Pretty Boy D by Rachel Jonas

2

Joss

Just an hour ago, the sun was setting in a clear sky, but as if acting as an omen of what’s to come, a storm has blown in out of nowhere.

The house is quiet when I enter, aside from rain pelting the windows and an occasional rumble of thunder. The only light I see while passing through comes from Dad’s office, so I head in that direction.

My steps echo through the hallway as I cross the tile. Now, there are voices—Mom’s and Dad’s—and it sounds like they’re arguing. It’s only the tone of the conversation that gives them away, not their volume. They’re far too dignified for screaming and yelling, or anything else that might suggest there’s any level of passion between them. Actually, the only time I’ve ever witnessed either show some measure of raw emotion directed at the other was when news of my father’s affair first came to light. But now, since my mother seems resolved to just move forward like nothing’s happened, it’s been eerily quiet here.

Too quiet.

I step into the doorway and they both fall silent, which either means I was the topic of discussion, or they’re hiding something. Whatever the case, I can’t help but wish I was back at Dane’s loft with him and the others, laughing and eating pizza while we hang out. Instead, I’m heading into my father’s study, staring as his dark skin creases right in the center of his forehead when he scowls.

What the hell did I do this time?

Mom’s gaze slips to the floor where she’s seated on the opposite side of his desk. Meanwhile, my father’s expression grows even more disapproving as he looks me over.

“Where have you been all day?”

The question feels loaded, because I’m almost positive he knows I was with the triplets and Blue. If not because those are the four I’m always with, Pandora’s posts don’t leave much to the imagination.

Which he should know all about.

“I was helping a friend move.”

“A friend,” he scoffs. “You were with him again, weren’t you?”

The inflection in his words is always sharper when he’s angry, due in part to his thick accent. But it’s also sharper when he mentions Dane, having decided he’s nothing more than a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

I don’t answer and his expression darkens even more, likely because he believes I’ve spent at least some portion of my day in Dane’s bed. According to him, there’s no way a girl and guy can maintain a platonic friendship as long as Dane and I have, therefore we must be sleeping together.

It’s narrowminded and it’s utter bullshit. Not everyone lacks self-control. Not everyone is like him.

Trying to reign in this sudden spike of anger, I glance down at my finger, at the silver ring I was given by him on my thirteenth birthday. It implies a vow that I’ll remain a virgin until marriage, pure. I once believed it meant he saw something valuable in me, something worth protecting. My innocence maybe, or perhaps my heart.

But as I’ve grown, this gift has evolved into much, much more than that.

At times, it’s felt more like a ball and chain than a ring. I’ve come to see it as a means of maintaining control over me from a distance, a means of triggering immense guilt simply at the idea of letting someone get close. In short, it’s been my father’s way of tormenting me even when he’s not present to do it himself.

While I made the promise he asked me to, it’s become clear that giving him my word meant nothing.

Which begs the question; why the hell do I even bother wearing the damn thing?

If he knew me at all, he’d know I’ve never been in Dane’s bed or anyone else’s for that matter.

“I’ve told you time and time again, he’s only after one thing and you’re too stupid to see it,” he rants. “And look at yourself! You’re a mess!”

His eyes narrow, staring only at my hair. He despises the look of it in its natural state—dark ringlets that just sort of do their own thing if I don’t fuss with them. Like this morning, when I just gathered them on top of my head, leaving out my bangs and a few curls in the back. Seemed fitting since I only threw on a pair of stretch pants, a long tee, and sneakers to help Dane transport boxes and furniture. That didn’t feel like the occasion to get dolled up, but according to my father, I’ve left the house looking disheveled if my hair isn’t either straightened or professionally braided.

More bullshit.

Mom eyes me as if she’s just heard my thoughts and agrees with me one hundred percent. Too bad neither one of us has it in us to speak our minds to the tyrant she married.

“Just say what you need to say, Martin,” she interjects, fuming from her seat. The outburst has my father casting a dark glare her way, but she doesn’t back down for once.

First drawing in a deep breath, he aims his attention toward me again.

“In light of recent events, your mother and I have made a decision,” he declares. “We’ll both be taking a leave of absence from our positions, and we think a change of scenery would be the best thing for our family right now.”

My brow tenses and I can barely respond. “What are you talking about?”

He breathes deeply again, and I take note of how he’s having a hard time looking me in the eyes.

“Pandora has made it her business to draw out our family’s very sensitive, very personal, situation. So, given what we’re facing—”

“You mean your cheating?” I snap, which finally earns me direct eye contact.

I see right away that he’s both shocked and angry when I interrupt, when I speak against him, but I’ve had enough. He doesn’t get to tiptoe around this.

“Despite what you may think, Josslyn, you are not my equal. I’m still your father and you’re still a child,” he growls through gritted teeth.

“Actually, I’m nineteen—almost the age you and Mom were when you got married, became parents, so I’m hardly a child. And I’m definitely old enough to call B.S. when I hear it.”

His eyes widen. Until recently, he’d never heard me so much as whisper a word against him. But since his affairs have been brought to light, my respect for him has dwindled to almost nothing, which has made it difficult to hold my tongue at times.

Visibly angry and running out of patience for this conversation, he stares without blinking. “We’ve made our decision.”

That’s it. That’s his conclusion.

I pass a look toward my mother. “You’re okay with this? Walking away from your career? Letting someone fill your role as hospital chief of staff? After you worked so hard to get there?”

“It’s temporary,” she insists, but I don’t see it that way. Lately, I trust my gut way more than I trust them.

“And your grandmother’s been kind enough to open her home to us until renovations are complete,” my father adds.

“What renovations?” I’m practically panting when I ask, feeling like the rug’s being ripped out from underneath me.

“We’ve found a home near hers in Pétion-Ville. It’s nice, but a bit outdated, so—”

“Wait a second,” I cut in, holding my head when the room begins to spin. “You think I’m following you all the way to Haiti?”

He frowns and it’s abundantly clear he didn’t expect me to fight him on this, but there’s no way I’m letting them drag me halfway around the world.

“It’s the most logical location,” he reasons. “We should be close to family, so it’s either we relocate there or Havana with your mother’s people. Is that the problem? You’d prefer Cuba over Haiti?”

The question is dripping with sarcasm. I know because he doesn’t give a shit what I think. No one knows better than me that once my father’s mind is made up, there’s no changing it.

My head spins again and the filter that prevents thoughts from leaving my mouth as words is beginning to malfunction.

“I’m not going.”

“Like hell you’re not,” he scoffs. “I’ve already spoken with a contact at one of the best universities and made arrangements for—”

“I’m not… going,” I repeat.

His eyes narrow into slits when he glares. “Is this what you want to do tonight? Pick a fight you’ll never win?”

I cross both arms over my chest, holding his gaze. He’s stubborn and intends to stand his ground, but what he’s not banking on is that I’ve inherited that same stubbornness.

“You’ve got a week to pack your things,” he concludes, thinking that’s the end of this conversation, but I strongly disagree.

“My plans aren’t changing,” I inform him. “In three months, I’ll be starting school where I’ve planned to attend for years now. My entire life is here in Cypress Pointe, not to mention my internship with Uncle Jon. You can’t just expect me to walk away from that, from everything.”

“Your life is with your family!” he shouts, shaking the entire room when his voice booms in sync with a clap of thunder. “And as far as your internship is concerned, I’ve already told Jon to contact the next candidate because you’re leaving the city.”

“You did what?”

“This isn’t up for debate, Josslyn.”

A wave of defiance swells in me and I feel reckless, like I’m capable of saying anything at this point.

“Maybe I’m not the one who needs reminding about the importance of family,” I say to him. “That lecture you just gave me would’ve gone a long way when you stepped out to see those other women.”

“Josslyn!”

I ignore my mother’s weak attempt at chastising me and stare only at him—this man who’s gotten away with far too much for far too long. There’s another rumble of thunder and he stands slowly, leaning forward to rest both fists on the surface of his desk. Next, he slices a cold look in my direction.

“Okay, fine,” he says through gritted teeth. “You want to be an adult so badly? Have it your way, but know this… if you stay behind, if you defy me, you will be completely alone, in every sense of the word.”

There’s something dark in his eyes. It isn’t quite hatred, but something akin to it. The only thing I can think of is that it’s traces of loathing, over having lost control.

Of my decisions.

Of me.

For so many years, I walked a tightrope because he left me no choice. My every move was dictated by him, his lofty expectations. But something about seeing his fall from grace changed me, made me realize that this life is mine to live.

“I’m staying,” I say, hoping I at least sound brave, because shit… I definitely don’t feel brave yet.

Staring, he nods, and I feel the weight of his impending words.

“Well, I believe we’ve both made our decisions.”

“Martin, we—”

“The girl’s made her choice, now let her live with it,” his voice booms, overtalking my mother.

My heart races a million miles a minute and I haven’t been able to move yet, not one single step. I’m terrified and have absolutely no plan, but I can’t stand the thought of being shoved inside yet another of my father’s tiny boxes.

So, I accept that this is really happening and do my best to hold in tears. Praying for a miracle, I turn my back on him—literally, figuratively—sealing my own fate according to him.

I had no idea tonight would mark the moment that I officially become an adult. Nor did I realize it’d be the night that I officially become homeless, but I can’t turn back now.

Come hell or high water, I’ve got to figure this thing out. The last thing on Earth I want is to prove this man right. If that happens, there’s no way in hell I’d ever live it down.

Looks like it’s time to come up with some sort of plan.

Just wish I knew where to start.

…Fuck my life.