When Janet finally woke up I had managed to dry my eyes and pull myself together, managing a smile when she looked up at me and stretched, yawning. I tried pushing David as far out of my mind as I could, seeing her just as she was with the locks of chestnut hair cascading onto her shoulders. Her hair was noticeably not as well-kempt as it had been before she'd laid down to sleep again but I didn't mind. People who wasted too much time being completely focused on looks missed the true beauty.
Janet seemed to realize after a moment of bemused smiling that she must look a mess, quickly throwing her arms up over her head so that I couldn't see her. I chuckled, pulling her arms down and looking at her face, searching the dark almond eyes for a moment. I already knew exactly how she was feeling about me - words were always nice to have, but a person's eyes can tell a much lengthier story than any amount of words can provide. I didn't want her to fall in love with me, afraid I'd only hurt her. She had the perfect life I'd always wanted - two parents who loved her and her sisters and took good care of her. They were there if she ever needed them and I was more than just a little jealous of her for this. I would give anything to have at least one decent parent.
Her hand reached up and rested against my cheek and I knew that I should pull away but I couldn't bring myself to. "What time is it, Michael?" she said groggily, her voice slurred.
"Eight o'clock now." I answered, trying to smile but failing.
Janet's eyes widened, "Oh God..." She drew her hand back and I longed for its return but didn't say anything. Janet struggled into a sitting position, smoothing her hair down and turning her head to look out the bedroom window by her bed. "I've never slept in this late...everyone's left the house by now."
"Can we stay here?" the question had escaped my lips at the same time it formed in my head. Oddly, though, I didn't regret asking. I was getting far too close to her than I cared for, and even though I knew it was selfish for wanting her to love me as much as David had, I couldn't help it.
She looked surprised but nodded, "Your clothes are over there by the door. They may be a bit wrinkled..."
"It's fine," I assured her, crawling out of the bed away from her to grab my clothes.
I was surprised to feel her hand on my shoulder and even more surprised when she made me put the clothes down. "Stop." she said softly and I did without question. I kept my back to her, waiting to see what it was she wanted.
"Do you...mind if I look at the scars one last time?" she asked softly, her voice shaking as if she couldn't believe that she was even asking for permission.
I was startled at the question myself but I nodded, not moving and closing my eyes as I felt her fingers tracing over the scars one by one. I didn't understand what exactly she expected to gain by doing this but I wasn't going to argue with the one person who'd ever cared about me since the accident.
"People are cruel." she said finally, her voice soft.
I didn't respond, wiping the sleep from my eyes as I waited for her to say she was done.
"Have you ever spoken to Julianne again?" she asked suddenly.
At this question I turned to face her, blinking stupidly and muttering, "Once. She came to visit me in the hospital." I stopped there, remembering she didn't know about David yet.
"You were in the hospital?" Janet asked, her eyes widening. "What for?"
"Oh, it was...nothing. But I'd already sworn my vow of silence, so I didn't talk to her." I said quickly, shrugging my shoulders. I had been admitted to the hospital for shock and possible hypothermia from the cold water. They'd wanted to put me away in a mental institution and I was surprised they hadn't, given my mother's fondness for alcohol, but they had finally decided that David had simply lost it at the wheel and had taken me along for the ride unwillingly. I was grateful because, as much as I valued my solitude, I didn't want to spend my alone time in a padded room.
Janet's eyes met mine and I held her gaze, trying to hide my emotions. After all the years of pain it was easy to keep my gaze guarded when I didn't want people to know how I felt. She looked frustrated, drawing her mouth into a thin line and cocking her head to one side.
"You're lying." she said simply but turned away and didn't ask for the truth.
"I don't appreciate doing it," I said honestly, frowning slightly.
"Then don't do it." she said simply, picking up a pair of shorts. "If you don't want to tell me something then that's all you have to say."
I paused, hesitating and fumbling with my words before finally settling on a plain, "I'm sorry."
She shook her head, sitting down on the edge of her bed. "Don't be. I understand. Just...tell me when you're ready."
I sensed that she was probably not very pleased that I had just lied to her and I regretted it but I couldn't take it back now. I decided to offer her something in exchange, striding across the room to join her on the bed, setting my clothes down on the floor at my feet. "Do you want to know about my parents?"
She wouldn't meet my eyes and finally let out a deep sigh, shaking her head. "Only if you want to. Don't use it as...I don't know. A way to apologize or whatever."
"I really am sorry..." I said quietly, lowering my eyes to the floor.
Janet chuckled beside me, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear and saying, "Yeah. I am too." She stood up and walked over to her closet, rummaging inside for clothes and heading out the door, calling over her shoulder, "I'm getting changed and getting a shower. Meet me in the kitchen for a late breakfast?"
I nodded, picking my clothes up from the floor and getting to my feet. "Brunch it is."
I didn't waste time getting dressed, exchanging the shorts for my boxers and pants and tossing my shirt onto her bed to put on later, heading out the door and glancing at the bathroom door as I passed to go down the steps to the lower levels of the house. It amazed me that she'd managed to know I was lying. No one usually could tell, but then the people who I talked to probably could have cared less anyway about what was fact and what was fiction.
I'd wanted to go ahead and start cooking something before she got there, but for some unknown reason I felt suddenly drained from my short trip down the stairs. Pulling out a chair from the table I sat down and held up my arm to examine the heart-shaped scar. There were a million stories behind this one one imperfection that I could never explain to her in just a few simple words.
I saw her hovering in the doorway even though I'm sure she didn't know I could see her, my head still lowered and my gaze hidden by my hair, pretending to focus on the scar. She had changed, swept her hair back into a ponytail, the t-shirt probably too tight from having been carelessly washed. Now that I stopped to think about it, my own pants felt a little tighter than they had before she'd washed them.
"Michael?" her voice was timid.
Was she really scared of me? That's not the way I'd wanted to come across at all and I hoped that it would pass soon. I glanced up at her as if only noticing her for the first time, "Morning."
I must have been more convincing with this lie because she tried to smile back at me, "Morning." She glanced around at the kitchen sink with a small heap of dishes peering over the top of the basin and groaned. "How about poptarts? I'm not a morning person, so I don't feel like cleaning any dishes."
"If you've got Smores, then that would be great." I offered, trying to make her feel better because she didn't look pleased with herself for having just offered me something as disgusting and unwholesome for breakfast as a poptart.
"I think we do if Kendall didn't eat them all," she grumbled, checking the cabinets for a box.
I sat up a little straighter, turning in my seat to watch her. "Kendall?"
Janet closed the door to the cabinet with the box of poptarts in her hand. "Hm? Oh, sorry. She's one of my sisters. Brianna and Kendall." She walked over to the toaster and popped four poptarts in turning to face me and leaning back against the counter. "They're both pretty nice. I mean, it's not the usual type of sibling rivalry you'd expect, you know? Even with three of us under one roof PMSing at different times of the month we manage to get along."
Laughing, I nodded, trying not to maintain eye contact with her for any longer than just a few seconds. I'd always had a problem with holding someone's gaze when speaking to them or being spoken to. I knew better than anyone how much of a window into the soul someone's eyes could be, and so I knew if I were to hold anyone's gaze for too long they'd see far too much into me than I was comfortable with them knowing.
Janet jumped when the poptarts where done, not having expected them to pop up so soon. She ripped a couple of paper towels off the roll and wrapped our poptarts up in them, passing one over to me before taking a seat across the table. I ate in silence, nibbling at one corner and working my way down. I could hear a water heater humming somewhere nearby, the sudden plinking sound of water dripping from the kitchen faucet on a dirty pan that seemed to be coated in grease, and a loud barking sound from outside.
I jumped to my feet, cussing, "D****t - I forgot about Sasha."
Janet followed at my heels as I went to the back door and opened it up to see Sasha wagging her tail happily at my return, bounding as much as her tethered leash would allow to try to lick my face. I knelt down at her side and stroked her head while Janet fetched fresh water and offered it to the dog. In my presence, however, she wasn't the least bit interested in the liquid, knocking most of it over and splashing Janet's legs.
"God, that's cold!" she swore, laughing a split second later and wiping the water away from her bare legs with her hands.
"Sasha needs to eat something, but I don't guess you have any dog food." I said, scratching the labrador behind one ear. In ecstasy, her tongue lolled out the side of her mouth and she closed her eyes.
She paused in thought, glancing back at the house. "We have a cat, there may be some left over dry cat food. Wait here."
While she disappeared back into the house I gave Sasha a quick kiss on the top of her head, apologizing for having forgotten about her. In the dog's eyes I could have sworn I saw a hint of laughter, like she was saying, "Of course. I blame the pretty girl."
"Here, she can have it all." Janet said as she passed a bag over to me.
I simply dumped it on the ground, knowing it wouldn't take long for her to devour it all. I was trying to avoid the thought that soon I would have to go back home to the house that smelled like whiskey and burbon and the screaming or crying that issued from my mother's room at night when she had drunken nightmares. There were times she'd stumble drunkenly out the door of her room either dressed in her nightgown or naked, prowling through the house as if my father still lived at home. She would tentativly whisper his name, waiting for him to answer, and would eventually collapse somewhere and fall asleep.
I wouldn't have minded taking care of my mother if she had at least attempted to exercise some control over her cravings and attempted to take care of herself first. There was a time I had loved my mother but now there was no way I could love this person she had become. She never dated again and didn't seem to have any intentions of remarrying. She insisted, in the beginning before the addiction had gotten so bad, that her new love was vodka and orange juice. While I could understand hurting so bad that you had to turn to something to pour your whole being into, I didn't like what she had dedicated her life to. At least I was pouring out my soul onto pages of notebook paper -- she was simply pouring more scotch on the ice.
Janet's hand squeezed my arm and I shook my head, returning to the moment.
"You look pale. Do you need to lie down?"
"I want to tell you about Jorge."
The look of surprise was evident. Of course it didn't register right away but slowly comprehension dawned on her and she said softly, "Your father?"
I nodded, "Can we go to your room? Sasha will be fine out here on her own, and she's eaten so I'm not worried about her."
"Of course." she said quickly, already hastening to open the door. I had known that Janet would be curious but never in my dreams had I realized how much she had been longing for more information about me and my past. I was reluctant to talk about my father -- I hated everything he was and all that he stood for.
As we came back into the house and we walked down the hall it was when I finally really took notice of my surroundings. The pictures hanging in polished wooden frames on the wall of the entire family, smiling on vacation or laughing at a BBQ, dancing in the rain. I wasn't surprised to feel the pang of envy stabbing though me at the sight of these photos. The most I had was a single baby album and I couldn't remember actually seeing my father in any of those pictures.
Once in her room I closed the door behind me but remained standing, not moving another step into the room and staring at Janet as she took a seat on the bed. She seemed a little perplexed that I wasn't joining her but said nothing, grabbing my shirt and tossing it to me. I caught it in one hand, taking my time in putting it on so that I wouldn't have to start talking right away. I had expected Janet to prompt me to start talking but once again she'd surprised me. She seemed to understand that the more I was pressured into doing something the less likely it was I would spill.
I crossed my arms over my chest, leaning back against the door and focusing on a point just above Janet's head as I started talking. I was surprised at how easily the words came and angry at myself that I could manage to speak about this despicable man with a calm and collected voice. I couldn't even speak about my own mother this way and I knew that I still loved her somewhere deep down. I felt no affection towards my father at all.
"I knew my father pretty well. At least, the father he wanted me to see him as. The actual man himself is more of a beast. He used to beat my mother constantly. Night and day for no reason other than as entertainment. It seemed to be his own type of game, taunting her for hours on end until he could make her cry and when she did he'd punish her for being weak." I told her, blinking several times and staring at the wall over her head.
Janet seemed to be taking this news well, not having looked shocked at all. I had always assumed that maybe there were rumors about my father that ran through the school and apparently she had been on of the people to hear them. In most cases rumors weren't true but I'd be willing to bet there wasn't a way to exaggerate my father's story -- it was odd enough standing alone as the truth.
Licking my lips I added, "Jorge came after me sometimes. With knives, with belts, with his fists -- I always waited for the day he might try to rape me and, of course, eventually he did."
"How old were you?" she asked, and I met her eyes for a fraction of a second before looking away again.
"I was twelve."
Her gaze fell to the floor, her hands gripping each other so hard in her lap that they'd turned bright red. I didn't have the energy to walk over to her and stop her from doing it so I pretended not to see and continued. "It became an almost nightly thing for him and of course I never said anything. Even if I told my mother she was too terrified of him to actually stand up against him. I thought it would kill me, you know?" I stopped talking for a moment, letting my arms fall to my sides and letting my eyes wander to the window. It was beautiful outside, peaceful, and I loathed it for mocking the way I felt inside.
"It wasn't until I was fifteen that he finally decided he was bored with us, we just didn't make as entertaining toys anymore. And I knew, somewhere inside of him even though he never said it, he loathed me for never crying when he came to me at night." I smiled bitterly, remembering the look of anger on my father's face. He was itching to ask why, I could tell, but I knew he never would.
"He left two years ago then..." she mused, "Where is he now?"
I shrugged my shoulders, not really caring. "Hopefully prison. If it wasn't for him, my mother would probably be normal." I doubted that, actually. My mother had always been fond of booze. If it hadn't been my father sending her over the edge it would have been someone or something else that sent her running into the embrace of the bitter liquor.
Janet looked so conflicted, like there was some type of battle raging in her mind. I was surprised to find that, more than being depressed when I thought of my father, I simply got angry. My hands balled into fists and I flexed my fingers, looking down at Janet and into her eyes. She seemed slightly afraid and I tried to relax my stance. Slowly, my hands unclenched and hung loosely at my sides. I was certain that I could handle anyone who ever crossed me because there were times when I felt my father's adrenaline rush passing through my own veins. I had been born with his anger and I had once used it against David. I had never regretted something so much and had sworn never to raise a hand to anyone again. I was a lot like my father in more ways than I cared to admit and the thought that I might become him terrified me.
"Michael? Are you alright?"
I finally managed to shrug my shoulders, forcing a small smile, "I'm just thinking."
"About?"
"What if I end up being like him?"
The shock was evident on her face and she got to her feet hesitantly, walking over to me and taking my hands in hers. "You...would do that to someone? Those things he did to you. To your mother. Could you really hurt someone that way?"
I thought about it for a moment and my honest answer would have been yes -- I could. I didn't answer her, afraid of how she would react.
"We are not our parents." she said slowly, holding onto my hands tighter as if she was afraid I would pull away from her. "We do not become our parents. We don't have to be like them. You don't have to become him. All you have to do is fight it."
"...like father like son." I tugged my hands out of hers and turned to open the door, leaving her standing shocked but obviously with no intentions of following me.
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