#29 – Strangers

"What time is your curfew, again?" Melissa's boyfriend asked, goosing the throttle of his prized Camaro up a notch and glancing at the clock set into the dash.

Melissa stopped rummaging through her purse for long enough to give him a skeptical look. "Since when do you care?" she asked, honestly curious. She'd picked Will for a boyfriend based on one factor alone – the fact that he was willing to break rules. Not because he was handsome – he wasn't. He had greasy, scraggly hair and he rarely shaved. His breath was usually bad because he smoked a lot. His skin had a dull, blotchy appearance due to the fact that he drank day and night.

No, he wasn't the sort of guy her parents would want her to be with. But that was the point, wasn't it? Melissa had known the second she'd seen him leaning against the gas station wall that he was perfect for what she wanted. He obviously fancied himself a 21st century James Dean, with his pleather jacket and Marlboro Red hanging from the corner of his mouth. He was – or at least thought he was – a rebel. And that suited Melissa's purposes just fine.

"I don't know," he answered Melissa's question. "I don't give a shit what your dad thinks…but it might be best not to antagonize him. You know, in case I decide I actually want to finish school."

Melissa, who'd resumed her search of her purse, found what she was looking for. She stuck the joint in her mouth and waited for Will to light it for her – when he didn't, she huffed and lit it herself. "Antagonize. Big word," she teased. "Been reading the dictionary?"

"Don't be a bitch," he muttered, but she could see she'd stung him. He might have thought of himself as a bad boy, but the more Melissa got to know him, the more she realized that he was just overcompensating for incredibly low self-esteem. Too bad – he actually wasn't as dumb as he pretended to be. In a lot of ways, it would have been easier if he was dumb. After all, Melissa didn't have feelings for him, and she wanted to keep it that way. He was her boyfriend in name only. She didn't actually want a boyfriend, she wanted a puppet to use in her war against her father.

"At least crack a window," he told her as she blew pot smoke all over the car and herself. "Jesus Christ, Melissa. If we get pulled over, we're screwed."

"Don't be a bitch," she repeated his earlier statement. She wasn't paying attention to Will, wasn't even thinking about him, but if she had been, she'd have seen that she'd hurt him again. His grip tightened on the wheel and his gaze turned straight ahead. They rode in silence the rest of the way to Melissa's house, where he parked three houses down and shut off the engine.

"See you tomorrow," Melissa said, going to open her door to get out. No good night kiss for Will; she didn't kiss him unless she absolutely had to. She thought that's what he wanted when he reached across her and held her door closed. She sighed and turned her face toward him, but realized after a moment that he wasn't moving in for his kiss.

"No, you won't," he said, and he almost sounded sorry to say it. "You and me, we're done. I like you, Melissa…but you're not right. I see bad things in the road if I stay with you."

She looked at him curiously. "Are you breaking up with me?" He nodded. She tried to feel something, but couldn't. She wanted to demand a reason; she wanted to ask him if he thought he could do better. None of those things came out, though, because she simply didn't care. She couldn't even care when she tried. "All right. Bye." She opened the door, and this time he didn't stop her.

On the short walk to her front door, she realized that she was pretty drunk and very stoned. Good. Maybe this time it would be enough. She fumbled with the house key for a good thirty seconds before managing to slide it home and turn it to let herself in.

Her father was sitting on the couch in front of the TV. It was on and he was staring at it like he was watching it, but it was just some infomercial for a workout video. As Melissa stumbled across the threshold, he slowly turned his head. "Do you know what time it is, young lady?" he demanded. The words were right, the tone was right…but still, those words were somehow empty. Totally devoid of any real emotion, just like they had been for the last two years. They were like lines delivered by a skilled actor – believable, unless you knew the actor personally.

"Two thirty-five," she answered defiantly, trying to give him a level stare. Easier said than done, since she was seeing double at the moment.

"Your curfew on school nights is eleven. You know this. Yet you insist upon breaking the rules." None of this was a question, so Melissa said nothing. "You're grounded for two weeks. Go to your room."

It was obvious that was going to be the extent of it…just simple crime and punishment with no emotion. Melissa broke. "Don't you want to know where I was? Who I was with?" she shouted, starting to cry. "Don't you want to know what I was doing? Why I reek of weed? Don't you care about why I was out getting trashed on a school night, Dad?"

Chapman's expression did not change at the sight of his weeping daughter. He just gave her an icy stare and said, "Motivations do not interest me. Actions do. You broke my rules and you will serve my punishment. Go to your room, Melissa."

"Who are you?" Melissa shouted through her tear-thickened throat. "You're not my dad! You're a stranger! A complete stranger!"

Chapman's expression stayed calm, but Melissa saw a twitch beside his right eye. It was almost as if he was trying to wink at her, but that was crazy. "If you continue with this tantrum, I'm going to make it three weeks."

Melissa ran up to her room, crying. But as she threw herself onto her bed, she was feeling less upset. Something about that twitch by her father's eye…that was important. It was completely irrelevant, but somehow crucial at the same time. She didn't understand what it meant…but it was something. She had finally gotten something out of her father; even something as irrelevant as a tiny muscle spasm felt like a victory to her after two long years of nothing.