Page 47 of The Absence of You
They’re all the same in the end. They all think they can outrun my father and outsmart me, but they never can. The document I showed him was the tip of the iceberg and trying to destroy evidence now is foolish. Inevitably, it will lead to more pain once my father finds out exactly what he’s up to.
Harlan is hardly an innocent man in all of this, so I don’t exactly feel bad about him getting his punishment. My father takes advantage of these scumbags, making his fortune off the back of their crimes, but he isn’t fussy. He is as quick to take advantage of innocent people too, and that’s the shit I lose sleep over.
Last night’s beer sits unfinished on my desk next to me, and I take a long swig, not caring it’s room temperature and stale tasting. Years ago, when my father realised I had good tech skills, when he’d told me what my part would be in all this, to gather intel, hacking into his victims’ security systems, it had seemed easier to say yes than argue with him. I figured I could keep him onside, so that when I eventually made my move to get away from him, he wouldn’t even see it coming. But years had gone by and he’d demanded more and more. Soon I wasn’t just hacking, I was his extra muscle and his blackmailer and now; I was virtually his go-to man for everything.
I hate myself for how embroiled in this shit I’ve become without even noticing it. Can I even hate my father without being the biggest hypocrite alive? Because when I look in the mirror now, all that’s reflected back is another monster, made in the very image of the beast I was supposed to be escaping. It was never a conscious decision to give up the fight but that’s what I did. When I thought Dahlia wasn’t coming back, I stopped trying to be a better person. I stopped caring who I became.
As I make a copy of the Harlan security footage and forward it to my father, I wonder if it’s possible to escape this life and make my father pay. Even if I could, what would I have to do to myself, what price would I have to pay, to make amends for the part I’d played? Would I ever be able to live with myself for what I’d done?
I slam the laptop shut and pick up my phone. There are several missed calls from Charlotte and one from Dahlia and a handful of message notifications. When I left the ball last night and walked home, I didn’t say goodbye to anyone, and I’ve been holed up in my room ever since. But I can’t avoid people forever.
Not bothering to read the messages, I call Charlotte instead, and I’m greeted by a tirade.
“Grayson, what the fuck? You didn’t turn up for the second week in a row.” I curse inwardly. A few of us regularly hang out at Lolly’s on a Sunday morning. I’d missed it last week as I’d been swimming, and it totally slipped my mind again today. “Where the hell were you? Even Asher didn’t know where you were.”
“Coach asked me to do some extra training. I lost track of time.” It’s a feeble excuse, one she’ll see straight through, but I don’t really give a shit.
“We went over this last night and less than twenty-four hours later you’re still pulling this crap. It makes me look bad if you stand me up. I’ve given you the freedom to fuck your little side piece, but I expect you not to show me up while you’re doing it.” I throw myself back on my bed and stare at the ceiling, gritting my teeth at how she’s just described my relationship with Dahlia. I long to tell her to never fucking speak about her like that again, but I’m well aware I need to keep on Charlotte’s good side until I can properly extricate myself. I have no doubt she’ll run to her daddy if she gets even the smallest inkling of what Dahlia means to me. “Grayson, are you still there?”
“Yes. I’m here. What do you want me to say? This whole thing between us was never real, you know that. Don’t you ever just get tired of keeping up the pretence?” I’m met with silence.
“You’re a real piece of shit, Grayson, you know that?” She eventually replies tightly, before she hangs up on me. If I didn’t know better, I’d think her feelings were actually hurt, but Charlotte is just a good actress. She knew the score from the beginning. Even when we were in a relationship, she was aware it was never some grand romance. I wonder how much her father has told her about our parents’ arrangement and how much she knows about the terms of her inheritance. She could marry any fucker and she’d get her money, so it makes me wonder what lies she’s been told by her father.
She is probably just panicking I’m going to mess things up for her. Well, fuck her for trying to make me feel guilty. I’m so sick of being used by everyone around me. A quiet voice in my head reminds me there is one person who has never used me.
Scrolling through my phone, I stop when I reach Dahlia’s name. I want to hear her voice and lose myself in her company again. Friday evening, spending the night with her, it was perfect. We relaxed, and laughed, and had fun like normal teenagers and the sex was, it was everything. I loved every minute of that night. I want to do it again. I want that to be my life. My thumb hovers over her name, but I hesitate. All I can hear in my head are my father’s words from last night. You are pathetic. You are pathetic. You are pathetic. I picture Dahlia standing up to him, my fists tighten and my heart starts to race. If Dahlia can stand up to him, then so can I. Fuck it. I finally have something to fight for again. He can cut me off financially, but I can earn my own money. And the picture from the art gallery, what can he actually do with that? He’d only implicate himself if he handed it over to the police, so he would be stupid to do anything with it. He is calling my bluff, and I’ve had enough. For the first time in I don’t know how long, I intend to put myself first. And I intend to do it now. I jump up and race to his study.
As it turns out, my fuck-you attitude lasts less than ten minutes.
The door is open, almost as if he knew I was coming. He stands by the fire, a glass of amber liquid in his hand.
“Son. Join me for a drink.” His invitation is unusual, and I’m momentarily taken aback, but I go in and pour myself a glass of whiskey. Before the glass meets my lips, he rounds on me.
“I don’t know what exactly I interrupted between you and that girl last night at the ball, but I don’t want you to have anything to do with her.” I’d been wondering how long it’d be before he brought that up again after my silence on the subject last night.
“That girl has a name.” I state boldly. “Father, are you really going to start dictating to me who I’m allowed to hang out with now?” I ask him. He looks outwardly calm, but I know him. Internally he’ll be furious with my disrespect, despite there being no one else in the room to see it.
“Have you forgotten you’re in a relationship with Charlotte? I don’t want you fucking up the deal I have with Justin Sloan over some stupid crush you’ve got on the girl next door.” He refills his whiskey glass and steps towards me. “I won’t let everything I’ve worked for fall apart so you can chase some gold-digging charity case. I should have realised there was more going on when you started disrespecting me recently. It’s her influence isn’t it?”
It takes everything in me not to punch his smug, sneering face. As much as it pains me, the last thing I want is for him to see how much his words piss me off so I school my features as much as I can.
“I don’t know what you thought you saw last night, but I was just hanging out with an old friend. That’s all.” I say, nonchalantly. I’ve come down here to tell him exactly how serious I am about ending things with Charlotte, but I still want Dahlia off his radar. The prick already hates her, and I wouldn’t put it past him to sabotage whatever it is that’s developing between us.
“I wasn’t born yesterday, Grayson. I saw you and that girl together last night and a few minutes ago I got a call from Justin saying Charlotte’s worried you’re losing interest in her. I don’t believe in fucking coincidences. You’re forgetting who you’re lying to. I’ve made a business out of uncovering people’s secrets, and you’re no exception.” Fuck. So much for keeping Dahlia out of this. Charlotte must have gone straight to her father after we spoke on the phone. Well, fuck her. I’ve made up my mind, and everyone will just have to deal with the fall out.
“Charlotte and I are done.” My father’s stare is flinty as he slams his glass down on the table, so hard I’m surprised when it doesn’t smash. Before he can reply, I continue, “And I want nothing more to do with your business.”
I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life, yet he just tips his head back and laughs.
“I mean it.”
“You seem to be under the impression that you have a choice in any of this.” he retorts.
“I’m a fucking adult. You can’t make me do anything. When I was a kid you might have been able to physically make me. But not now.”
“Son, you know as well as I do, I can make grown men do whatever the fuck I want them to do, with the right motivation.”
“Yeah, maybe you can. But your motivation just isn’t fucking motivating me anymore. Go to the police and tell them what I’ve done. Cut me off financially. Seriously, I don’t care.” Adrenaline surges through my veins as I finally find the courage to stand up to him. I step towards his desk and put my untouched drink down, careful that he doesn’t see the tremble in my hand. But when I look at him, there’s no anger on his face like I’m expecting. Instead, he has a cruel smile.
