Page 128 of Hot As Ice

“Protect your big bro. You know he’s an alcoholic, a wifebeater. You know what he did to Mom. You and Grandad always protect him, and for what? Is it worth it? Is it fucking worth it?”

“Keep your voice down.”

“Fuck this.” I turn and walk away, disgusted by my whole family, and eager for this night to end. I walk down the hallway, on the way to the library. I just need a few moments to myself. It’s dark inside, except for the light coming from the fireplace. Two large armchairs flank it. I sit in the one on the right and stare at the flames.

I don’t plan on staying long.

I just need to decompress and get my mind back into celebration mode. I can’t hear the music or any of the revelry in the library, which is cavernous, but I can’t just abandon my friends either. I’m about to head back to the party when the library door opens and someone walks in.

“Stop it, Ben.” It’s Celeste’s voice.

“How much did you spend on this stupid party?” my father bellows.

“Stupid? It’s your son’s birthday!”

“He’s an adult. He doesn’t need some bullshit party celebrating him.”

Celeste doesn’t respond. From the charged silence, I imagine she has her mouth open in shock. “I just…” she trails off. The armchair I’m sitting in has a tall back. There’s no way they can see me.

The thing is, my father doesn’t really care about the money; he just wants to pick a fight. Any excuse will do. Then, once he picks a fight and the person naturally tries to defend themselves, he escalates. Eventually, as you struggle to defend yourself and he keeps escalating, things get violent. You end up hurt. You end up feeling helpless because he’s the rich and powerful and respected one, and you are, essentially, a nobody. It’s your word against his. And you end up feeling like it was all your fault anyway.

“I knew you were a gold digger,” my father says. “Just like her.”

“Just like who?” Celeste counters. “I never wanted your money. I make decent money on my own. I-I love you.” Her voice stutters. Does she still love him, I wonder? Now that she sees his true colors. But denial is a powerful drug.

I’ve learned that most women take the “gold digger” accusation very seriously. None of them want to be called that. It’s another tactic my father uses to discredit people.

“Love?” my father spits the word like a curse. “You mean love of my money.”

“Ben, what’s going on? You weren’t like this before.”

I imagine my father’s face is twisted into a sneer. It’s a look that always terrified me as a child.

“Get out of my sight,” he says now. I think Celeste might protest, but then I hear the library door opening and closing. My father’s long exhale fills the ensuing silence. His footsteps get closer to me, and I realize he’s going to the sideboard to pour himself a drink. As if he hasn’t imbibed his weight in scotch already.

He grabs a cut crystal glass and pours himself way too much scotch.

I don’t understand how he hasn’t developed cirrhosis yet. Demons are immortal, I guess. He takes a big sip and turns around. When he sees me, he nearly jumps out of his skin.

I suppress a grin.

“Hi, Dad. Thanks for paying for my party.”

He recovers quickly. “Spying on me? It’s not like you.”

“How would you know? You don’t know me at all.”

“Don’t get fresh with me.”

I cock my head, looking him up and down. I suddenly feel like I could bash his head in with one of the heavy candleholders on the fireplace mantel. It’s a heady feeling. Maybe once you pop your homicide cherry, it’s easy to keep going.

I slowly rise from my seat.

“Why are you mad at Celeste for throwing me a party? Don’t you want your only son to be happy?”

His eyes narrow. “What’s gotten into you?”

I lift one shoulder in a shrug. “Maybe I’ve finally grown up. And I’m not afraid of you anymore.”