I watch the lights whip by as I sit in the backseat of a black Mercedes. It has that new car smell, and I’m almost positive the seats are made of black velvet.
The car stops in front of the mansion, and I leave. I unlock the door and tiptoe into the dark house, when a light turnson in the sitting room to the right, and there stands my father, donning a mask of rage. “Where have you been?” The sound of his voice startles me, and I step back into the foyer and brace myself for what’s to come.
Chapter 16
Felix
Father closes the distance between us, and I back up and bump against the door behind me. He switches on the light in the foyer, revealing his red face and a sneer that makes my skin crawl.
Fuck, he’s been drinking.
I can always tell when he’s drunk. His face gets all blotchy and sweaty. He looks like a greased-up pig about to be roasted.
“You didn’t answer my question.” He leans a hand against the door to prevent me from running the hell out of here. I’ve learned that the best thing to do is to provide short, neutral answers to his questions and get away as quickly as possible.
“I was out with friends,” I reply.
He scoffs at that and slurs, “I didn’t think you had any friends in Belmont.”
My cheeks are inflamed. No, I don’t have any friends in Belmont and never did. A fact he likes to rub in my face when he needs to belittle someone to make himself feel bigger. “I have a few.”
“Really? You certainly didn’t have any at Collegiate. Wheredid you meet these new bosom buddies of yours?”
Collegiate is where I went to high school. It’s a private high school designed to train the children of assholes how to be even bigger assholes. “These were friends from Cornell. They’re in town and wanted to visit me. I’m really tired, Father. I’m going to go to bed.” I try to walk past him, but his arm juts out, stopping me from passing.
“What are their names?” he asked.
“Who?”
“The friends, you idiot. What are their names?”
Take a deep breath, Felix. He wants to fight.“Dustin and Sam. They were on my floor—good friends. I might room with them next year. Anyway, I’d really like to go to—”
“Are you taking your medication?” he asks.
The shift in conversation catches me off guard. “What? Of course I am.”
“Really?” His voice is too loud. Something is going on, and I’m terrified he knows something. “You sure seem active for someone who’s adjusting to major medication. I thought you’d be less chipper.”
Is this really happening? Is he interrogating me about mychipperness?“Do you want me to be sad and depressed?”
“I just think it’s unusual to be so active. The doctor said you’d be extremely lethargic for a solid few weeks, but that never seemed to happen.”
“Well, maybe I metabolize pills quickly.”
“Or maybe you’re not taking them.”
Too much has happened this evening, and I’m starting to lose my composure. “Is this really necessary? Are you honestly interrogating me about this because I went out to see some friends? Don’t you want me to go out?”
“If you’re so goddamned social, why couldn’t you go back to Cornell? Why did you make a ridiculous spectacle of yourself by digging a hole in the backyard? A spectacle that the media could have gotten hold of.”
I can’t take it anymore.“Oh, fuck the media! Mother killed herself—I was losing my mind, you asshole!”
The backhand to the face comes fast and hard. It throws me against the wall, and I sink to the floor, cradling my cheek in my hand.
“Don’t ever speak to me like that again.” He turns to walk away, but before he ascends the stairs, he turns back to me and says, “Take. Your. Pills.”
I let myself sit on the floor for a bit as I rub my cheek. I won’t cry. I’ll never shed a tear for that man. He doesn’t deserve a single ounce of my emotion.
