It’s impossible to say it with endearment, because all the man is my sperm donor. He hasn’t once earned the privilege of being referred to as more. “I’ve been trying to call you for days,” he says. I hear him cough, and wheeze in the background, a sound I became very accustomed to early on in my life. Only now, it’s worse.
“Sorry,” I reply. “I’ve been busy at work. What do you want, Dad?” “Your mamma and I are in a spot of trouble kiddo, we need your help.” “I already told her I don’t have the kind of money you’re asking for, and never to call me again,” I say, completely exasperated with the conversation already. “But kiddo, we really need you. Think about everything we’ve done for you.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, and calm the rage I feel clawing its way out from the inside of my chest. “Everything you’ve done for me?” I almost yell. “Are you fucking kidding me? You haven’t done anything for me since I was five.”
“Don’t be that way, sweetheart. It wasn’t that bad.”
I inhale sharply. “No, you’re right, dad, it was worse. You left me to fend for myself for most of my life. You only ever cared about getting your next hit, and when you couldn’t, I became your punching bag.”
Hot tears build behind my eyes as memories from my childhood play through my mind like a lifetime movie.
My father sucks in a breath, but doesn’t say anything for a beat. “I know we’ve made mistakes, but you’re our only option. Please, Cassey, we really need money. Just give it to us, we’re your parents.”
That was the last straw. I was a minute away from caving, just to get rid of these people who called themselves my parents.
“What you’re asking for is all I have,” I say, swallowing the lump in my throat.
“You’ll make it back,” my Father replies, his voice perking up.
“I need a few days to get it out,” I lie. If I can hold them off for a few more days, I can figure out what to do. There’s no way I can give them everything I have.
I hear my father umm and ahh on the other end of the line, rather begrudgingly, before he replies. “Okay, I will call you in a few days.”
The line goes dead, and I stare down at my phone, shocked. I shouldn’t be. That’s the nicest conversation I’ve ever had with my father. And that makes my decision not to help him, or my mother, so much easier.
I just have to figure out how. Having had enough of everything, I pack my stuff up and head home. My emotions are all over the place, and work is the last place I want to be. I could use a night out, so I send Quinn a text:
Let’s go out, I need a drink.
A second later my phone rings, and I answer. “Hey Quinny.”
“Hey Cass. What’s up?”
“I’m going home now. You?”
“Me too. I can be at your place in thirty if you want?” “Are we going out?”
“Yes, I could use a night on the town,” Quinn replies. “Great, see you in a bit.”
“See you soon.”
Quinn and I climb out of the cab, both dressed for a ‘Sex and The City’ kind of girls night out, and walk into the club.
We ignore the protests from the people waiting in mile-long line, and greet the Bouncers. They lift the red velvet rope and let us in. The thumping music fills the giant space and we walk straight towards the bar.
“What’s your poison, ladies?” A sexy, blonde haired bartender meets us at the bar.
“Two tequila shots,” Quinn replies. The bartender grins and pours the clear liquid into two shot glasses, giving us some lime slices and salt on the side. Quinn and I hoist the glasses up. “What are we toasting?” I ask Quinn. Her lips purse, and her brows scrunch in thought. “To assholes, and great sex.”
I throw my head back and laugh, feeling a lightness settle over me that has been absent since I walked out of Kyler’s apartment. “To assholes, and great sex,” I repeat.
We tip the glasses, and I savor the burn from the alcohol as it warms my belly.
Quinn hits the bar with her shot glass, and orders another round. “You can’t walk on one leg,” she reasons.
After throwing back the second shot, we push our way through the crowd, until we’re in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by people that bump and grind to the music. We start moving with the ocean of swaying bodies, and soon the world and all my worries melt away.
“I need some water,” Quinn yells over the noise.
“I’ll wait for you here,” I yell back.
I watch as her retreating figure disappears, and start moving to the music again. Two songs later, I feel two hands wrap around my waist, and a body pressed against my back. At first I freeze, unsure of myself, but then I start dancing. I look at the hands cradling my hips, and they suddenly feel wrong. My heart drops, because they’re not Kyler’s hands, and the person behind me doesn’t smell like him either.
As if reading my mind, the hands disappear, followed by a “what the fuck, man?”. I spin, searching for the source of the commotion, and almost trip when my eyes land on Kyler. My breath hitches at the sight of him, and then I frown. He looks sexy as sin in his dark jeans and black shirt, his hair a ruffled mess, but why is he here and why is he dragging some random guy away from me? He grabs the stranger by the shirt, and after whispering something in his ear, Kyler shoves him back into the crowd. He turns, and when his hard gaze lands on me, I shiver.
God, I’ve missed those eyes. But then I remember what he looks like with someone else in his bed, and all excitement and longing I feel evaporates. I stalk over to him, meeting him half way. “What are you doing?” I yell. “He had his hands on you!” Kyler yells back. We’re causing a scene, but I don’t care.
“Maybe I wanted his hands on me!”
Kyler growls, and grabs my arm. I try slap it away, but his grip tightens as he drags me through the crowd. “Let go of me!” I scream.
Kyler spins quickly and bends, throwing me over his shoulder. I hear a few guys hoot and holler and glower, even though they can’t see me. My hands ball into fists, and I start hitting his back. “Put.Me.Down!”
Kyler ignores me, and walks through a door that leads into a private room normally reserved for private parties. He looks the door, and then puts me down.
I take a big step back, my hands on my hips, and glare angrily. “What is wrong with you? You’re acting like a complete caveman!”
Kyler returns my angry glare. “That asshole had his hands on you,” he replies through gritted teeth.
“The only asshole in this club is YOU!” I snap.
Kyler goes quiet, and pulls his hands through his hair. “Cassey,” he murmurs, his voice sullen.
“No! You don’t get to do this to me, Kyler. You don’t get to decide who I dance with. I’m not yours!”
“But I’m yours!” Kyler yells back.
And there it is, the inevitable impasse. That moment when two people who love each other, but are too stubborn to say it. Instead, Kyler slept with someone else, and I wallowed in self-pity for three days.
I feel the burn in my eyes, and silently pray that I don’t cry in front of him. I wouldn’t show him that he’s my weakness.