CHAPTER 8
~MARI~
I slumped against my bedroom door, tossing my book bag on the floor. Thoughts of Trystan filled my mind in an endless wave. It wasn’t fair. Why’d he have to show up with a girl on his arm? He didn’t seem like he was that into her, but when Katie and I left, the girl was going all vampy on his neck and he didn’t seem to mind. Actually, he seemed comfortable with it. If I ever did anything like that in a diner, I’d die of embarrassment. The concept of a public-display-of-affection was foreign to me. I wanted my private life private, so what Trystan was doing with that girl, in front of everyone, made me feel sick.
That would never be me.
Before I had time to think another thought, someone pounded on my door. Pressing my eyes closed, I peeled my back off the door and opened it. Dad was home. That was his knock. I braced for whatever scolding I was about to receive. Pulling the door open, I said, “Hey, Dad. Home from work?”
“Yes,” he said in a clipped tone, pushing past me into my room. He had that look on his face, the one that said I didn’t measure-up, the one that made me feel like a failure. “You’re progress report showed up today. Would you like to tell me anything before we discuss it?” Dad had the piece of paper in his hand. The school sent weekly progress reports via email to psycho-parents, like mine, who demanded them. That was one of the changes my Mom made while she sat on the school board. Dad thought it was a great idea, while I found it to be less than stellar.
Dad’s dark hair was silvering at the temples. Wrinkles sprouted from the corners of his eyes making him appear older than he was. Dad had seen too much, first in the military, and then in the hospital. To him, getting good grades was a life or death thing.
I pressed my shoe to the floor, staring at the black toe. I’d loved these shoes when I’d gotten them. They were so cute, but now they seemed frivolous. Dad probably thought so, too. I shook my head, “No, sir. There’s nothing to tell.”
“It says here that you received detention this week? Mari, we’ve talked about this. You cannot have such childish things on your permanent record. College is next year. It’s not three years away. It’s only one year away, and you can bet they’ll look at this year and see this blemish.” He became more stressed as he spoke, slapping the paper into his fist. When I didn’t look up at him, he snapped, “You’re destroying your future, Mari. It’s not something that can be undone.”
My mind broke. Maybe it was Trystan, I don’t know, but I couldn’t take the emotional berating he was giving me. The guilt he dumped on me sank into my stomach and sat like soured milk. It curdled and I spewed verbal vomit at him, ranting like a lunatic, “It’s one detention, Dad! Out of how many days of school? Like seven hundred and twenty! One day doesn’t matter! They won’t even look at it.”
Dad laughed, but the sound was angry, “Young lady, so help me, I’m going to get through to you.” He leaned close to my face, speaking deliberately slow, like I was too stupid to fathom what he was saying, “Everything you do, from now until graduation, matters—every grade, every test, every day—all of it. It’s recorded and they’ll see it. If you just blew your shot at Yale, so help me God, I will—”
“What? What will you do?” Tears streamed from my eyes. I couldn’t hold them back anymore. “I made a mistake. It wasn’t even something I did. Mom knew about it and she didn’t do this to me.”
“Because your mother doesn’t know! Did she go to Yale? Did she attend an Ivy League school and have her parent’s pay for medical school?”
“No,” I said softly.
He was still up in my face. “That’s right. I did. I know what they expect and this little stunt might have just cost you everything.” He sighed and shook his head, like he knew everything and I knew nothing. Closing his eyes he inhaled hard and let it rush back out. “I only want what’s best for you, Mari.”
I stared at him. I wanted to believe him, but I didn’t. I felt like a trophy child, someone he had around to show off. It felt like it was more important that his daughter was smart, that his daughter was perfect—but, I was his daughter and I was neither of those things. I worked hard to get my grades, and I tried so hard to meet his expectations, but I failed. Over and over again, I fell short. I didn’t measure up. That feeling never faded. It’s there every day when I got a test back.
School was not for learning, not to Dad. School was to demonstrate how smart I already was, but I wasn’t. And I wasn’t him—he just didn’t see it.
I nodded, “I know, Dad.” There was nothing else to say. He couldn’t see me. It’s like I was nothing more than that paper he held in his hands. That one blemish blinded him to all the A’s. I knew it was coming. I knew he’d react this way. He always did, but today I couldn’t just nod and take it. Tears streaked my face, and I knew he saw that as a sign of weakness.
He lifted my chin in his hand, and looked me in the eye, “Only the cream rises to the top, Mari. You’re mother and I know you’re cream. Don’t disappoint us again.” His grip felt cold and distant, his gaze was even more so. I swallowed hard and nodded. He released me and said, “Get in a little studying before bed.” With that, he turned on his heel and left.
Every inch of me wanted to scream, but I couldn’t. They couldn’t know how trapped they made me feel, how smothered I was. I pushed the door shut and went to the computer not thinking about what I was doing. Before I knew it, I was on the Day Jones page and clicking play on his song, letting Trystan’s voice fill my head. I laid down on my bed, clutching the pillow, crying into it, as the song played softly and drowned out my sobs.
There were so many things that I wanted to say to my parents, but I couldn’t. They both worked non-stop trying to give me everything they never had. They acted like I was an adult with some things and a child with other things. I just wished they’d see Mari, their daughter. I wished they saw how much I liked art and how much I didn’t want to dedicate my life to something I wasn’t passionate about. It left me, their only child, alone. From the time I turned twelve, I’d spent more days alone than with them. Last year, their work schedules lined up and they were pleased. It meant they’d get more time together, but it also meant I saw them less. They worked four days on, three days off. For the days they were gone, I was on my own, and they were proud they had such a self-sufficient child.
Tears chilled my face, as they sank into my pillow. I couldn’t stand it anymore. For once, I wished I wasn’t me, that I didn’t feel the way I felt about everything. I wished I could just hook up with a random guy and not hand over a piece of my heart. It would help me forget the things that I tried so hard not to remember. No matter what happened, in a year, I knew if I didn’t fight for my life, I’d be stuck on this path forever, living the life my father wanted—not the one I wanted.
Pushing off the bed, I looked at the screen. More comments, more pleas for Day to play another song, reveal his name, post a pic, anything—and they all went unanswered.
Emotional insanity compelled me to do it. Staring at the screen, I typed in one word at a time. I watched as my fingers wrote something I would never say, something I never tried before. I wanted to know if it helped take away the sting, if that was why he did it.
WHAT DOES IT FEEL LIKE TO SLEEP WITH SOMEONE YOU DON’T LOVE?
My hands hovered over the keyboard. I hesitated to post it. Trystan would know it was me. There was no way he wouldn’t, and since he didn’t answer anyone, what was the point? But I wanted to know. Maybe his way of dealing with life was better. Maybe a random hookup didn’t leave everyone feeling hollow inside. Maybe that was just me and I could get over it.
My pointer finger smacked the enter button hard. The key clicked and the message posted.