Two: Like Father, Like Son
I tossed my books down on the couch and wandered into my kitchen, hesitantly stepping across the cream (once white) linoleum and looking for to see if the room was empty. The kitchen was clear, so I went forth and opened the cabinets. I found a box of Kraft macaroni and sifted through the sink to find a pot I could wash out and use. Within seconds, I could feel his presence behind me.
“What are you doing, Gabrielle?” He asked, peering over my shoulder and looking at the pot in my hand. He stepped away from me and opened the fridge.
“Making something to eat,” I replied in my most mundane tone.
“Are you going to make Bobby something too?” He said, pausing to take a big swig from our carton of milk. Wiping his lip he added, “He’s staying the night.”
I shrugged and started to scrub the pot, scrubbing harder the angrier I got, “Alright.”
Bobby was Brad’s son, and like his father, a grotesque human being. He was a year younger than me and he had three passions in life: guns, food, and me. I hated when Brad brought him over, but I knew I had no choice but to bear it as if it was nothing. As if on cue, Bobby strolled into the kitchen and leaned against the counter by the stove. I could see him out the corner of my eye just watching me, but somehow acknowledging his presence made him all the more intolerable.
“Is Gabrielle making me food, Dad?”
“She said she is,” Brad said, putting the milk away and swinging the door shut. He reached out and slapped my ass as a chuckle emitted from his lips, “Right Gab?”
“Mom!”
“Brad, don’t harass Gabrielle…” I heard my Mom say from her bedroom, “Leave her alone…”
“Amy…I swear…” I heard him grumble, trudging after her voice and swinging the bedroom door shut behind him. A laughing squeal coming from their bedroom followed. I placed the clean pot down on the stove and raised my eyes to Bobby for the first time. He didn’t move, just stood stubbornly in my way- testing me.
“Do you want dinner or not? Because if you’re not going to move then I can’t cook.”
He smirked and wrapped his arms around my waist, “You’re so angry all the time, Gabrielle.”
“And you’re so obnoxious all of the time, Bobby,” I pulled away from him and stood on the opposite side of the kitchen giving him a challenging look, “I’m seriously not in the mood for your crap.”
He advanced towards me and cornered me between the sides of the counter, his big hands on the counters on either sides of me. “Who dropped you off?”
“My boyfriend,” I automatically said. I’d like to think I was just trying to keep Bobby off my back.
“You’re lying. You hardly even said goodbye,” he smirked, placing one hand on my waist.
“We’re fighting. Don’t touch me. He’ll be pissed and he’ll come after you, Bobby…” the lie expanded.
“You’re such a liar, Gabrielle…it’s going to catch up to you eventually. What’s his name?”
“Taylor, and he’ll beat your ass,” I grumbled, once again pushing past him and freeing myself from his roaming hands.
“Why don’t you want me, Gab?” He gave me his best puppy dog eyes and pursed his lips, watching as I picked up the TV guide on the counter and began flipping through it.
“A. because your father has been screwing my mother for the last two months. That’s just gross. And b. because I think you’re a disgusting, horrible excuse for a human being to put it lightly.”
He stood there unbelieving of what I had just told him. I watched as he paced back and forth, much like Taylor had done before he had even spoken to me. Only this pacing was intimidating and angry. I watched his hands ball up into angry fists as his sides.
“Besides, my mother says your father has a small dick and genes considered…” I bit my lip, a wild smile ready to spread across my face. I was completely lying to him, and completely enjoying it.
I had to react fast when I noticed Bobby dart in my direction muttering curses underneath his breath. I screamed and ran for my mother’s bedroom, pulling the door open and running inside. She and Brad laid on the bed kissing.
“Gabrielle! What’s wrong with you?” Brad yelled in my direction.
“Gabrielle!” My mother echoed.
Bobby stopped running after me when he saw them sitting up erect in bed yelling at me. He relaxed his fists and pointed at me, “She says that Amy says you have a small dick Dad!”
I couldn’t believe this conversation was taking place, but it really was. I looked back and forth at the three faces in the room in panic. I was ready for the explosion. I had ignited it, and I was ready for it. I had no choice but to brace myself.
“I didn’t say that, Brad! Gabrielle, what the fuck is wrong with you? I didn’t say that!” My mother shrieked.
“I was just joking!” I screamed in her direction. Then I turned to Bobby and reiterated, “I was just joking! If you would get your dirty hands off of me…”
“Brad, I didn’t say that…” I heard my mother mumble to him.
Bobby glared at his father, “I hate this house Dad. Can we leave?”
“Yeah, can you?” I asked Brad, regretting it instantly.
I watched as a familiar fire started to burn in his eyes. Little sparks at first…and then bursting flames. He got up from the bed and began walking towards me.
“Bradley, leave her alone!” My mother shouted at him. Then, looking for some way to blame me for this situation so she didn’t feel so guilty she added, “Gabrielle, why did you have to say that?”
Like father like son, Brad cornered me into the corner of the bedroom and glared down at me. I was scared, terrified even, but I knew from experience I couldn’t show it.
“What’s wrong with you, Gabrielle?” He barked at me.
“Nothing. Forget it…” I mumbled, trying to side step around him and escape the wrath of Brad. He grabbed my shoulder though and held it tightly. “Brad! I’m sorry!”
With one quick movement I jerked away from him and ran for the bedroom door. I turned to my mother sitting there on the bed, smudged mascara, swollen lips, and exhausted eyes, and shook my head.
“He’s going to end up hurting us and leaving you too, Mom…” I knew to run before he could even react. I took off, running for the front door, grabbing my math book under my arm, and running outside in the evening light.
I heard them screaming from inside the house but I just kept on walking. I decided then and there that I didn’t just dislike Brad and Bobby anymore. No, I hated them just as much as I’d hated all of them. There were so many Brad and Bobby’s in my life. They had the same shaggy haircuts and the same tight jeans. Different names, but essentially, all the same men. Then again, I thought, weren’t all men just Brad and Bobby’s deep down?