“That sounds like a refreshing attitude.”
“It’s not, but it makes things a little more palatable. I mean, there’s always this dark cloud hanging over the house. Is it going to get worse? Will we lose him? The uncertainty about what’s going to happen is hard for me. Not so much for my dad. Somehow, he’s come to terms with the possibility this disease
might kill him. He doesn’t care if he goes. He’s at peace with it. My mom isn’t.”
“And you? I asked. “How do you feel?”
“Scared,” she said, sighing. “I try not to think about it too much, but it keeps getting pulled back into my thoughts. It’s like, subconsciously, I want to think all the dark thoughts now, so I can be prepared for the worst if it happens. I think I’ll have to pick up the pieces for my mother. She never used to work. She was a stay-at-home mom. She used to stay in the kitchen, reading and playing crossword puzzles every day until he got home. But not anymore.”
“I can tell that bothers you,” I said.
“It does. She’s working three jobs just to pay for them to survive. Now the insurance wants to cut him off. I really think he has a chance to live if he can get his chemo, but they’re not gonna pay for it. Which is why I have to figure something out to help.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said and took her hand.
“That’s why I’m doing this,” she said softly.
“No, it’s not. We both know you could make money some other way.”
“Do you know what it’s like out there right now?” she asked, angry. “The cost of living is through the roof, and there aren’t enough jobs to go around. Everyone is struggling. I’ve been holding out for something decent, but it’s been months. No one is hiring. My family needs help, now.”
I felt like a complete idiot. I should’ve known that she was in trouble. It was so apparent now. She wasn’t shy or innocent. She was hurt. She stayed quiet and maintained her dignity, but I knew inside she was screaming. I slid my hand behind her back and pulled her closer. Then I laid back so she could rest her head on my chest.
“You know what I don’t get?” she asked.
“What?”
She sat up. “Why you can’t control yourself.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean,” she said. “You’re an animal. Just the slightest touch and you go off.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said and slammed my drink back. I contemplated getting up to refill it. “It’s not something I talk about very much.” I cleared my throat. I really needed that drink. I didn’t do this. I didn’t talk to anyone like this. But somehow, she got me to open up. “It’s not a pleasant story.”
“I’d like to hear it,” she said. “If you’re okay with sharing.”
“When I was 13, my parents had a lady from our church watch us. Her name was Mildred, and she must’ve been at least 80. She was a mean old woman. She looked like a twig. She’d post up in my father’s armchair and yell at me to get her things, like water and chips and shit.
“One night, my parents went out to the movies, and they called her over. She had this bottle that she kept in her purse. Now, I know it was vodka. She had me bring her a glass so she could get drunk while she watched some old game show.
“She drank more than a pint and then called me over to where she was sitting.” There it was, that explosive rage inside me that erupted whenever I remembered what she did to me. “She made me do things. Things a child shouldn’t have to do. She didn’t even care. It was nothing to her. They say that when it happens to boys, it’s not a big deal. They like it. Well, that’s not fucking true at all. I’m sorry.” I got up and poured myself another drink. “Every time I talk about it.” My hands shook when I picked up the decanter, and I struggled to get the lid off. “You shouldn’t have to hear all this.”
Mercedes came up behind me and kissed me on the neck, then wrapped her arms around me. I felt the tension in my body ease, and I set the decanter down. My head fell. “She left me cursed. I have to get off at least five times a day just to feel right, and there’s nothing I can do. I can’t suppress the urge. Every time I do, I can’t focus. Even when I’m out of the house, I’ll have to run to the bathroom. Normally, when my family’s around, I can control myself. I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t apologize.” She dropped her hands. “Don’t you dare. You’re not the only one who has to go through this. It happens to girls and guys, and it’s not your fault. It’s the bitch that did this to you. You understand me?” I turned to face her. “I know you probably think that you should be finding a way to control yourself, and that your sex drive is your fault, but what that lady did to you can have this effect on people.”
“You don’t think I’m sick?” I asked quietly.
“I don’t think you’re a pervert. You’ve been tainted by a predator, and it’s kept you from having the life you deserve. You shouldn’t have to hire hookers. Any woman would kill to be with you. You should have somebody special, and that pisses me off. How sick could a person be? She robbed you of love.”
“She did, and it fucking kills me.” I flipped around and collapsed on the couch. “I sorry. I never tell that story to anyone. Almost no one in the world knows. Not even my brother, Andrew. It always ends up infuriating me when I think about it, because I know you’re right. I can’t have a normal relationship.”
“You’ll find a way, Jake.”
“I don’t know if I will.”
Mercedes sat down, pulled me close, and let me rest my head on her chest.