Past Imperfect (3 page)

Today’s argument was about me. I had been sent home early from school for inappropriate behavior, which translated into getting caught with my hand up Tamron Boyd’s dress. My two friends, Jeremy and Spencer, bet me that I couldn’t get my hand up there. If my dad taught me anything it was to never back down from a challenge. Before school this morning I went up to Tamron, making sure the guys didn’t see me talking to her. I told her about the bet, that I would split the money with her and then I gave her
the smile. The smile
usually got me what I wanted, especially from the ladies. She thought about it for a few seconds while staring at
the smile
and then agreed. So during recess Tamron and I snuck behind the building and she let me shove my hand up her dress while Jeremey and Spencer peaked at us from around the corner. Me and the guys never talked about how long my hand needed to be up there for it to count. Tamron seemed to like my hand where it was and so did I.

Tamron and I were both looking down at where my hand disappeared when I was suddenly yanked back. Mrs. Fisher told Tamron to follow her as she tugged me all the way into the school office. They insisted both my parents come to the school to talk with the principal because of the severity of my inappropriate behavior. I didn’t understand what the big deal was. Tamron wanted my hand up her dress.

My parents’ voices were getting louder, but were still muffled. I walked closer to the door to hear what my punishment was going to be. That was a bad idea.

“William, could you stay off of the phone long enough to discuss your own son?” my mom said through what sounded like gritted teeth. I heard the phone slam down.

“Okay, you have my full fucking attention now. Happy?” my dad barked back.

“I don’t think it’s too much to ask for you to be a father for ten minutes. Bradley has a problem and something needs to be done.”

“So he stuck his hand up a girl’s dress. He’s a curious ten-year-old boy. What’s the big deal? I’d be more concerned if he had shoved his hand down a boy’s pants.”

“You’re a pig. It was embarrassing enough to be called down there, but I was completely mortified when I found out what he had done. There’s something wrong. You need to have a talk with him.”

“Why do I have to talk with him?”

“Because I don’t have the time to deal with it. I have a million things on my plate already and I don’t need to add a perverted son discussion. Besides, you’re his father.”

“Hold on. You don’t have time? Well, ten years ago you should have thought a little more about your
plate
and how much shit it would be able to hold. You had an out then. Remember? I even drove you to the clinic to get rid of it, but then you changed your mind. You blew your chance to be free of the little bastard.”

“It was a mistake, I was hormonal. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I should have gone through with it,” my mom said coldly.

“It was a mistake to get drunk and fuck you without a condom that night, but we all have our crosses to bear. One kid, that’s all I said I wanted, just one, and you couldn’t even do that right.”

“I made a stupid mistake.”

“Yeah, well,
your
mistake is now walking around feeling up girls at school.”

A mistake?
I stood completely frozen outside the door. Numb. Their voices faded from my awareness. I knew my parents were busy and didn’t have a lot of time for me. It never crossed my mind that they simply didn’t want me around in the first place.

I don’t remember climbing the stairs to my room, but somehow I had made it there. I had been a mistake from the very beginning.
A mistake?
As I repeated the word in my mind, the feelings slowly seeped into my body. I felt an empty and lonely ache in the pit of my stomach. I was confused. Parents were supposed to think of their children as blessings. I had seen shows on TV where the parents were happy and proud of their children. I racked my brain trying to figure out what I had done to cause my parents to hate me so much. I kept coming back to the same conclusion. I was born.

I cringed as I walked up the driveway to my house and saw my mom’s car parked there. She was home early from work. I wished baseball practice hadn’t been called off today. It was just the two of us living in this huge house now. She and my dad had been divorced for two years. Mom filed a few weeks after I overheard them in the study that day. Dad wanted Peyton to live with him and Mom let it happen. I don’t know if they asked Peyton where he wanted to live, but no one ever mentioned that I had a choice.

I walked in the front door and tossed my backpack down as I passed the dining room table on my way to the kitchen to get something to eat. The house was very quiet. I didn’t know or really care where my mom was. I grabbed a bag of chips from the cabinet and a soda from the fridge before heading toward the game room to watch some TV.

As I turned the corner I heard a loud crash and then a moan coming from the study. A couple of seconds passed before I heard another moan. It was my mom. She sounded like she was in pain. Maybe she fell and hurt herself. I put the chips and soda down and moved toward the study. I heard another moan and then a thud. I picked up my pace and flung open the door.

At first I didn’t comprehend what I was seeing. The desk lamp was laying broken on the floor along with some papers and pens scattered around it. My eyes moved up and across the desk to see my mom sitting on the edge of it, a huge pair of hands gripping her hips, and some guy’s face between her legs. I stood still, not believing that I was watching some guy go down on my own mother. Neither of them had a clue that I was in the room. My daze was broken by another loud moan from her and muffled humming from him. Suddenly her eyes opened and she spotted me.

“Brad, get out of here and close the door!” she yelled, her voice a combination of pleasure and pain. She never pushed the guy away or told him to stop. She just kept yelling at me to get out.

I turned and ran out of the room and out of the house. When I hit the front yard I saw a van parked on the street that I hadn’t noticed before. The words Turner’s Pool Service were written across the side of it. What a fucking cliché she was. I just kept running. I didn’t have anywhere to run to. My dad lived across town, so he was too far away. Of course that wasn’t the only reason not to go to his house. He rarely asked me to come over to spend time with him. The times he did spend with me I think were just to keep up appearances. So I decided to keep running until I got the picture of my mom and that guy out of my head or I collapsed from exhaustion, whichever came first.

I’m in my father’s office sitting across the desk from him, watching as he signs some kind of documents with one hand while palming his much younger assistant’s ass with the other. He thinks he’s doing a great job of hiding it from me. What a douche bag. I turn fifteen in a few months and mommy and daddy dearest felt that it was time I had a job. So here I am, waiting for daddy douche to impart his work philosophy to me, that is, if he can pry his hand away from the ass it’s currently glued to.

“There you go, Kristina. Thank you for bringing those in for me so quickly,” he said.

“It was my pleasure. I know how hard you’ve been working on this case and I wanted to make sure you got what you wanted and needed,” she squeaked out.

They gave each other a quickie eye fuck, causing my stomach to churn. I almost hurled every bit of food I had eaten over the entire month. My father leered at the ass as it bounced across the room and out the door. His look then shifted to a hard serious glare in my direction.

“Okay, you’ll be working here helping the staff with anything they need, sorting mail, running errands, that type of thing. You can come in Monday, Wednesday, and Friday after school.” He focused his attention on the documents in front of him.

“I have baseball practice Monday and Wednesday after school,” I said.

He glanced up. “Then you can come in after that and work for an hour or two, plus some on Saturday.” He nodded his head slightly and returned to his work.

“Have I done something wrong?” I asked.

“What do you mean, Bradley?”

“Am I being punished? Is that why you’re forcing me to work here?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize spending time with your father would be such a horrible experience.” A smug smirk appeared across his face.

“Are you suffering from Alzheimer’s, Father?” I asked sarcastically.

“Don’t be a disrespectful little prick, Bradley. I won’t tolerate it.”

“I’m not being disrespectful. I’m being serious. The past fifteen minutes that I’ve been sitting here is the most time you’ve spent with me in ten years. Now, I admit years one through five are a bit hazy, but chances are they weren’t much different,
Dad.
”

He put his pen down and closed the file that had his attention. He stared up at me with ice blue eyes. Leaning forward slightly, he placed his elbows on the desk. He was trying to keep his temper under control. Friends, colleagues, and clients all thought William Johnson was a friendly, kind, and thoughtful man and father, but he was also one of the best actors around. The real William Johnson was cold, calculating, and heartless. I wasn’t positive how a good father acted, but I knew for a fact mine didn’t act like one.

“You’re here to learn some responsibility now that you’re older. Everything has been given to you. It’s time for you to earn your keep. Take Miss Cox…” The irony of her last name and the fact that she more than likely sucked my father’s in order to get her job was not lost on me. I couldn’t help but smirk. “…she’s been working here for almost two years while putting herself through school. She’s an incredibly talented and intelligent young woman.”

“Is she going to be my new mommy?” His face began turning a deep shade of red, starting at his neck and quickly rising to the top of his head. He looked like a cartoon character getting angry. The only thing missing was smoke shooting out of his ears. With a cocky glare, I held his gaze. He would never show his true colors in public.

He took a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm himself, and said, “You know where the mailroom is. Go find Tim. He’ll tell you what he needs. I don’t want to see you for the rest of the day. Now get out of my office.” He turned his attention back to his work.

I hesitated for a few seconds. My father was a dick, has always been a dick, and will always be a dick. I knew that. I had no respect, like, or love toward this man. He was almost a stranger to me, but his coldness always hurt. I’m not sure why. It wasn’t as if it was a surprise, but it never stopped me from needing and hoping that one day he would become my dad.

Summer was one of my most favorite times of the year next to my birthday and Christmas. Living in Charleston we were surrounded by beaches, so every other summer we would spend our vacation here. We’d rent a house and stay at one of the local beaches for a week. Dad would spend most of the time fishing while my mom and I divided our time between the beach and the local shops. I loved spending time with my mom.

At ten years old a lot of my friends were trying to spend as much time as possible away from their parents, but not me. My mom had always been my best friend. She was so happy and fun. She loved to sing, dance, and bake. Whenever we were in the kitchen baking cookies, Mom would make up a song about the type of cookies we were baking and dance around singing it. There were times I laughed so hard my stomach would hurt. She was always a perfect mom. Every day before we went to the beach, she would pack a picnic lunch for us. We’d take chips and soda along with the sandwiches and brownies that we made together. We would talk about anything and everything.