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CHAPTERONE
July in Pittsburgh is a mixture of hot, humid, horrible weather, festivals, and county fairs. Boaters flock to the city to spend time on any of our three rivers.
And then there is me.
While most people look forward to the summer months, I loathe them.
Why, might you ask?
Boredom.
My father maintains my social calendar, requiring me to be at his beck and call, giving me no opportunity to have friends or a life of my own.
Even while on campus at Three Rivers College, he somehow manages to track my whereabouts, controlling who I come in contact with and where I go. It’s stifling. If you search helicopter parents on the internet, my father’s face should be at the top as a founder.
My father has dictated my entire life. Not sure why I expected anything different at college. Everything from what clothes I can wear to what people I can hang around with all of it has to meet his exact standards.
Having a social life was wishful thinking on my part. Being a normal teenager with a minimum-wage job was below my father’s standards. No child of his would bag groceries or sling greasy cheeseburgers.
Mother passed away when I was a child, leaving the two of us alone. At her funeral, he would pull me away from prying eyes and shake me until my teeth rattled if he caught me crying, and according to the Hasting Ainsworth rule book, showing emotion equated to a display of weakness.
My father, not knowing what to do with a pre-pubescent female, hired a nanny. Little did I know then that she would be the first in a long line of females trying to gain my father’s attention and access to his bank accounts.
The nannies tolerated me.
Let’s face it—dealing with me was the first step in getting my father’s attention. Don’t get me wrong, some were attentive and did a good job. Unfortunately for me, those ones didn’t stay long. Each time a new caregiver was hired, having me around was obviously an inconvenience.
The older I grew, the worse it got. We live in a massive, two-story, four-bedroom house that is like a museum. There were no friends or sleepovers for me. God knows that if friends came over, they could make a mess, which would upset Father. As it was, he already had a cleaning crew coming three times a week to ensure the house remained spotless.
Attempting to stay on everyone’s good side, a smile was always on my face, and my manners were perfect. I studied hard, making sure my grades were perfect. Then, high school graduation came around. Instead of being proud of me for graduating with honors, my father berated me for twenty minutes for not being the Valedictorian.
Always trying my best to get a sliver of his attention that my heart yearned for. Over the years, my skin got thicker. Another brick was added to the wall around my heart. In high school, jealous girls would tell me that I was spoiled. Father has always provided for me and spoiled me with material things, but I am a pauper when it comes to his love and attention.
Dating is yet another aspect of my life that my father controls. The only boys deemed worthy of being in my presence were those whose fathers could give mine a leg up in his next business venture. Making me nothing but arm candy to the son of someone my father wanted to impress became the norm. To make things worse, it was never a casual date. Charity dinners and parties were the only things I was permitted to attend. The only reason that happened was because my father was always there and kept a stern eye on me during the event.
Growing up, it was obvious my father was never content with what he had, always wanting bigger and more of everything. Lately, he has been tossing around the idea of moving into politics. Each time it comes up, I bite my tongue, knowing the diatribe that would follow if the words were uttered out loud.
Father reminds me of a con artist. When I hear him discussing business, his smarmy tone makes me want to scrub my skin raw to wash the feeling away. He enjoys flaunting his wealth, driving fancy cars, wearing expensive watches, and schmoozing businessmen over fancy dinners.
Getting dragged along when he wants to impress is the worst. Lecherous old men drool over me during the entire dinner meeting, ignoring half of Father’s sales pitch. Thankfully, when my presence is mandatory, Father refrains from commenting when I cover as much flesh as possible.
A chill races up my spine as the memory of his last business dinner pops into my head.
Father had just stepped away from the table when I felt a hand on my knee. The man’s hands moved higher on my leg, his grip intensifying the more I fought his advances. Luckily, Father’s call was short, halting the man’s unwanted advances. My father was oblivious.
Bruises in the shape of fingertips decorated my flesh for over a week. Looking at them made me want to vomit.
* * *
Attempting to stave off my restlessness, I sort through the stuff from my old dorm room.
My sophomore year at Three Rivers College starts in just a few weeks, giving me something to look forward to. Adding statistics, as a double major, to my study course is looking better and better. Summer classes are something to consider for next year. Doing that will keep me busy during the summer, and graduating early will allow me to get out from under Father’s control.
The more consideration I give the idea, the better it sounds, bringing a large smile to my face.
Starting one of my upbeat playlists, I dance around my room as I inventory my supplies.
“Kennedy, my office…now!”
