“Fuck. Listen to me, Maggie,” he snaps at her, gripping both of her arms. “You keep ignoring me. Every. Single. Time.”
She sighs, and stops fighting him. “You and I have nothing to talk about. Please don’t make this more difficult than it already is. Our children get along very well. Don’t destroy that.”
Crap crap crap.
I hold my breath and wait.
No one says anything for several seconds. Seconds that feel like a bomb is ticking, ready to explode.
“What did you just say?”
She sighs in exasperation. “Let the past be what it is, Stephen. I’m happy with Ben—”
“Your son and my daughter. Together.” He sounds like a robot.
“Yes.” She pauses. “Didn’t you know they were together?”
He laughs, but it’s cold and forced. “Well, well.” Those two words send chills all over my body.
He straightens and waves a hand in the air as if dismissing what Maggie told him about Cole and me. He steps closer, caging her in. “This is about you and me, Maggie. You and me. You still feel something for me. We are forever.”
She plants her hands on his chest and shoves him back. “Go home and take care of your family. They need you, especially your wife.”
“Maggie.” He spits out her name. “I told you why I moved here. You’re not in love with Ben and you never have been. You went back to him to get back at me. Admit it, damn it. You still love me.”
She shakes her head quickly. “No. I don’t. I’ve told you so many times.”
He shakes his head violently, his eyes wide. I know that look. Pure madness and determination. “You’ve always been mine and I have always been yours. We promised, remember?”
“We were young for God’s sake.” I hear the panic in her voice.
My body is frozen in place, rendered immobile. My dad is really, really insane. His fixation on Maggie is not normal.
“Yes. But we meant every word. I told you you belonged to me, yet you still went and whored yourself to him.”
She raises her hand and slaps him across the face, the sound echoing in the quiet night. “Don’t you ever talk to me like that again.” Her entire body is vibrating with anger now. “Don’t ever touch me again either, Stephen. Ever. Move aside. Now.”
He clenches his hands at his sides but doesn’t move. I’ve never heard anyone speak to my father like that. She doesn’t seem intimidated by the fact that my dad is two seconds from ripping her head off her neck.
She gives him a wide berth and hurries to the door. Keys clank loudly in the quiet night as she fidgets with them and the lock. Finally, the door unlocks. She steps inside and it slams shut in his face.
Dad spins around and stalks to his car. I duck away from the window and only come up when the sound of his car racing down the street fades. The night is blanketed in the aftermath of what just happened.
I toss and turn in bed for hours, different thoughts whipping around inside my head. What I witnessed tonight answers many questions about why my father looks at Maggie as if she’s everything he’s ever wanted. She IS everything he’s ever wanted. My dad is still in love with Maggie.
Scratch that.
He is obsessed with her.
I pull my phone from beside my pillow and type out a text to Megs, then delete it. Then type it again. I press “send” before I chicken out. I need to get it off my chest, otherwise I won’t be able to sleep tonight. I set the phone on the pillow, waiting for her to answer. My eyes finally give in to exhaustion. I sigh, turn on my side and fall asleep.
I snap awake to the feel of my bed dipping down, then my hair being pushed off my forehead. I stiffen and gag on the pungent smell of liquor-soaked breath slamming into me. The bedside lamp is still on, but I can see a shadow reflected on my wall.
Dad. His head is bent low. The sounds coming from him are. . .God. . .this is not my dad. He’s. . .crying? No, he’s bawling. Keening sounds are coming out of his chest as if his entire world is crashing. He’s mumbling unintelligibly under his breath between sobs.
This is so out of character for him. But I can’t afford to lower my guard.
He sniffs, then I feel a hand on my hair again.
“Caroline, I wish I loved you enough. I wish I loved you like I love her.” I’ve never heard my father speak in such a voice. It’s broken, lonely. Wistful.
Oh God.
Everyone tells me I look like my mom. But surely my father can tell the difference. Surely he can tell that he is in the wrong room, at least.
God, please make him leave.
But he doesn’t. The last time my dad came into my room like this, we were in Ohio. My life was complete crap and I used to find relief in cutting myself, desperate for some sort of control.
One night he came home drunk and had a horrible fight with my mother. She asked him where he was spending most of his days and nights. He’d left her in the living room and headed for the stairs. He stopped in the hallway before storming into my room. He started to curse me, saying I was as useless as my mother, his face marred with angry lines.