Chapter Text
I wouldn’t say my parents hated me, but as I grew older, I couldn’t shake the feeling that they had me the way some wealthy people commission a piece of art. For the press, for the status, for the image it gave them, rather than for the love of a child. Either way, I got used to it, and I wouldn’t say I was raised by my parents. I’d always had the feeling that I’d raised myself, despite the fact that my life had also been touched by other people from different walks of life. Each of them had some influence on me, but it always remained secondary.
Whenever someone asked me how things were with my parents, or with my family in general, I told the truth. For me, sincerity had always been a principle rather than a choice, no matter the bad relationships or circumstances within my family. I never felt the need to put on a mask and lie to everyone’s face that we were a perfectly normal family with healthy relationships. My father never hit me, my mother never humiliated me, my contributions were never dismissed… yet I never felt truly valued simply for existing.
And yet, here I stand, packing my entire life into a single suitcase because I’ve suddenly become inconvenient in my own home. Not that I’d ever truly felt comfortable there. In truth, I’d been constantly looking for a reason to leave, because I could feel that house slowly hollowing me out, and I’d grown sick of that feeling. I was tired of the sterile perfection of those spotless rooms, the endless parade of fake friends and acquaintances, the same delivery schedules repeating week after week. It wasn’t alive. Every time, it felt as if I were living through a moment from Alice in Wonderland. Only it was the moment she falls down the rabbit hole, and I was stuck there, trapped in that descent, unable to get out. Everything was the same. Like in Groundhog Day with Bill Murray, stuck in an endless loop, repeating the same day over and over, no escape, no progress. Just the same faces, the same places, the same emptiness. I wanted change. I wanted to embrace my real self.
‘’Is that all you’re taking with you? There’s a whole year ahead of you. Don’t you need more?’’
My father suddenly came into the room, knocking prematurely.
‘’It’s not like I wouldn’t be chained to that school for a whole fucking year anyway.’’
‘’Language! And it’s not just any school, it’s a post-graduate boarding school. We agreed together that you could use a year of focused preparation before entering university.’’
I sighed heavily, remembering that although, in theory, I didn’t want to spend another year preparing for entrance exams, I. STLL. NEEDED. CHANGES.
‘’Yes, we did agree.’’
‘’That’s my daughter I’m proud of. Believe me, you’ll really like this school. It’s one of the few that accepted your application at the very last stage. You submitted your documents pretty late, after all. And they offer excellent preparation for your major at MIT.’’
‘’Dad, I said I’m fine.’’
‘’Fine is fine, okay. Sawyer will take you to the airport.’’
‘’Sawyer?’’ I looked at my father in surprise, as if Sawyer hadn’t been my personal butler for the past two years while my parents were busy with their careers.
‘’We won’t be able to see you off ourselves, we have the annual tech summit coming up. It’s a big event where our company…’’
I interrupted him saying, ‘’Where your company showcases its latest innovations to investors and industry leaders, blah blah, I know.’’
My father looked at me with a light, playful smirk. I noticed it and smirked back. I love these moments with my parents, as if they’re trying to stop me from completely losing faith in our relationship. He pinched my nose and walked out of the room.
I’m ready to leave that shithole. I sighed heavily, standing in the doorway, holding a half-packed duffel bag, some kind of messy, in-between bag, taking one last look around my room.
‘’Yeah, I’m so not going to miss it,’’ I told myself with a slight grin, already looking forward to my new personal space at school.
***
We were never close with Sawyer; I barely know anything about him, even though he was a constant presence in my father’s life. After I was born, he suddenly disappeared from the picture. That’s how my father put it. But I think the real reason was that my father drifted away from everything that once brought him carefree happiness after he and my mother started their company.
As for my mother, I know she has always been a closed-off, driven career woman, according to my aunt and grandmother. My father, on the other hand, had a completely opposite character. At least, he did back then.
I’ve always wondered how Sawyer handled that break in their relationship, since they were best friends. Well, they still are, at least Sawyer thinks so about my father, which is something my father doesn’t exactly agree with.
Even though I’m an adult who still lives with her parents and can’t decide on a major, Sawyer acted like my nanny, especially during tough times. A year and a half ago, I broke up with my boyfriend of three years. I was used to keeping everything to myself because warm hugs and support were never a priority in our family. I never needed support because I was used to giving it to myself. I came to the conclusion that no one would understand me like I understand myself, no one would love me like I love myself, and no one knows me like I know myself.
But at that moment, it was unbearably hard, and I was literally caught by Sawyer by accident while he was running his boy errands. He found me sitting on the couch, eating ice cream straight from the tub. I think that even though our conversations are mostly his monologues, he still knows more about me than I know about him. I never mentioned that I follow a strict discipline and a carnivore diet, but he somehow noticed it, like he was paying attention to things I didn’t even realize I was showing.
That evening, he dropped the bags on the table and immediately came over to me. He was sweaty and smelly, but somehow it didn’t repel me. On the contrary, it felt strangely familiar.
“What kind of crisis are you having to binge on ice cream like this?” he teased.
He crouched down, looking at me, put his hands on my knees, then quickly pulled them away as if realizing he’d touched me by reflex and that it was inappropriate. He smiled, slapped his knees, stood up tall, and looked down at me from above. He knew I was hurting, but he never gave me a reason to panic again. I could feel it.
“Stop it, or I’ll blame myself even more. You know how much sugar is in this? No nutrients, and such a sugar spike right before bed.”
“Stop it, you nerd,” he said, snatching the tub from my hands.
The spoon was still in my hand, and instead of taking it away from me, he flipped the ice cream tub upside down and speared it onto the spoon.
“What are you doing? Are you high?”
He turned the tub back leaving just thin layer of ice cream on the tip of the spoon. He dropped to one knee, leaned against the couch, and licked the spoon.
“I don’t do drugs, Miss Righteous Diet,” he said, barely managing to get the words out while chewing the ice cream.
I laughed and said, “Ew, now we have to recycle this spoon.”
“No need. I can melt it down with another one and make a statuette, or turn it into a ring for you. That’s real recycling.”
It was only six months into knowing him that I found out he was a handyman and also worked as a machinist slash welder.
Anyway, it was one of the few moments that still live rent-free in my head. Remembering it, I get a glimpse of what it must be like to have a friend like him in everyday life. Maybe, if my father hadn’t cut ties with him, I would’ve turned out to be a completely different person. I feel like everything is connected.
***
A cool morning. September, after all. I listen to the rustle of tree leaves scraping against my window. I open it to let the morning air fill my room and breathe it in like it’s the last day. The day of departure. I glance down at the street to check if Sawyer has shown up uninvited, earlier than planned.
The parking spot is empty. Good.
I put on a hoodie and sweatpants; the kind of clothes unfamiliar to me, not because I dislike them, quite the opposite. It’s just that I’d always been under my family’s pressure to meet someone’s expectations, to impress someone, so simple and comfortable things had no place in my wardrobe. It was never about me. It was not me. The change starts today. That’s what I like: messy hair, awkward wrinkled pants, mismatched socks, and no makeup.
Twenty minutes later. I’m sitting on a stool in the kitchen. Bar stools. I’ve never understood how people sit on them in everyday life, since my legs just dangle uncomfortably and I’m always tense. But right now, I don’t seem to care. I look at my small bag of belongings, wondering if I’ve overestimated myself, maybe this really won’t be enough?
Nonsense. I don’t do overconsumption.
I hear the sound of brakes I could never mistake for anything else. I grab my bag, take a deep breath, and rush to the door, practically half-running out. I swing it open and come face to face with Sawyer piercing gaze. He’s standing right at the threshold, holding a key in his hand.
“Since when do you have a key?” I ask, with mild confusion but without unnecessary anger or aggression.
“Since yesterday.”
I snatch the key from his hand and run toward the car, calling over my shoulder, “You won’t need it anyway.”
I glance back at him. His hands are stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, which, surprisingly, are clean. He’s wearing a dark brown flannel shirt over a white T-shirt. Also clean. His shoes are washed, but his hair still lies however it pleases.
“What kind of crisis are you having that you look washed, Sawyer?”
He steps right up to me, pulls his right hand from his pocket, takes the bag from my hands, and, practically pressing me against the passenger-side door, tosses it inside through the open window.
“You don’t fuck with me using my own lines,” he says, almost growling, raising one brow with a hint of annoyance as he opens the door and gestures toward the seat as if inviting me to get in.
He slams the door, and the wind carries his scent toward me. He smells… he smells… I can’t quite tell. My sense of smell has gone dull after spending so much time around men drowned in cologne. All of them smelling exactly the same.
We pulled away from the curb. Out of habit, I took the initiative to fill the silence, as this moment felt different from our usual interactions, a reflex I’d kept from the events where I’d been the public face of my parents.
Nervously, trying to occupy the empty air, I asked:
“So, what are your rates these days? An errand boy, a butler, now a personal driver? Maybe I should consider owning one for myself.”
In that moment, I realized how it might have sounded, but I hoped he’d let it slide.
“Well, you’re the worst conversationalist on the planet. I’d double my rate if your father weren’t my best friend.”
“So, he’s paying you?” I asked, surprised. Not because my father might pay him, but because Sawyer would actually accept it.
“Sure thing.”
He didn’t take his eyes off the road, steering with only his right hand while his other arm rested against the window, his fingers propping up his chin. His voice stayed low and calm the entire time. I couldn’t believe he would take money. Maybe I had overestimated my imaginary, intangible version of him in my head. And then, suddenly, he started laughing, running his fingers lightly through his stubble.
I turned to him sharply, catching the way the sunlight hit his gray-blue eyes, the way his dirty blond hair seemed to come alive in the glow. His lips spread into a smile, and I could hear every faint rasp of his fingers moving slowly, deliberately, across the roughness of his jaw.
He caught me staring, put his other hand on the wheel, and said:
“I would never take money from your father.”
His eyes flicked briefly to my hair whipping in the wind before he looked away again, settling back into his previous position.
“And especially not for the practice of talking to a brat like you.”
“Oh, fuck you,” I said, pretending to sound irritated as I leaned back in my seat and stared out the window, hiding the smile tugging at my lips so he wouldn’t see it.
“I see you smiling. It’s sunny, and I can see your reflection. Physics. I’m pretty sure a physics-and-math nerd like you should’ve known that.”
He never misses a chance to tease me. I like him for this. He feels so alive, so real, so simple.
“You mumbled something under your breath, or was it just me?” he asked in a mock whisper, pulling a face.
In reality, I was silent. But now I’m worried… did my thoughts just slip out loud into the real world?
“I’m quiet,” I replied sharply, trying to sound firmer than I felt.
“Yeah, you do that. Let’s put some music on. Alexa, turn on Californication by Red Hot Chili Peppers, or whatever you youth use to summon Alexa,” he shouted, as if mimicking someone.
I laughed out loud, looking at him.
“This car is older than you, Sawyer. I thought a car nerd like you would've known that.”
“So you are indeed fucking me with my own words, huh.”
“I do,” I giggled, turning on the radio and cranking the volume up to twenty. “Too bad I don’t have my flash drive with tracks.”
“Sing me something from the youth playlist,” he put his hand over mine before I could pull it away, turning the volume down to zero.
He threw me a quick glance, looking like he had no idea he’d just sent a small electric shock through my whole body. I quickly sat back in my seat, trying to play it cool but feeling my heart race.
“Oh, you’d better not know what’s popular now. But I like Ayesha Erotica.”
“Sounds like she belongs to the 2000s. What’s with the Erotica?”
“I don’t know her backstory, but I like her songs. She’s feral, she’s alive, she’s how we’re supposed to be.’’
“Which is… what exactly?” he drawled slowly.
‘’Animals.’’
I glanced at him, waiting for a reaction. He frowned, his eyes narrowing in puzzlement, stayed silent, and then suddenly asked:
“So, you’re a carnivorist pro-feral-animal-being-state choice?”
“It’s not funny.”
“We are indeed animals, no doubt.”
I could hear a note of teasing or skepticism in his voice. I grabbed my phone and, without thinking, played Gangbang by Ayesha Erotica.
“Listen to the lyrics,” I said, “and tell me, would she sing this if it wasn’t embedded in our society, even though it’s forbidden by law?”
“Oh gosh, strike it, my palms are already starting to sweat,” he said sarcastically, wiping his palm on his thigh as it started to tremble.
Сan he ever be serious about anything?
I hit play and thought, just fuck it. I probably will never see him again anyway. Still, he’s the only person lately I’ve felt this free with. So fuck it. I unbuckled my seatbelt, turned fully to face him, sat cross-legged, and started observing.
Gangbang by Ayesha Erotica is playing.
I wanna get fucked with a beer bottle
Break it, watch me bleed out
Cutting up coke in a Lexus
Yo, fuck that, I wanna get keyed out
Put addys in my slurpee
Poppers, pop pills in my ass
I'm a valley girl, fuck doll
Living in the trash
You're 'bout to cum?
Do it on my tits, do it on my tits
Lubing up your fist, do it just like this
Fuck, I think you're ready to bust
Suck your fingers, squeeze your nuts
Fuck, I think you're ready to bust
Suck your fingers, squeeze your nuts
Cram, cram, cram it in
Fuck me up, baby, bring your friends
Use, u-u-use, u-u-use me up
Use the lube so it doesn't get stuck
Fuck, mannequin skin so plastic
Latex gloves, cum so fantastic
Now film me baby, frame by frame
Frat boys
Let's have a gangbang
His pupils gradually dilated despite the bright sunlight pouring through the windows. He began shifting in his seat, almost as if he was nervous. His hands fidgeted on the wheel, first gripping with the right, then the left. His Adam’s apple bobbed visibly as he nervously swallowed. He sped up for a moment, then turned to me and said:
“Turn it off.”
He suddenly slammed on the brakes and brought the car to a stop right in the middle of the highway. His gaze was heavy yet gentle, as if he was angry but didn’t want to sound that way.
“I have a genuine question now,” he said. He moved his left hand back to the wheel and took my phone with his right, casting me one last look before turning his attention to the screen.