Unsocial (17 page)

As
I’m heading out for week number two of avoiding the Monroes, Paige approaches,
“Brooke, how are things going?”

“Okay.”

She
smiles, “You are full of shit.”

“Okay,
not great, but it’s the job right?”

She
nods, “Yep.  You know, if something ever is bothering you then you can come to
me.  I know you’ve been thrown into the deep end, but we have plenty of life
preservers.”  Oh, shit.  I have to laugh at that.  I don’t mean to be rude, but
seriously.  “Yeah, that kind of sounded stupid.”

“No,
no.  I swear I didn’t mean to laugh.  But thanks, I needed that.”

“Anytime. 
So, I guess you’re heading for your home visit.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Thanks,
Paige.”

When
I arrive at Dylan’s I get no greeting.  It’s another direct hit to my heart
that no one even meets me at the door.  Luke answers when I ring the bell and
just tells me to follow him, then leads me to the dining room where once again
everybody is in their seats.  Dylan’s flipping through a racing magazine and
doesn’t acknowledge me. 
Why does his indifference hurt?
  And not just
from him, but from them all.  It was never this bad when we met the first time.

“Hey,
guys.” I remain standing in the door, not sure anymore if I should even sit
down.  I’m a stranger in this house that I’ve cooked meals in, helped with
homework in, laughed in; and now I’m not even getting a ‘Hello, Brooke.”

“Are
you gonna sit down?” He doesn’t look up from his damn magazine.

“Oh,
yeah.  Look, I won’t take up much of your time.  In fact, if you don’t have
anything urgent, I can let you guys get to your…..”

“What’s
going on, Brooke?”  I look at Michael’s sad face.  “Why don’t you want to be
around us anymore?”

“Michael,
Of course, I want to be…..” Shit. How do I explain this without going into
everything?

“I’m
sorry; I’ve had a lot going on lately.  I promise things will get back to
normal with
all
of you.”  I need to find a way to make peace and find a
balance between being a professional and not being a cold bitch. These kids
still need me; I still need them all to trust me and open up to me.

My
apology, however brief, seemed to semi work, for the next hour we discuss
what’s been happening.  It appears Cassie has fallen under the Brent spell, and
Dylan hates it.  Luke runs down to his room to show me designs and colors to
have his car painted, of course by Dylan’s shop.  Michael’s been asked to be in
the spelling bee at school and shows me a list of words which most of them I
had never heard before.  At some point during the visit, Gabby has sidled up to
me and is standing with her head lying on my arm.  I don’t dare mention it. I
kiss the top of her head and just revel in it.

Finally,
I get up to leave, and Luke walks with me to the door.  And just like that the
hurt I thought was healing in this last hour is settling back in, though really
it shouldn’t.  I can’t have things both ways, and I know this.  I can’t have
him want me, and there be no hope of anything being able to happen.  I can’t
want him back only to deny us both.  I can’t keep wishing for something that
can never be.

Dylan

“Dylan,
man, what’s it going to take to get you to come out with us?  The guys keep asking;
you keep promising, but you never follow the fuck through.”

I
let out a frustrated sigh hoping he’ll get the hint.  Obviously, this
motherfucker isn’t about to give up until I give him something.  The fact is
I’m running out of excuses why I can’t go because I won’t tell him the truth; I
don’t want to go.  “Jax, if I promise to find time to drink with you guys soon,
would you please get the hell out of my office.  I’ve got to meet a guy to take
a look at his car for estimates, and I’m trying to get as much research out of
the way as I can.  So, okay, I’ll go out with you soon.”

“Okay,
asshole, it’s pretty fucking obvious you need a night out.  What the hell is
wrong with you?  These last few weeks you’ve been all fucked up.”  He eyes me
while I try to formulate an excuse for my general pissed-off-ness.  “Goddammit,
man.  Is this about the social worker?”

“No. 
That went nowhere for obvious reasons.  It’s about my life now, Jackson.  My
career, my family, my responsibilities.  I have no idea what the fuck downtime
is anymore.”

Gabby’s
therapy sessions have been moved to twice a week now since her psychologist
feels that we’re so close to a breakthrough.  I’m happy she’s been making such
tremendous progress, and I don’t mind doing whatever it takes to get her back
to being a happy little girl.

It’s
everything else in my life that’s gone fucking haywire.  Luke has reverted to
his dickhead attitude towards life, and I’m back to wanting to kick his
disrespectful ass.  He’s been MVP in the last three football games, and obviously,
his shit doesn’t stink.  Curfew means nothing, or he can’t tell time, but the
little fuck refuses to be home when I tell him.

Luckily
I have one sibling who doesn’t want to kill me, and that’s Michael.  Unfortunately,
he can’t keep everyone else in my life from doing me in.  Jax tries, and he’s
good at helping out, but he’s made friends who have a lot less going on than I
have, like four kids at home.  Now he’s hanging out at clubs more than he’s
hanging with us anymore.  Part of me envies the hell out of him.  I simply
don’t have the luxury of drinking my way into beds across the city anymore, and
the last time ---well, you saw how that worked out for me.

My
biggest headache on the home front, of course, is Cassie.  I would give one
million dollars of my hard earned fortune to off her damn boyfriend.  Now I’m
missing the days when boys were something she dreamed about.  They’ve been on a
few more dates, and so far he’s been respectful enough to have her in by
curfew. I’m still not impressed.

She
wants him to stay for dinner so I can get to know him better, but I’m not
interested in that little shit, besides it’s too fucking soon the way I look at
it.  The one and only time I nearly lost my damn mind was when I said he could
drive her home when I had to work late one evening, and they thought it would
be okay to do ‘homework’ in her bedroom.  You can bet your ass I’m the one
driving her home now.

I
had become so used to asking for advice or help from Brooke and all of this
shit is starting to wear on my last fucking nerve.  This white noise between us
is killing me, not that I would, or even could, say or do a damn thing about
it.

The
first few times Jackson asked me to go out with him, and I told him ‘no,' he
thought it had something to do with Brooke.  It did, but I denied it, just like
I did the times after, but she’s put the walls back in place, and I can’t break
through them.  So that has me thinking that maybe I should go out with Jax and
the guys from the shop.

Refusing
to answer my texts and voicemails hurt until they just pissed me off.  Now I’m
just frustrated as hell.  I miss her.  The kids miss her.  Since I fucked up
with the skank from the bar, Brooke has managed to keep her distance.  She’s so
fucking polite now when she comes over.  For a moment, I felt like I had her,
or almost had her, right where I wanted her.  Now she’s retreated, and that’s
what’s frustrating the hell out of me.  She’s so close and still so far out of
reach.

I
still fucking want her, that hasn’t gone away.  She’s on my mind most of the
time; wondering what she’s doing, how she’s doing, does she miss the kids or me. 
But that’s all I can do is want.  Being together isn’t going to happen, and eventually,
I’ll have to give up the idea.  It’s unfortunate that we’ve still got months to
tiptoe around each other, both of us denying what we can’t do.  If there’s one
thing I’m certain of, I’m not alone in this.  I still catch her looks, and I
see how sad she is now.  I had her right there ready to step forward, and then
it went to hell.

I
look up from the book I’ve been reading on ’67 Plymouth Roadrunners.  I want to
be prepared when I meet my potential client at 11.  Jackson is still looking at
me like he wants to say something more on the Brooke subject, and I don’t have
the patience to keep the discussion going.  “Are we good here?” I ask him.

He
just nods, and I know he’ll drop it for now.  “So what are you going out to
look at?”  And just like that, we’re good.  Cars we can talk about all day,
feelings not so much.

“A
Roadrunner.  The guy wants to fix it up and sell it.  I think I might buy it if
he does.”

“Since
when do you do Plymouths?”

Since
Brooke said that it was her dream car.
“It’s not for me.”

He
looks at me curiously. “Is it for Luke?”

“Nope,
it’s just something I want to do.  Now get out of here so I can finish this
up.”

He
gives me a curious look and heads for the door.  Thank Christ, because I’m
really tired of trying to pretend that Brooke is a closed subject for me.  I
just keep it open in my mind, no matter how pissed or frustrated thinking about
her gets me.

Yesterday’s
home visit still has me on the edge of mad.  After she had hurried through a
quick question-and-answer session with the kids, she was ready to leave, which
has been the norm for the last few weeks, but what got me is the way she blew
Cassie off when Cassie had asked if they could talk in her room.  Of course,
Brooke had ‘somewhere’ she needed to be, and I saw how it hurt Cassie. I may
have been the one to fuck things up with Brooke, but she doesn’t have to take
it out on the kids.

I
look through a few more chapters and then grab my notepad and pen for the
meeting.  I have about 30 minutes to get where I need to be.  I notice on my
phone two missed calls from Cassie and one from her school and decide I need to
check these before I head out.  I shoot Cassie a text:

Me: 
What’s up?

Cassie: 
Nothing.  Everything’s fine now.

Me: 
What happened?

Cassie:
 Got sick @ school.  Luke brought me home.

Me: 
Are you alright?

Cassie: 
Fine, girl stuff.

Shit,
I’m not discussing this with my little sister, or any woman for that matter.

Me: 
Enough said.  See you tonight.

I
leave my new the new client’s place with quite satisfied with the outcome.  In
the end, I convinced him just to sell me the car.  But I was happy to see he
had several others he’s going to have our shop fix.  Being able to buy the
‘Runner from him just put money in his pocket to fix up one of the others he
wants to get done.

This
way I can put all the details that I want into it.  And to be straight-up
honest, I’m hoping that telling Brooke about it will lead us back to anyplace
but where we’re at now, and I know that makes me sound like a desperate bitch,
but fuck it.

On
my way back to the office I decide to take a detour to check on Cassie, not
that I would know what to do for her, but at least, I’ll see if she needs
anything.  The living room and kitchen are empty, so I head for the stairs
figuring she’s resting.  Reaching the bottom step, the hair on the back of my
neck stands up.  I hear a voice, it’s deep and doesn’t sound like my sister. 
Somebody is going to die, right now, and his name is probably, Brent. I don’t
even knock, because what the fuck is the point. I swear Drowning Pool is in
concert in the background because
Let the Bodies Hit the Floor
is on
repeat.

And
there they are.  That motherfucker is lying on top of my sister, under the
goddamn covers, and there are a fucking lot of clothes scattered on the floor. 
He had better move fast, and that means faster than me.  They don’t even know
I’m in here. Time to engage, “Get. The fuck. Off. My sister! And then get the
fuck out of my goddamn house, and while you’re moving pretend there’s a gun
pointed at your fucking pathetic dick.” I look at the bedside table and notice
a condom along with his keys.  What’s left of my sanity is about to become a
distant past, and this piece of shit isn’t moving fast enough, until Cassie
screams.  That lights the fire under his ass.

He
makes a grab for his clothes, and I kick them away. He looks up at me, and then
back to Cassie.  “Don’t even fucking look at her.  Grab your keys and start
moving.”

“Dylan,
he needs his clothes.” Cassie finally finds her words, and unfortunately, I’m
not in the frame of mind right now to give a shit what’s she saying.

“The
fucker didn’t think he needed them five seconds ago, so I’m just helping him
out.”  I turn to where he’s still standing. “Why the fuck are you still in my
house? Move! Now!”  He finally grabs his keys and moves.

“Oh
my God, Dylan.  Please…” Cassie’s crying and begging, but it’s getting her
nowhere. 

I
glare over at her, “I don’t want to hear a goddamn thing out of your mouth
right now, Cassie, or so help me God I’m not going to be responsible.”

I
turn toward the retreating figure, “As for you, don’t ever let me hear of you
sniffing around her again, think of me right now as being,
nice
!” Then
thankfully he’s gone, and not a minute too soon.

“Why
did you do that,” Cassie yells at me.

“Stop
right now, little girl.  You don’t want to go there with me.” I yell back. 
Somewhere in the far recesses of my mind I know this situation skidded out of
the control a long time ago, and it’s heading closer to the edge of no return
the longer I stand here.  I see nothing but red, and I need to do anything but
stand here.  “Give me your phone,” I demand.

“Why,”
she sniffles but passes it to me. 

I
glare at her and finally ask, “Why, Cass. What possibly made you be this
fucking stupid and, and….” I gesture at the bed angrily, “do this?”

She
sobs out, “I don’t know, I don’t understand what I feel when I’m with him. 
When we start kissing I just start getting,” she breaks off and takes a deep
breath, “I tried to ask Brooke last night, but she couldn’t stay.  I just
wanted to ask her about what’s happening to me.” She drops her head in her
hands and continues crying.

And
there it is, that push to the other side where I’ve lost rational
thought….Brooke.

“Do
not leave this house or answer the door for anyone, and I mean it Cassandra
Jane.  I’ll be back.”  I scoop the shithead’s clothes off the floor and head
out of the house after shooting a text off to Luke:

Dylan: 
Home right after school.  No practice. Don’t even think about not obeying me.

Luke: 
WTF?

Dylan: 
DO IT!

I
get in my truck, wake up
his
phone looking for his home number before
hitting send.  His mother answers.  “Hello?”

“I
need your address; I have your son’s phone.”  I think the anger in my voice
scares her.

“Who
is this?” she asks.

“Dylan
Monroe.  Your son has been dating my sister.”

“Oh,
of course, sorry.”  She rattles off the address, and I aim my truck there.  I don’t
have a clue what I’m going to say when I get there and it’s probably not going
to be anything good, but he’s not getting out of this.

When
I get there, I take a quick second to gain an ounce of control, and it’s
precisely that, about an ounce.  Nothing promising is coming out of this
encounter.  I ring the door, and a man answers, and it’s too bad he looks just
like his son.  I end up losing that ounce, quick.  I shove his son’s clothes in
his hands, “These belong to your kid.”

He
gives me a questioning look, “What are you doing with Brent’s clothes?” We both
turn when a car door slams behind, and watch a very pissed off a teenager, in nothing,
but the striped boxers he left my sister’s bedroom wearing, walk our way.

“What
are you doing at my house,” he directs at me angrily.

Now
the little shit wants to grow some balls.  And that’s fine by me.

“I
brought you the clothes you left lying in my sister’s bedroom; you do remember
that don’t you,
Brent?”
I don’t touch him, but I do get right up in his
face. The little shit retreats behind his father.  I smirk evilly and eyeball
him.

“What
the hell is going on here, Brent?” His father asks.