“But, Dad! I haven’t finished reviewing the test questions.” She whines a bit as she turns to Michelle, looking for a little assistance.
Michelle, in her form fitting blue dress, hasn’t stopped staring at me. She puts her slender, painted fingers on the table and then stands up. As she begins to pack her textbooks and notecards, she turns to Maddie, “Your dad is right. You need to eat something. I’ll leave you with this so you can study on your own tonight after dinner. Okay?”
She hands Maddie a stapled bunch of papers that Maddie thumbs through quickly. Her eyes light up as she asks, “Is this the…?”
“A copy of Monday’s test questions? Yes. Yes it is. You didn’t get it from me, you got me?” Michelle grins at Maddie before standing straight up. She places her bag around her shoulder and begins to head out the door through the living room.
I block her from moving, motioning silently for Maddie to head upstairs. I’ve got a few bones to pick with her teacher before I can let her go. Michelle stands close to me, looking up at my stony, unmoving face. Her eyes tell a similar story. There’s something she wants to say to me, as well, something burning inside of her that’s not going to go away easily. We don’t break eye contact as we listen to Maddie trudge slowly upstairs with her backpack dragging behind her.
When we hear the sound of the bedroom door closing, Michelle takes a step back towards the table, her hands clasping around its side. I fight everything in my body telling me to push her back and take her right then and there. Even though I can’t stand this woman, every part of me wants her more than ever.
I, instead, move backwards towards the door. I’m not about to let my desire for her overcome the bigger issue here. “What are you doing talking to her about that stuff, Miss Springer?” I’m not calm. Not calm at all. She has no right to pull this shit after she decided to call it quits between the two of us. And her talking to my daughter, plying information out of her, is stepping over borders.
“I’m her teacher, Mr. Ross. It’s my job to know what my students are going through. It’s also my job to know that they are in a good, safe home. What she was telling me earlier about the things that go on here were…concerning.” She clutches onto the table more tightly now. I can see her knuckles going white.
“Concerning? Concerning! You saw what happened that night the Coyotes came and shot up the place. We protected you. For the last two weeks, I’ve sent men out to your place to watch after you day in and day out. You don’t think I do that with my own daughter? She’s safer here than she would ever be out there. That’s bullshit, Miss Springer.”
Sparks are flying in my mind as I try to shake off my anger. No one dares to question my ability to take care of my own daughter. Not even the men against me would touch a hair on my daughter’s head out of fear of what I would do to them. I’ll admit there have been attempts. Drunk men making comments about her, threats to her life – I squashed each and every one of them were with a knife to their body or a lasting punch to their gut.
I continue, not letting her get another damned word in, “You know what I think this is? This is you being all high and mighty.” I charge towards her, my finger pointed square in her face as I scream, “I let you go, and now you think you know better than us. You’re not better than us. You’re not better than any of us.”
She breathes in heavily as she stands up straight, pressing the folds of her dress. My shaking finger hits her in the forehead as she calmly replies back, “Frankly, Mr. Ross, I’m not a coke dealer living in this sex den with his young daughter. So yeah, I do think I am better than you.”
I can hear the hint of panic and fear. She’s terrified of me, but she is not about to let me see that. No other woman would ever do this. No one would ever be so bold than to come at me, to say what they really think. She wasn’t born to please men like me. And she wasn’t the type to bow down.
And suddenly, I can’t take it anymore. I drop my hand to her waist and pull her in as she struggles to break free from my grasp. Her waist presses up against the growing bulge in my jeans as she realizes what is going on. Her hand whips back and slaps me with a loud and stinging clap.
Out of instinct, I let go. She recoils back to her spot on the table. Her face is going flush, her eyes darting everywhere, looking for something. I can tell that she’s turning everything over in her mind. She doesn’t want this. Or does she?