Playing His Own Games | ✔︎

chapter twenty-eight | the master of clichés

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"He wants to say 'I love you'
but keeps it to 'goodnight'
because love will mean some falling
and he's afraid of heights."
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Mason

FOR THE FIRST TIME IN my life, things are actually going my way. Carrie and I spend most nights talking over the phone and with our relationship growing stronger, most of my friends have grudgingly accepted my apologises and admitted they took it a step too far when beating me up. I've managed to reduce my alcohol and cigarette consumption and my grades are back in check.

The only thing that isn't getting better is my father. I can't stop Jared and Ruby from getting stuck in the firing line anymore, as hard as I try to protect them. I hardly have to provoke my dad anymore for him to lose his temper and give me a good serving.

It's a Thursday night and I'm sitting at the dinner table with the rest of my family. My father is in a foul mood after a particularly nasty encounter with someone at work and the atmosphere is thick with tension.

Twirling my fork between my fingers, I nervously clear my throat. "Dad, I was wondering if I would be able to go out tonight."

His eyes are narrowed down to slits. "And what is that?"

I swallow hard. "Carrie and I were planning on going to the movies," I admit, knowing better than to evade the truth.

My father stabs at a piece of meat with his fork. "Are you going on a date?"

"No," I say automatically.

He wraps a noodle around the prongs of the fork and gives me a pointed look. "Good, because I don't want you rubbing off on her and making me look bad. She deserves to date someone who isn't an arrogant, brainless piece of shit."

"I know," I mumble, hearing Jared mutter something offensive underneath his breath.

"What was that, boy?" my father snaps.

"So, can I go?" I ask hopefully, desperate to get his attention off my stepbrother.

"I want you out the house in less than five minutes," he replies, jerking his head towards the front door.

I can't contain the smile that breaks across my face. "Thanks."

"Excuse me?" a dangerous edge appears in his tone.

"Thank you, sir," I correct myself, setting my fork down on the ceramic plate as I push my chair back and rise to my feet.

"I'm locking the house up at twelve," my father tells me. "So if you don't want to spend the night sleeping outside on the front yard, then I suggest getting home on time."

I nod my understanding and go to leave when my dad reaches out and seizes my arm, his grip tight enough to make the skin go white. "Wait a minute. I need to tell you—everyone—something before you leave."

My arm is beginning to go numb but I keep my mouth shut.

"Michael has been on my case recently," he says, his jaw taut and eyes ablaze. "If he—or anyone in that family for that matter—tries to contact you, ignore them. If he continues to verbally abuse me at every street corner, then I'm afraid I'll be forced to bring the law into the matter."

I wonder if he hears the irony in his words.

"You're seriously gonna file a lawsuit against him?" Jared gasps.

"He is harassing me," my father defends himself. "He has even stooped low enough to slip in a few words to my colleagues at work. It is a defamation of character and I want and deserve justice. If it comes to it, a restraining order will be put in place."