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𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒏 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒐 𝒇𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇.
Reese's Perspective
My mother, of course, was told about the whole selling of alcohol to Antoine. I told her about Antoine's threat. I decided not to tell her what I did and said to Antoine Saturday morning, though. No one needs to know about that, if they don't have to.
A few days later, that upcoming Wednesday, Gabe walks into our house from work, holding the mail in his hand. He has a key to our house now, so can basically come and go whenever he wants. I am not sure how I feel about that. I guess I can't really complain, because whether I like it or not, soon enough, he will be a part of our family, once he marries Mom.
I'm sitting on the couch, watching Riverdale, when Gabe stands in the corner of the living room, staring at me, asking me to pause my show with only the look in his eyes. For some reason, this slightly annoys me. How hard is it to just ask me to pause it with real words? I do pause it, looking up at him. "Yeah, what is it?" I ask lazily.
As he opens his mouth to begin speaking, I notice he's holding a white envelope in his hand. "There is a letter addressed to you and your mother. Looks official. I don't know if your mama told you, but she's gone on a business trip this weekend until Monday. Wanted me to come take care of Blake, your sister. She left this morning. Should I look at this with you?"
I shake my head, not really in the mood for his attempts at being a dad to me, and simply respond with, feeling my curiosity growing, "I can just look at it alone. Thanks."
He nods, looking slightly uncomfortable, for some unknown reason, as he hands me the letter and leaves, going to the kitchen, likely to make dinner for little Blake.
He really is a good guy. Mom found a good guy. He's actually extremely better than Dad was. Mom made a better choice this time, compared to the last.
I shut off the telly, assuming that now that Gabe is home, he really doesn't want to hear Archie and Jughead from the other room, and tear open the letter.
After reading it over a few times, it becomes clear to me what this is saying, and I dread it. Because I illegally sold alcohol, despite there being a threat involved, I have to do some community service hours. I have to work for twenty total hours, serving food at a soup kitchen. And if you thought that was bad enough, it gets worse. Way worse.
The last paragraph of the letter tells that I'm sure I feel like this is so unfair, and that I shouldn't be doing this, but it's for the best. But if it makes me feel any better, the boy who put you in this situation, Antoine Griezmann, has to work forty hours, doing the same thing, and is being fined a good deal of money for his actions. I shouldn't worry, the letter says, that Antoine might try to threaten me any more, because there has been discussions. An officer will always be at the kitchen, and so will adult supervision. The law believes this is the best for both of us, and it can't do any harm, only help. It concludes with sending me the best wishes, and they hope (A.K.A. require) me to be there at the local soup kitchen in town at 10:00 A.M. on Saturday to get the food cooked, serve it at 12:00 A.M., and then help clean up the kitchen afterwards. They mention that Antoine will also be required to do this same thing. Just for double the times, because he is blamed much more than me.
I don't know if I should pump my fists and laugh because of the idea of Antoine, the most nasty, jerky, guy on earth, putting on a nice little pink apron and being forced to work in a soup kitchen, or putting my head in my hands and sighing, because I have to do the same exact thing.
Antoine's Perspective
When I see the letter, I might as well kill myself. I'm at my papa's house right now, and I might just kill him before myself.
Of course, somehow, my father lied enough to convince people that my tears and heavy breathing wasn't real. I'm scared to do it, but I know I have to. I storm into the living room, where my father is sitting on is fat a** and watching a basketball game, an empty can of beer laying next to him on the disgusting couch. I march up to him, and before he can speak, I pause the game, drop the letter on his lap, and scream, "Who the hell do you think you are?!" I didn't mean it to come out so hoarse and loud and aggressive, but it does anyway. I guess I have just kind of been feeling that, along with the numbness, ever since that rainy last Saturday.
My father glares at me, shouting back. "Turn back on the damn T.V.! This game is live!"
"Too f***ing bad!" I scream back. "You lied, idiot! You lied to the f***ing police, you nasty idiot! What the hell did you say to them?!"
He shrugs, not seeming to be bothered by my screaming and outburst. "Turn the f***ing game back on, Antoine. Right. Now. Or else."
"Or else what?!" I shout, shutting off the telly, throwing the remote into the wall. It shatters. "Now what, huh?! Now what?! Tell me and God and anyone else listening why you lied! What did you say!?"
My father grabs my bruised, tender face, slapping me. More. I'm tired. This is too much. Too f***ing much.
I stare at him, fighting off the tears that want to come so much. I would love to beat him up. And I know I could. I'm smaller than him, but I'm much stronger, no doubt. But I know I can't. Because I don't know what would happen after that.
"Antoine, you need to calm down," he says, letting go of me.
I take a deep breath, simmering more than I was at the beginning, before asking, very softly, "What did you tell the officer?"
"Antoine, I need you not to tell on me again. If you do, we will move away, away from this place, away from your mother. Away from your friends. And we will start over, but you will continue to submit to me, okay? So don't ever tell anyone about me again and what I do to you. If you swear on God and everyone you love that you won't, until I'm dead, then I will tell you what I said to the police."
Before really thinking about it, I say, "I swear on God and everyone I love. Now tell me."
"I explained that your mother used to have a boyfriend who raped you and abused you, physically and emotionally. You're a messed up, difficult kid, and it's because of him. He was sent to jail. You get confusion when things remind you of that, or when you get in moods, so that was probably what that was. I hid any evidence, and no matter how much they searched, they could find anything against me. I threatened Louis, Beau, and Annabelle not to be honest to the police, with other things that I knew would keep them from that. They explained that you had issues because of your mother's old boyfriend. And the best thing is, your mother actually did have a boyfriend who went to jail because of abuse, so it worked perfectly. So that's it, Antoine. That's what I said. Now I don't want to hear any more from you. I understand you'll be fined and have to do community service. I also understand that you will also be buying me a new telly remote, yes?"
I stare at him, before saying, "Yes..." before storming out of the room, back to me and Louis's bedroom.
Despite him trying to talk to me, I'm not willing to.
