CHAPTER NINE: Milwaukee
Four
Mid-September
"How has your family background impacted the way you see the world?" It's the first of three essay questions I must complete for this study abroad scholarship I'm applying for. I have been staring at the blank page for fifteen minutes, my mind blank. I don't have much positive to say about my 'family background', and while there is plenty of negative to choose from, I don't want to write about any of it. I guess I can find some way to spin my mother's death into something that prompted character growth or whatever. It makes me feel a little sick to think of using the loss of my mother to my financial advantage like this, but I'm certainly not going to write about Marcus.
I start to put pen to paper, still not sure where to start, when I'm saved by a knock at the door. I am not usually one to procrastinate, but this time, I'm happy to. When I open the door, Christina invites herself in, brushing past me.
"Hey, babe," she smiles as she sits down on a barstool at the kitchen counter. "Have time for an early dinner before I go to work?"
"A quick one," I agree. "I'm going to Milwaukee for the weekend, remember?"
She frowns. "Oh yeah, I forgot." She looks me up and down, and that frown doesn't go away. "You're not wearing that, are you?"
I look down at my clothes. I'm not sure what's bothering her; I'm just wearing black basketball shorts and a t-shirt, along with some running shoes. It's all clean, doesn't have any stains or look worn out, why is this a problem? It's just the dining hall! "Uh… yes, Christina, this is in fact what I am planning to wear. It's just the dining hall, can you chill out please?!" She's getting on my nerves. I get tired of how focused she is on her 'image'. As much as I didn't like Eric putting my girl down, if I'm being honest, he hit the nail on the head when he referred to her as high-maintenance.
Her eyes land on the application I was working on and her frown deepens as she looks it over. "What the hell is this?" she hisses.
What is she going on about now? "It's a scholarship application… is that not clear from the page's heading?" I say slowly.
Christina rolls her eyes. "Of course it is. It says it's for a study abroad program. You've already got it half filled out! What happened to our plan of staying in Chicago?!"
"Calm down, Chris, I-"
"Don't tell me to calm down, Four! How can you plan on just leaving me behind like this?! For what is it- a whole year?! You know I can't go- I have that internship all lined up, here in Chicago, like we talked about, and it's perfect!" Her cheeks are red and her fists are clenched. If a look could kill you, I'd be dead right now.
It's true that we talked about both staying in Chicago, but this opportunity hadn't come up at the time, and I really want it. My mother was from London; I have family there who I have never met, people who could tell me more about her. I was only nine years old when she died. "I have a lot of reasons for wanting this, Christina, and it's an amazing opportunity. I probably won't even get it, but can't you just be supportive of me?!" My voice is rising, I am almost yelling. "Fuck, Chris, can it not always be all about you? Sometimes it gets a little old playing the supporting actor on the goddamn Christina Show!"
"Fuck you, Four!" she spits, slinging her purse over her shoulder. "Forget that dinner and go on home to your daddy. I don't want to see your face any more this weekend anyway!" Her footsteps are heavy and loud on her way to the door, and when it slams behind her, my only regret is that I didn't get the satisfaction of kicking her out and slamming the door myself.
For the first hour of the drive, I was too irritated with Christina to really be bothered by my claustrophobia- usually anytime I'm in the car more than twenty or thirty minutes, I start to feel suffocated by the enclosed space. I decide to stop and hang out at Starbucks for a while when I'm about thirty minutes away from Marcus's house- it's never really felt like home to me, not since my mom died, at least. I need to stretch my legs, but I also want to put off seeing Marcus for as long as I can.
I play around with my phone as I sip my drink and pick at my coffee cake. I smile when a text from Tris pops up. Ms. Stout's makeup is even scarier when she goes out on a date. I may have nightmares. She has attached a picture of our English Lit instructor and some guy sitting on a loveseat at Tori's cafe, and even discretely taken from some distance, I can't miss just how thick the jet black eyeliner is, and how severe the overdone blush and crimson lipstick are against Ms. Stout's pale skin. I let out a laugh, and people at the next table turn to look at me.
You just made me laugh so loud that half of the customers in this Starbucks turned to look at me, I respond.
She quickly texts back. Starbucks?! I feel betrayed. I don't go out for coffee often, but when I do, I usually get it from Tris on my way into work.
Unless you can somehow teleport the cafe to Milwaukee, this is the option I'm stuck with today. She responds to me one last time, telling me she can forgive me just this once and to have a great weekend. Great. Yeah, right. Not with Marcus around.
I can postpone my drive to my father's house a little longer. I decide to kill some time by checking my rather neglected social media sites. I have a facebook page, but I rarely ever open the app- in fact, I am greeted by over ninety notifications. I ignore them and scroll down my newsfeed.
I don't get far before I come across some photos that make my eyes widen. Posted just minutes ago are selfies of my girlfriend in a skirt that barely covers her ass and a halter top that shows enough cleavage that it leaves very little to the imagination. Not only that, she is squeezing her boobs together with her arms and the photos already have dozens of "likes"... nearly all from guys.
I can feel my own pulse in my temples and I clench my jaw. I don't easily get jealous, and I wouldn't say that's quite what I am feeling right now, either. No, that isn't what this anger is about. It's just so disrespectful to me, her boyfriend, that she is showing her body off like that to all these random guys on her friends list! It's like she's trying to get the attention of every guy but me- she knows I rarely look at facebook, so this certainly was not for my benefit. And now, tapping her profile and then looking through her photos, it seems that it isn't the first time she's posted photos like this. There are dozens of comments from guys, most of which Christina has 'liked', comments that a girl with a boyfriend should not be encouraging. Besides that… I doubt she is dressed like that and just staying in. Who is she trying to impress? I'm not even in the same state!
I don't even stop and think before I'm dialing her number.
"Hello, asshole," Christina's voice jeers. "I hope you're calling to apologize."
I think my already high blood pressure just doubled. "Apologize?! I have nothing to apologize for. If you mean earlier today, perhaps you should apologize for being too self-centered to support something I really want. But that isn't why I called." I hear her huff into the phone's microphone.
"I'm calling," I growl, "to find out why the fuck you're posting photos like the ones I just saw on facebook for a hundred random guys who are not your boyfriend to look at, huh? You look like a slut! I'm sure you're going out to the club like that, too." I pause for a minute, but she seems to have been rendered speechless. "That's so damn disrespectful, Chris! What the fuck?!"
"You don't get to tell me what to do, Four," she hisses. "I like to look good. You don't seem to mind that any when you are with me."
"Yeah, well, I'm not with you tonight. You know what, Chris?" I retort. "I'm going to take the weekend to think about the future of our relationship. I'm done talking to you about it now. I don't need more of your bullshit before I see Marcus. Don't call me. I'll talk to you Monday." I hang up without waiting for her to respond, silence my phone, and shove my empty cup and such into a trash can as I stalk out of the coffee shop and back to my truck.
Back on the familiar streets of Milwaukee, I drive to Marcus's house as if on autopilot, brooding over Christina the whole time. Do I even want to be in a relationship with her any more? I asked her out in the first place not so much because we had anything in common- we don't- but mostly because everyone else had paired off, she was constantly trying to flirt with me, and it just seemed like I should give her a chance. Since then, it's always just been easier to not rock the boat.
But maybe I should stop going with what seems easier. Christina is clingy, self-centered and a little stuck up at times, and we have nothing in common. But I need to be rational about this.
I need to calm down and think about this again in a few days, I think as I grab my backpack and walk up the front steps. When I'm so mad at her is not the best time to make a big decision.
I head into the kitchen and fill a glass with water. As I drink it, I glance at my phone and see a text message from Chris. Against my better judgment, I open the message. You said not to call you so I'm texting instead. That's allowed, right? I just wanted to say, sorry about the photos. I forgot how stiff and insecure you can be.
"Fuck you," I mutter under my breath as I turn off the screen.
"I thought you said you wouldn't forget the rules, son," the voice of my nightmares hisses from behind me. I feel my whole body stiffen. I'm just glad I didn't drop the drinking glass. "If you can't remember them at home, I doubt you do when you're away. Did you forget that I have friends at your university?"
"I'm sorry, sir," I quickly apologize. He can usually sense it when I am lying, no point trying to make something up. "I didn't forget. I just… was angry with someone and thought I was alone."
"You are on thin ice, Tobias," he warns, narrowing his eyes at me. I swallow hard, past the lump in my throat. "Now, go cut the grass before it gets too dark." He stalks away without another word.
Marcus kept me busy last night and all of this morning- he must have saved up all the repairs, yard work and chores for my visit. It's early in the afternoon now; I just finished trimming the hedges.
I wipe my feet on the mat over and over, finally deciding to just take my shoes off on the porch and leave them there for now, before I enter the house. Marcus will be looking for any reason to get angry with me, because when doesn't he? So I must be sure to avoid tracking grass clippings and dirt onto his floor.
"Tobias!" Marcus bellows. Hesitantly, I follow his voice to the living room. The walls are gray, the wood floors, a dull brown. The room is plain: a couch, an armchair, a television. Marcus does not bother with decorations.
"Yes sir," I mumble, standing near the TV.
"Sit down," he commands. He is in sitting in the armchair; I sit cautiously on the couch, in the middle so I am not too near him but not so far away that it's obvious, perched on the edge so I can get up quickly if I need to. I recall that my mother had the same habit.
"One of my associates confirmed that you have stayed in all the classes that we discussed this past summer." I gulp. I wasn't sure before that he wasn't just lying about knowing people at the college, trying to sound more important than he is. That's something he would do. "How are your marks so far?"
"Uh, well, there have only been two weeks so far…" I stammer. "I only have had one test, and that was yesterday, so I don't have the grade on it yet. Otherwise, I have kept up with all my work and turned everything in early or on time."
Marcus nods, his face looks stern and serious. "You know I expect to see perfect marks at the end of the semester, perfect attendance-"
"-and that I only take the classes you approve. Yessir" I keep my eyes focused on a fixed point behind him. It helps to curb the anxiety that rises in me when I am around him.
"And have you been to any parties, drunk any alcohol?" he probes.
I have to lie, and pray that he can't tell. "No, sir." He narrows his eyes at me and I keep my face expressionless, and stop myself from wiping my sweaty palms on my shorts. When he moves on, apparently convinced of my honesty, and goes over the other rules. Marcus has rules for just about everything, too many rules to really ever be successful at following, but somehow I manage to make it through his interrogation without incurring his wrath.
We discuss my career path: he wants me to study law and eventually go into politics. I hate speaking in front of people, I hate having all the attention on me, so being a politician sounds like a nightmare. I'm not about to tell him that, though. The pre-law and criminal justice majors have very similar course requirements; I can get most of it in while still leaving myself either option.
Coward, a little voice in my head sneers. Letting your father run your whole life. Pathetic.
And then he moves on to my social life. More specifically, my love life.
"I hope you have dumped that mouthy tramp you've been seeing. I'm sure you have met more appropriate young ladies you could court at the University." Every time Marcus refers to Christina this way, white hot rage courses through my veins and I can hear my heartbeat in my ears. I clench my fists at my sides and grit my teeth.
"Why would I do that?" I retort.
Marcus chuckles. "I'm sure she's a real wildcat in the sack, but to look at her I'd guess you're not the only one who is enjoying her." I scowl at him. "I would be surprised if you were enough man for a tart like her."
"I'll date who I want for as long as I want to," I inform him in a low voice. He thinks he can tell me who to date? He controls enough of my life. "She is beautiful, fun, smart, friendly, and loyal."
Marcus scoffs. "She's an embarrassment."
"Don't talk about her," I growl, knowing I need to keep myself in check but seeming totally unable to rein myself in. I have to get out of here. "I'm going to take a shower," I mumble and rise from the couch, passing him on my way to the door.
Or, I would pass him, but he grabs my wrist tightly.
"I didn't dismiss you, boy," he sneers. His eyes remind me of the black pits I see them as in my nightmares, and I can hardly hear him over my heart pounding in my ears. "You used foul language yesterday, you lied to me earlier about drinking-" I thought he believed me. Shit! "-and now you are disrespecting me in my home."
His hands collide with my chest. I stumble back into the wall. Then he draws his hand back by his face to hit me, and I say, my throat tight with fear, "Your work party tonight, Dad!"
He pauses with his hand raised and I cower, shrinking back against the corner desk, my eyes blurry. He usually tries not to bruise my face, and if he does, he certainly cannot bring me to this work function- an event he has probably already told his colleagues to expect to see me at.
He lowers his hand, and for a second I think the violence is over. I should know better. He unbuckles his belt, and I turn around, pulling off my shirt. There's no use trying to resist this, it will only feed his anger. So, like the coward I am- as if I were still the little nine-year-old boy I was when I lost my mother- I turn around with a shudder, and I clutch the edge of the desk hard with both hands. He will hit me with that belt again and again, and the stripes he carves into my back will be easily hidden by a shirt and an obedient expression.
I am not coming back here after this event tonight, I resolve. I will deal with the added pain of a fresh beating during my two hour drive back to Chicago, and I will go back to my dorm tonight. Then tomorrow, I will make things right with Christina. I will do what I must to work things out with her, I'll forgive everything, and I will hope that she does, too. I guess I can thank Marcus for one thing: his insults reminded me of all the things I do like about my girlfriend, and I won't give up that easily.
