I’d like to say the days are flying by with my Sugar Plum Fairy commitments, but that would be a lie. They’re long and mundane. My mum and dad are both working from home this week, and Konnor and Blesk have taken time off from school to help Konnor get through his first few months of sobriety, so we have a full house.
I think about Max constantly and try not to worry. My mum had once told me: ‘Worrying is like a rocking horse. It gives you something to do, but it doesn’t get you anywhere.’ I completely agree. Despite that, worrying about him will be something I do often, I feel. It’ll be an ever-present state of being for me.
For whatever reason, he can’t see me at all until Friday. I don’t know why. I should have asked. I guess I’m always hesitant to ask him questions.
The first thing I do on Monday morning is go to my local general practitioner and get a Pap-smear and prescription for the pill.
Tuesday, I dance myself into a coma during the day and then we share our first family dinner with everyone in over three months. My mum and Blesk talk music while I manage to keep things light and bubbly with Konnor and my dad. I want to pull Konnor aside and discuss Dustin Nerrock. I want to discuss that guy Erik’s face. It just never seems like the right time. The other part of me is kicking Dustin’s association with the Butchers under the rug to hide from my family. Either way, I’m keeping a secret and that stirs my belly.
After dinner we huddle in the main lounge room and play charades; it’s very Brady Bunch and I fricking love it. Konnor and I are both pretty competitive, but we don’t keep track of scores tonight.
I’m on the floor in my pyjamas. Konnor, Blesk, and Flick share the couch and Mum and Dad cuddle on the recliner, just like they always do – even when more seats are available. That’s what us Slater kids have grown to believe forever love looks like. My parents show and share their affections unconditionally and often.
I find myself studying them in this moment. The heat from the gas fire licks at my cheeks, making me feel that Bali lethargy I now associate with Max. My mum is smiling softly at us, her strawberry -blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, the freckles on her cheeks and nose betraying her age. We share these features. She is petite, like me, and tightly enveloped in a blanket of my dad’s big arms.
My dad is a complex man. I model every man I meet against him even though I don’t understand him. Even though we’re close, a born and raised upper-class girl like me could never understand a self-made man like Ben Slater. Around the District he’s referred to as an honourable man. He is handsome. My friends call him a silver fox. He’s loving. He’s big and strong, not quite Max big and strong, but not average either. Loyal, yes. But I’ve always found him protective. . . mysterious. I realise in this moment how many traits he shares with Max. Not Jimmy or Butch’s Max, who is a construct of his upbringing. My Max. A fleeting glimpse of a Max without burdens.
After charades, as I read on the couch, I hear Blesk and Konnor giggling on the love seat in the game room. It makes me lonely. Maybe now is a good time to discuss Erik – when Konnor is seemingly relaxed and emotionally stable.
As I walk into the game room, Blesk and Konnor are chatting with big smiles plastered on their faces. Blesk has a tendency to poke her tongue out when she laughs and it’s really adorable. When they notice me enter, they unwrap themselves from each other and sit up.
‘Hey, Pipsqueak,’ Konnor shuffles to the edge of the seat. ‘We were just arguing over the classification of cereal. Soup or not? And why?’
Sitting opposite them, I cross my legs up on the couch. ‘Well, soup is, like, flavours that have been cooked out into liquid, right? So soup must be cooked.’
They look at each other for a moment.
Blesk laughs. ‘We have been debating this for thirty minutes and neither of us came up with that answer.’
‘Glad to be of service,’ I say, my throat rolling as I carefully consider my next set of words. I shuffle nervously and they both look sideways at each other.
‘You alright?’ Konnor asks, picking up a glass of water and taking a few sips.
Clearing my throat, I stare straight into Konnor’s stunning green eyes. ‘I met someone at the wedding who knows you. And. . . I’ve been feeling a bit weird about it.’ My brain is sorting through words, fumbling to string them together in an eloquent fashion. ‘Sorry, cryptic much. His name is Erik. He has all these sca-‘ I stop talking.
They both stiffen. And there it is. In Konnor’s eyes.
Recognition.
Anger.
Bouncing my gaze between Konnor and Blesk, it’s clear by their ever paling faces that they both know this person.
Konnor talks through a tight jaw. ‘Stay away from him!’
Blesk’s hands are clenched in her lap, but she’s trying to keep her face impartial. ‘He’s not well.’
‘What happened between you two?’ I ask. ‘Max said-‘
‘What the fuck is he doing hanging out with the Butchers?’ Konnor says, draining his glass of water as if it were bourbon – his old drink of choice.
‘I don’t kno-‘ I start to answer before realising he’d directed his question at Blesk.
Blinking too fast, she says, ‘I don’t know. I don’t know who he hangs out with these days.’ Her tone has a hint of defensiveness. Of hesitation.
He turns back to me. ‘Why the fuck was he there?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘But he spoke to me.’
Setting the glass down a little harder than necessary, he leans in closer to me. ‘Don’t speak to him, Cassidy.’
My pulse picks up pace. ‘Well, I won’t now, but I didn’t know that at the time.’
He twists to face Blesk, determined on drawing information from her. ‘Why would he have been invited to that wedding?’
She stiffens. ‘Konnor, stop looking at me like I’m keeping a secret from you.’
His lips twitch. ‘Have you been speaking to him?’
‘No,’ she says. ‘I haven’t. But Dad said he’d dropped out of university and moved back home. Apparently, he’s a driver or something for some businessman.’
Now I’m truly intent on asking a lot of question, but unfortunately, they both seem racked with nerves. ‘What businessman?’ I ask softly. Is he a driver for Jimmy? Did he drive me to Jimmy Storm’s house that evening? I can’t remember the driver’s face. Does he work for Dustin? If he hates Konnor as much as Max had implied, then maybe he’s working for Dustin as a way to get back at Konnor. Am I overthinking this?
Blesk answers without looking at me. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t ask.’ Reaching for Konnor’s tight face, she strokes her fingers down his cheek. ‘When Dad brings him up, I try to change the subject.’
Konnor’s face makes me wary of asking more questions, but my curiosity eventually wins out. ‘What happened between you two, Konnor?’
‘Cassidy’ – he stands, picking up his empty glass – ‘we got in a big fucking fight, alright? I nearly killed him.’
As he walks towards the bar, I follow him with my eyes. ‘Why?’
He fills his glass up with water from the tap. ‘It’s none of your business.’
‘Erik’s my brother,’ Blesk blurts out and then holds her tongue for a few seconds. She swallows. ‘I’m adopted, just like Konnor. Erik was. . . attacking me. . . forcing himself on me.’ As those words fall from her lips like acid, I cover my mouth to smother a gasp.
‘Oh my God,’ I whisper, wishing I’d never asked. Wishing I’d thrown a rock at his face. Wishing I’d kicked him in the balls. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bring this up. I didn’t know it had anything to do with you Blesk or I wouldn’t hav-‘
‘Cassidy, please, it’s fine.’ She leans forward and briefly touches my thigh. ‘This is actually good for me. I’ve been working on saying these things aloud.’ She smiles up at Konnor, who, despite his taut shoulders, returns her smile. ‘He abused me for years.’ She looks back at me. ‘He’s sick. There is something really wrong inside him. I know this now. It took me a while though. I’ve had friends call it a kind of Stockholm syndrome, but I don’t think it needs a label. He used to play mind games with me.’ She gets lost in thought. ‘Anyway, you should definitely avoid him.’
There are tears forming in my eyes now. ‘Avoid him. Kick him in the balls. Potato patato,’ I manage to say with a reasonably steady voice, reaching for a soft ending to this conversation.
It works.
She lets out a small chuckle. Even though she is showing signs of resolve that I could never understand, I’m completely devastated for her. There is no possible way a girl like me can comprehend that kind of anguish. And I thought love was the ultimate sensitivity. But abusive love? That breeds unrelatable emotions.
