondering what she’s gone and
done this time...
What would that life be
like? Safe. Normal. Easy.
The kind of life
worth sharing.
“You should get back
to bed,” I tell her, getting up to rinse our glasses.
“You too.”Brit
replies. “You need your beauty sleep. You look like hell.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Tough love, big
bro.” Brit circles the tale and
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