akrasia (n.)
a lack of self-control
* * *
MY mom always said, "Without the rain, we would never feel thankful for the warmth of the sun." I never gave it much thought until one October night that undoubtedly changed the course of my entire life.
Because of that night, I became a completely different person. Of course, I liked to think I was always that confident girl but just needed the little nudge to break out of my shell. Similar to needing some help to shine.
Thankfully, my father's actions caused the snowball effect to occur, giving me that much-needed push. I was so caught up in my anger, I didn't even realize it at the time.
Although, my anger was more than warranted.
That early October night, my boss let me leave work early because her daughter was sick and she needed to close up. It worked out for me; I was tired and wanted to go home, work on my homework, and take a relaxing bath.
Little did I know, absolutely none of that would happen.
The first things I noticed when I pulled into my driveway were my father's car and the unfamiliar Audi taking up my mom's usual spot. I shrugged off the odd feeling in my stomach and assumed my mom's car was in the garage.
After all, it was stupid to think an Audi was a bad omen. It was only a car, nothing more.
Internally scoffing, I got my bag out of the front seat and started walking up the cobblestone path.
I saw my mom's marigolds on the steps, and a memory from the morning was suddenly pushed into my brain, halting me in my place.
My mom and I had a whole conversation about her book club meeting during breakfast.
Was it tonight, though? Yes, it was.
She borrowed my copy of Persuasion, promising to return it the next morning. I distinctly remembered arguing with her about my book, which she apparently needed for the discussion. We fought once in a blue moon, which made it all the more memorable.
I proclaimed that they wouldn't even talk about the book—they never did. A 'book club' was just a guise for the country club wives to get together and bitch about other women in town and their children. No book discussion would even happen at these unofficial cult meetings.
We spent twenty minutes bickering because I didn't want to sacrifice my copy to the gossip club. They probably used the books as coasters for their wine; Jane Austen didn't deserve the degradation.
She countered my claims, saying I would have it back the next morning; she also promised to set it outside my door when she returned in the middle of the night.
So, if she would be gone for most of the night, then why was a car in our driveway at seven pm?
Once again, I suppressed the foreboding feelings. My life wasn't some grand mystery. There was no need to play Nancy Drew over some stupid car. A car was a car, and I had been watching too much television.
Shaking my head, I opened the door and walked inside the dark house. "Father? I'm home!"
I got no response. What a fucking surprise.
As an accountant, he worked 24/7, rarely spending time with me. Not that I really minded it—our relationship had always been strained, with interactions limited to "pass the butter" or "good morning."
He was practically a stranger.
A stranger that lived with me, but a stranger nonetheless.
I flicked on the foyer lights and walked down the hall to the stairs.
As I got closer, I heard weird slapping noises in the living room, followed by the squeaking of our leather couch.
I diverted my path to check out whatever was happening in there.
A warning bell should have gone off in my brain as soon as I heard the noises. I should have turned around and gotten the fuck out of there before it was too late. I should have hidden in the car all night.
But no, my curiosity got the better of me. They say curiosity killed the cat, and satisfaction brought it back, but that did not happen in my case.
If only it were true.
Curiosity killed me, and the satisfaction of knowing the cause of those noises made me want to die again.
When I flicked on the living room lights, I had the privilege of seeing my father in all his naked glory—every unshaved hair, all of his wrinkles, and his nonexistent muscles.
But wait, it got worse. Way worse.
He was sprawled out on the couch, laying on top of a naked woman. The woman in question was definitely not my mother.
I didn't know if that was a good or bad thing. On one hand, I didn't have to see my mom naked. But on the other hand, I was blessed with the realization that my father was cheating.
It took a few seconds for it to fully sink in. My father really was cheating. "O-oh my God. Disg- Ew," I hastily slapped my palm over my eyes, feeling the urge to claw them out. "W-wha... fath- uh-"
"What?" My father's head snapped in my direction. "Charlotte. Shit. Fuck."
The bile begging to escape my stomach pushed its way to my throat. My mouth was filled with a tang similar to the taste of an undigested meal. Bitter. Disgusting.
I wanted to barf—I almost did, all over my mom's beloved rugs.
I heard the sound of fabric rustling as I stood there like a statue (eyes covered, of course). My mouth opened and closed, waiting for words to tumble out. But my brain was too fried and my mouth too dry to form coherent words.
The only thought running through my mind was 'get out.'
But I couldn't—invisible chains were tying me to the ground. Despite my best efforts, my feet wouldn't move an inch.
Shaking like a leaf, I heard cautious footsteps approach me. "Charlotte, you will not tell your mother. I forbid it."
What the fuck? I saw him fucking his assistant, and he wanted me to not tell mom? He was cheating on his wife and demanded his teenage daughter to keep it a secret for him?
I didn't expect much from my father, but this? This was a new low.
"Open your eyes," his sickening voice called out to me. In an instant, it became one of my least favorite sounds, only second to nails on a chalkboard. "There's no need to be dramatic."
I peeked between my fingers before fully removing my hand. The assistant—mistress—was standing there fully clothed this time.
Well, that's if you could call her low-cut, thigh-length, scrap of a dress 'clothing.'
At least I didn't have to see her bare breasts again. Although, it was almost like I shouldn't have seen them in the first place.
The mistress gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "See you at work tomorrow." She grabbed her purse and scurried away like a cowardly rat.
I wanted to have a few choice words with her but reminded myself who the real enemy was. It wasn't her fault that my father was a cheating bastard. I wouldn't even be surprised if he tricked her into all of this.
"So you won't tell your mother, right?" He scratched his repulsive balding head, awaiting my answer.
"Um, sure, I won't tell mom," I fibbed.
The dumb asshole sagged in relief. "What are you doing home? You are supposed to be working for another forty-five minutes."
The audacity of this man—
"Lily's daughter got sick, and we had to close the shop early. What are you doing home early? You're supposed to be working for another two hours." I couldn't help but sass him. It was the least I could do in this situation.
He scowled at me. "Young lady, that is not how you talk to your father."
Ha, that's funny. Mark thought he deserved to be called a father? I'd much rather think of him as a pesky piece of gum that was stuck to the bottom of my shoe. Or a cockroach that wouldn't fucking go away.
I scoffed. "Really? You don't have anything to say for yourself? I just caught you fucking your assistant, who—might I add—isn't mom! I know you've always had problems, but what happened to 'for better or for worse?' Do your vows suddenly mean jackshit?"
"You will stay out of this, and forget you saw anything. This is between your mother and me." His fat, unwelcome finger pointed at me while his face screwed up into something resembling a rat. Ugly. Just like his personality. "Stay quiet, and I'll buy you whatever you want. A new phone, computer, you name it."
"How 'bout a new dad?"
He looked down at me sternly. "Charlotte. That is unacceptable... Do you want me to take away my more than generous offer? It's in your best interests to forget and stay out of it."
I shook my head in disbelief. How did he expect me to forget this? No, instead of forgetting, I would have the luxury of reliving this moment like the guy in Groundhog Day. I would be forever stuck in this moment, trying to find a way out. I'd be perpetually trying to see if I could do anything different.
"Just fuck off, you prick." I normally wouldn't have been so vulgar around my parents, but he deserved it.
"Go to your room," he boomed. "I will not tolerate the way you spoke to me."
After flipping him off, I gladly ran upstairs. Knowing my mom would get sufficient revenge was the only thing consoling me at the moment.
I wanted to slap him, but the first slap should be reserved for her.
I stared at my bedroom wall for a few minutes, trying to make sense of what I saw, and trying to convince myself that it wasn't real; I would wake up in a few minutes and realize that it was just a fever dream. I closed my eyes and reopened them over and over, trying to escape the nightmare.
Despite my efforts, I didn't wake up. The events only got clearer in my brain.
I suddenly knew what I had to do next—and it wouldn't be fun. I reached for my phone and dialed my mom's number.
"Hi, Char. Is everything okay?" Her loud voice came through the line, surrounded by mindless chatter.
"Not really." I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling a wave of nausea wash over me. "Mom, can you go somewhere private? I really need to talk to you."
"Can it wait? I'm at a book meeting right now."
"No." I pinched the bridge of my nose and inhaled a sharp breath, trying to keep the bile out of my throat.
"Okay. Let me go somewhere private."
When I couldn't hear any background noise, I spoke again, "So, um... Shit, how do I even start?" I took another breath. Honesty was the best policy, right? "I just caught dad. He was... He was having sex with his assistant on the living room couch. Look, mom, I promise I am telling the truth. Like 'cross my heart and hope to die' level. Dad will probably deny it 'cause he just asked me to keep it a secret."
Silence. Did the call disconnect? Did she hear me? Was everything okay? My mind whirled at a hundred miles an hour.
"That bastard," she seethed. A stale moment passed before she spoke again. "Char, I believe you. I just can't believe he's trying to get you involved in his childish games. I guess that's what I get for marrying a man-child," she chuckled humorously.
"I'm so sorry, mom. You don't deserve any of this."
"Don't apologize, Char. You haven't done anything wrong... Look, I'll be home in fifteen minutes. Please stay in your room. I don't want you to get hurt; God forbid he does something else irrational."
"Okay, I love you," I said before hanging up.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, her car pulled into the driveway. My father's colorful profanity echoed throughout the house, complimenting his loud, pacing footsteps in the kitchen.
As my mom slammed her car door, I braced myself for what would be the thirteenth screaming match of the week. And to think, it was only Sunday night.
Instead of putting in my AirPods and blasting music like usual, I strained my ears to hear the argument. Call me nosy, but this was much more important (and more interesting) than their usual arguments about leaving the milk on the counter.
But, I had to admit, hearing my mom yell at my father about spoiled milk was pretty entertaining.
"Mark, what the fuck is wrong with you?" my mom shouted, slamming the front door hard enough for me to feel the vibrations. "There is obviously a lot wrong with you. Let me rephrase that: what the fuck is going on here?"
"What do you mean? I just got home from work."
A liar was added to the growing list of words that described my father. So far, I also had cheater, scumbag, and bastard down. It was a far cry from the positive words that usually come to mind when one thinks of a father figure, but my family was anything but usual.
"Don't play dumb with me; you know exactly what I am talking about. Why did you bring one of your sluts to the house? And in front of our daughter? You really needed to get Charlotte involved?"
One of his sluts? Plural? There were multiple women he had been sleeping with?
"I didn't do anything. Did you drink too much alcohol at your meeting?"
"Don't fucking deny it anymore, Mark!" she shouted. "I know you fucked one of your women on the couch!"
"I didn't fuck her, Michelle!"
So you're telling me they were just kissing and hugging naked? Sounded legit to me.
"I might have been stupid for marrying you, but I am not an idiot. It reeks of sex in here... You promised me that you would stop fucking around with your coworkers. What happened to mending our relationship?"
"It's not my fault," he muttered. "She was begging for it. I swear I didn't initiate it. What was I supposed to do? Turn her down?"
Yes, it most certainly was his fault. It's not like his assistant magically showed up at our house and his dick magically slipped into her. I wasn't an expert on sex, but I knew it didn't work like that.
"You know what, Mark? I am sick and tired of your bullshit." I flinched, hearing a loud shattering noise. I almost ran downstairs to make sure my mom was alright, but she continued speaking in a deadly calm voice, "This has been going on for almost ten years, and I am done giving you another chance. You can leave—like right now. Get the fuck out of my sight before I make you."
Wait a damn minute. Ten years? He'd been cheating since I was seven? Why didn't my mom leave him years ago?
"This is my house, paid for with my money. If I remember correctly, you don't have a job or a college degree," he yelled, sounding like a petulant toddler who was screaming about a toy. "I should be the one kicking you out. Good wives don't accuse their husbands of bullshit. But don't worry, Michelle, you can make it up to me."
While I didn't agree with his final statements, the first one was unfortunately correct. My mom got pregnant during her junior year of college and had to drop out to be able to take care of me. Luckily, my father was a year older and was able to graduate and get a job in Chicago before my birth. My whole life thus far, she had been a stay-at-home mom. And it had been fine: my father always made enough money for us to have a comfortable life.
Well, as comfortable as life could be with parents who were always at each other's throats. Frequently, I had to remind myself that everyone had something wrong in their life. It just happened to be a shitty family life for me.
"Charlotte and I will be out of 'your house' in a week. You can stay at a hotel until then and—"
He stomped his foot, "You stay at a hotel. I didn't do anything!"
"—think of it this way: you'll be free to fuck whoever you want in peace. Expect divorce papers."
That sounded good to me, but I had one teensy-tiny issue: where would we live after the week was up? I sure as hell didn't want to stay with my father, but as he said, my mom didn't have any money of her own.
And what about school? My senior year just started.
I didn't catch whatever my father said in response. Judging by my mom's huff and loud stomps up the stairs, it must have been something incredibly stupid.
Then again, most of the shit that came out of his mouth was stupid.
I heard her muffled sobs as she locked herself in the bathroom.
* * *
A/N: I hope everyone enjoyed chapter 1! What are your thoughts so far? I'm so excited to share this project with you guys! Please follow me and add the book to your library to be notified when I update! 💚
QOTC (question of the chapter): where are you from?
My Answer: the United States :)