would take this.
There’s a long pause, as if he can’t believe that he laid a hand on me -- let alone that he’s done as much damage as he has. He stands up slowly and walks towards the door. My dad opens it just a crack before letting it close behind him. His face has warped back to normal from the monster that was just before me, dishing out punishments. Quietly, almost calmly, he asks, “Did you see him?”
“Who?” I hate to admit it, but in this moment, I can’t even remember why I’m here in this bathroom. My mind has gone blank. All I want to focus on is surviving my dad’s wrath.
“Don’t be stupid, Tory! You know who I’m fucking talking about. Did you see Anton Murdoch or not?”
The name is another slap as I am back to reality. Anton . This is all about Anton. Those colorful tattoos, the strong bruised hands, the bulging cock, the pursed lips…. Anton. I am here on this floor for him. But my father didn’t know that. To my surprise, this isn’t about the sin we just committed in the back room. He’s oblivious to that. This is about my defying him by even daring to sneak out to one of Anton’s parties. I can save this! I can!
I lower my voice to an almost girlish whisper, as I say sadly, “No. I-I-I don’t know where he is.” I look up at him with my watery eyes blinking at him blankly and add, “I just wanted to say sorry about what happened at lunch. I didn’t mean—”
He cuts me off as he shouts, “Shut the fuck up, Tory! You know what you were fucking doing.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I’m sorry. I thought I’d only be here for a few minutes and then go home. I didn’t think you’d be here.”
“Well, you were goddamn wrong on that one. And that will teach you to test my authority. If I so much as get a whiff that you were even on the same fucking street as Anton, I swear to Christ, you won’t be the only body on the floor. Do you hear me?”
I swallow, a jagged stream of air sticking in my throat as I nod. Grimacing, I answer nervously, “Yes, Daddy.”
There’s no more discussion between the two of us. There’s just an arm around mine that pulls me harshly up to my feet. He stands behind me and grabs my wrists, crossing and then pushing them together like a handcuff. With my arms bound, he pushes me from behind towards the bathroom door before kicking it open with his boot.
From the noise of the jukebox blasting old ‘80s rock songs and the men screaming and clinking glasses, I know that what just happened in that bathroom between Clay Walsh and his daughter isn’t even registering for any of the rest of the club, let alone April who is sitting on some guy’s lap just out of view. She doesn’t even turn to watch me be marched down the hallway and towards the back door.
As we push out into the night from the bar, I glance back over my shoulder and past my father’s hulking body towards the back room where I should be, where Anton is most likely still waiting for me. A part of me wants to twist my arms and break free to run back there, lock the doors, and hope that we could find a way out. But I know the realities of the situation. Anton and I would never be, not as long as my father and brother lived. What we just experienced together was our one moment in time when we were allowed to let this all go. And that moment would have to stay there, wanting and waiting.
I turned back around towards the parking lot now filled with motorcycles and cars. The few headlights glittered in my eyes as tears began to swell. I shake my head rapidly, pushing them away before they can fall and give me away to my father. He marches me past a line of men smoking -- all whom put out their smokes and gesture to him like the king he is. No one asks about me. I’m just one of the others.
The ride home on the back of his bike seems to me to last an eternity. We hit every stop light, which is usually not a concern for my father. But
There’s a long pause, as if he can’t believe that he laid a hand on me -- let alone that he’s done as much damage as he has. He stands up slowly and walks towards the door. My dad opens it just a crack before letting it close behind him. His face has warped back to normal from the monster that was just before me, dishing out punishments. Quietly, almost calmly, he asks, “Did you see him?”
“Who?” I hate to admit it, but in this moment, I can’t even remember why I’m here in this bathroom. My mind has gone blank. All I want to focus on is surviving my dad’s wrath.
“Don’t be stupid, Tory! You know who I’m fucking talking about. Did you see Anton Murdoch or not?”
The name is another slap as I am back to reality. Anton . This is all about Anton. Those colorful tattoos, the strong bruised hands, the bulging cock, the pursed lips…. Anton. I am here on this floor for him. But my father didn’t know that. To my surprise, this isn’t about the sin we just committed in the back room. He’s oblivious to that. This is about my defying him by even daring to sneak out to one of Anton’s parties. I can save this! I can!
I lower my voice to an almost girlish whisper, as I say sadly, “No. I-I-I don’t know where he is.” I look up at him with my watery eyes blinking at him blankly and add, “I just wanted to say sorry about what happened at lunch. I didn’t mean—”
He cuts me off as he shouts, “Shut the fuck up, Tory! You know what you were fucking doing.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I’m sorry. I thought I’d only be here for a few minutes and then go home. I didn’t think you’d be here.”
“Well, you were goddamn wrong on that one. And that will teach you to test my authority. If I so much as get a whiff that you were even on the same fucking street as Anton, I swear to Christ, you won’t be the only body on the floor. Do you hear me?”
I swallow, a jagged stream of air sticking in my throat as I nod. Grimacing, I answer nervously, “Yes, Daddy.”
There’s no more discussion between the two of us. There’s just an arm around mine that pulls me harshly up to my feet. He stands behind me and grabs my wrists, crossing and then pushing them together like a handcuff. With my arms bound, he pushes me from behind towards the bathroom door before kicking it open with his boot.
From the noise of the jukebox blasting old ‘80s rock songs and the men screaming and clinking glasses, I know that what just happened in that bathroom between Clay Walsh and his daughter isn’t even registering for any of the rest of the club, let alone April who is sitting on some guy’s lap just out of view. She doesn’t even turn to watch me be marched down the hallway and towards the back door.
As we push out into the night from the bar, I glance back over my shoulder and past my father’s hulking body towards the back room where I should be, where Anton is most likely still waiting for me. A part of me wants to twist my arms and break free to run back there, lock the doors, and hope that we could find a way out. But I know the realities of the situation. Anton and I would never be, not as long as my father and brother lived. What we just experienced together was our one moment in time when we were allowed to let this all go. And that moment would have to stay there, wanting and waiting.
I turned back around towards the parking lot now filled with motorcycles and cars. The few headlights glittered in my eyes as tears began to swell. I shake my head rapidly, pushing them away before they can fall and give me away to my father. He marches me past a line of men smoking -- all whom put out their smokes and gesture to him like the king he is. No one asks about me. I’m just one of the others.
The ride home on the back of his bike seems to me to last an eternity. We hit every stop light, which is usually not a concern for my father. But
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