Surge (94 page)

“Bull fucking shit,” I hiss. “Now, you tell me what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“I never wanted you to know, Jared,” he replies.

“Well, I wanna know.”

“You don’t.”

“I do,” I say and he must read the seriousness in my expression, because John nods.

“I didn’t want to say anything because you idolized him,” he says and holds up his hand when I go to deny it. “You did. Constantly showing him your trophies, ribbons or tests. Whatever achievement you earned, he was the first person you ran to show them to. And what did he do?
‘That’s great, son, now go show your mother.’
”

I fucking hated that response, and John does a spot on imitation of my father’s voice. It was always bored, and he never even spared a glance at me. I could have been holding a fucking crack pipe in one hand, a bottle of
Jägermeister
in the other, had an IV filled with heroin dangling from my arm, a hooker hanging from my neck, and a police escort; but he wouldn’t have known the difference. It would have just been,
‘That’s great son, now go show your mother.’
Not,
‘Son, what the hell are you doing?’
Or,
‘First place in the tournament, that’s awesome. I bet you worked really hard, not that I helped you practice or anything.’

I envied John for his easy relationship with his dad. I mean, our dads both had the exact same career, owned the same shares in the company, and had sons the same exact age; but somehow Mr. Moure managed to squeeze in time for John. I would tag along as the third wheel since my own father was too busy to teach his son how to bait a hook, or take me to buy cleats, or to just talk about life. Mr. Moure taught me shit that my father should have. It pissed me off back then, and I’m even more pissed now that I know the reason for his neglect.

I could have forgiven him if he was trying to support his family with the long hours he logged at the office, but not when those extra hours were for booty calls, when he had a beautiful wife at home who fucking adored him. And my mom did adore him. She’d constantly talk to him at the table about her day, tell him about whatever Sarah or I did recently, or ask him questions; but she only got indiscernible answers. Grunts, and absent head nods, were his response to everything. Even with the blatant evidence for his lack of interest, Mom always just flashed me and Sarah a smile, and said he was like a grumpy bear. We’d laugh, but really, I think that she was trying to distract us from the fact that our father was a dick.

Mom would always have his favorite dinner ready and for him at seven o’clock on the dot, his newspaper on the table every morning with his coffee poured beside it, his shirt ironed and suit pressed; but did she ever get a thank you? Hell no. She did every little thing she could, she might have even wiped his ass for him, and how did he repay her for taking care of his house and children? By treating her like a used condom. Use it, and discard it when you’re done, and obviously he was done with her; since his boredom with us began just after Sarah was born.

“You may look like your mom,” John continues. “But you’re a stubborn prick like your dad was, and that’s why he was such a good liar. He refused to cower, so when my mom told yours about the affair, he bull shit his way through it. Claimed it was a mistake, and that it only happened once, when it was an ongoing affair with four different secretaries for over ten years.”

“And, how do you know this?”

I’m not questioning the fact that it did happen, because all of the evidence was there, and has been there all along; but I either chose to unconsciously ignore it, or thought it was normal. I’m guessing that it was the former, because I saw what an affectionate relationship looked like with John’s parents. They had date nights every Saturday for as long as John and I have been friends. When we were younger, he’d sleep over my house, so that they could go out. And when we were older, we’d throw parties at his house, and tip the maid extra to clean up before they got home on Sunday for church. It worked out perfectly, especially when Maria started accepting tips via sexual favors. We were of age by then, so no, it wasn’t illegal.

“I went to bring your kid to work day,” John answers. “Remember, it was back in like sixth grade? Anyway, you were sick with the flu, and stayed home with your mom. But I went, and my dad needed me to get some paperwork for a case from your dad’s office. He was supposed to be out at a meeting, so my dad gave me his key, and I walked in...” John trails off. “That time it was Sherry, you remember her? Really bad fake tits and the frizzy blonde hair?” I nod, and distinctly remember my mom disliking her. Now I know why. “That was the first time I caught him. He told me it was an accident, but how does a woman accidentally fall on your lap naked repeatedly?” My hands clench at that. “Then there were Charlene, Terry and Vanessa.”

“Wasn’t Vanessa the one who keyed his car?” I ask and he nods. Fucking liar, my dad said a disgruntled worker screwed with his car because he canned her for embezzling money.

“He fired her when she got pregnant, so she took her revenge out on his midlife crisis’s splurge.”

“P-pregnant?” John nods. I swallow hard before continuing. “So, I have a sibling that I didn’t know about? Or had one anyway, since they could be dead by now.”

“Nah, they were sucked out long before the apocalypse,” he tells me.

Well, that makes me want to puke. I’m all for women’s rights, but that was my sibling’s life that was ended because of an affair gone bad. But it all makes so much sense now. My mom’s distance from him, the customary pecks on the cheek, basically being civil and polite, but never affectionate. They didn’t even sleep in the same bed most nights. I believed my mom’s excuse of my dad having a bad back, but now I know that his back wasn’t the problem; his stray dick was, so she kicked his ass to the couch.

What she should have done is kicked his ass to the curb, and took him to the cleaners. Hit him where it really hurts, because he didn’t care about us, but he loved his goddamn money. His closet full of three thousand dollar suits, and his custom Aston Martin car. If my mom had filed the papers, she would have finally gotten a reaction out of him, since it would have risked half his assets.

“Why the fuck did they stay married?” My internal question rushes out.

“You and Sarah,” he answers simply. “Your mom would come over to our house and cry to my mom about how she couldn’t leave him. That you guys needed your dad.”

“That’s bull shit,” I counter and stand to pace around the cabin. “He was never around. Even on fucking vacations, he’d be on his goddamn phone, doing whatever the fuck he wanted. Your dad would shut his off for the entire week, mine wouldn’t even set it down for thirty seconds. He never took holidays off, took me anywhere, showed up for Sarah’s father-daughter dance, so your dad had to step in. How sick is that? And he had the nerve to call her his little girl.
‘Take care of Daddy’s little girl for me Jared. You’re the man of the house now, make me proud, son.’
Bull shit. He was never even the man of the house to begin with.”

I feel like a caged tiger in an enclosure far too small. John was fucking right about it all. Me being afraid of rejection because if I wasn’t good enough to earn the approval of my own father, then why the hell would someone else want me? How I push people away to protect myself from getting hurt in the end, because if they’re the one who leaves, I can say it was them that was the problem. That way, they’re the one to blame when I’m left alone, and I can turn the hurt to anger, because it feels much better to be pissed than miserable. But what I’m figuring out now is that the misery is still there, it’s just camouflaged as something else. That is until one day, it eats its way out from inside you, and manifests in the ugliest way imaginable. Such as hurting the people you love most, before they can hurt you.

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you,” John continues. “I can see those wheels turning in your head, and you were already afraid enough to pull the trigger, now you’ll swear off the opposite sex for good.”

“Just the opposite, actually,” I counter and stop pacing. “I don’t want to be like him, and by being a stubborn jackass, I am. You said so yourself, and I don’t want to be that way anymore. He didn’t keep his promises, but I’m gonna keep mine.”

“Which one?” John asks a little uneasily.

“The only one that counts,” I say with a grin.

“Which is?” John presses.

“Taking care of Sarah is second nature to me,” I reply and see John frown a little in defeat. “But I was referring to the one I made my mom,
‘Find a good girl, treat her right, and be happy.’
”

“Atta boy, I knew you had a brain in there somewhere.”

I don’t even spare the second it would take to flip him off, as I sprint out of the cabin. Step one, serious groveling.

<~~~<~~~
~~~>~~~
>

I’m not stalling. Nope, not me. I’m just standing directly outside of cabin 56, and taking in the fresh air. Not creepy at all, even if I have been staring at the door for the past twenty minutes straight.

I had four women ask me if I was lost, and if they could find me. As I’ve said before, they have a severe shortage of men to be that desperate. I thanked them for their kind, if somewhat selfish offers, and waved them away. They gave me confused looks when I continued standing here instead of going in, but when I started whacking myself on the head, they hurried away quickly. I think I’ll use that trick with Dennington next time I see her, since no one wants to deal with crazy.

Enough pussying out, I take a deep breath and place my hand on the door knob. To then drop my hand again. What the fuck am I going to say to her? I was scared, so I decided to swear, shout, and insult you? I might as well have hit her too, since that’s what abusive fucks do; and being emotionally abusive is sometimes more damaging than the physical kind. You can heal broken bones without trying, but to glue yourself back together mentally, takes time and effort. Not to mention I fucked with her trust, and that was hard enough to earn in the first place. I don’t see any more smoking buildings to go running in to pull her out of, so how the fuck can I prove to her that I’m serious?

Speaking of fires, I almost forgot about the murderous psycho that nearly killed us all. I’ll have to ask around to see if she made it, because I think that I would have heard her screech by now if she were close by. I’m hoping that she didn’t, because that would mean that she suffered some kind of horrible death by mauling, therefore making my day. But on the other hand, I hope she did make it so that I could reclaim a little bit of vengeance on the bitch that was a thorn in my side since day one.

“Are you just gonna stand there all day, or are you going to go inside?” Sarah’s voice asks me. I jump about six inches off the ground, and spin to find where she is, which happens to be directly behind me.

“What are you doing here?” Sarah lifts her eyebrows at my question.

“I’m here to get something for Olivia,” she answers as she gives me a pointed look. “What are
you
doing here?”

“It’s my cabin,” I say.

“Huh?”

“Cabin 56,” I say and wave a hand at the structure behind my back. “It’s where they assigned me.”

“Why wouldn’t you be with me?”

“You mean you aren’t in here?” Sarah shakes her head. “What the hell? I told her to put me with you.”

“Yeah, how about we trade?” Sarah proposes. “John snores, and Olivia’s not a fan of yours at the moment, so it would be best for all parties involved if we traded.”

“No, we shouldn’t start messing with their setup,” I reply. “We just got here, no need to shake things up yet.”

“Fine, have it your way,” Sarah says and brushes past me as she keeps talking. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you if you wake up tomorrow with worms in your underwear, the rest of your hair shaved off, and a permanent mustache.”

I follow her in and my eyes sweep the cabin, letting out a sigh that Olivia isn’t here. Yes, it was with relief, but that just goes to prove how much of a chicken shit I really am. I’m a twenty three year old guy, and I’m scared to talk to a girl about feelings. Which is pretty cringe worthy for any guy to do, but if I want any chance with her; then I need to put pride aside, and just come out with it. Lay it all out there, and if she doesn’t want anything to do with me, I’ll just keep laying it out there until she finally gets fed up and says yes.

“A permanent ‘stache would probably be an improvement right about now,” I comment. Sarah pauses in a doorway to look back at me.

“You really don’t look that bad, Jarry.”

“You’re just trying to be nice, since you’re my sister.”

“No, actually it’s a sister’s job to tell you you’re ugly, and since I just remembered that I’m mad at you, you are hideous.” She then turns back toward the bedroom.
I walk over it, and lean against the doorframe. Sarah has Olivia’s backpack unzipped and she’s rummaging through. From experience, I know there’s a ton of shit in there, and it’s near impossible to locate anything in the black pit.