The Internship

Chapter Forty

This is going to be very, very short. You can skip it if you want because it's nothing important! I just want to give you an update but I'm going to be bringing in some very important parts of the story soon! (starting next chapter)

After opening presents, my family has a tradition of eating a small breakfast before parting ways. Some take a nap, others watch movies, and the children play with their new presents.

Mitch had gone up to our room, and my mom was in the kitchen washing dishes from breakfast, so I took the time to talk to her.

Her back was to me when I walked up.

"Where'd you get it?"

She stopped washing the dishes and her worn, exhausted body seemed to become weighted down with the question. But I needed to know.

"Mom, how did you---"

"He called me. I---I don't know. I was listed as an emergency contact on your profile for work. And then---I don't know, he was drunk. He kept talking about a package and I was going to hang-up, but then he said his name and I realized that he had to be your boss. He was saying that a package would be delivered. It never came and I forgot about it, but one day, I don't know a few weeks ago, it did. And I connected all the dots and it had Christmas wrapping paper, so I put it under the tree and---"

"Mom, shh. It's okay."

I gave her a hug, and she cried into me.

"Thank you," I whispered, "Thank you."

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"How are you?" I asked as I entered our room. I began stripping down to my boxers so I could take a nap.

"I don't know," Mitch answered with a shaky voice.

I looked at him and frowned at the letter firmly gripped in his hands.

"You should stop reading it, I know it won't help you."

"I can't."

I sighed and walked into the bathroom, instantly hit by the smell of vomit and an air freshener that obviously hadn't helped. When I walked back out, his eyes were glistened with tears as he read the letter again.

"Did you throw up?"

"No."

"Mitch."

"Yes. It's not a big deal."

"It actually is. Do you not feel good?"

"I feel fine."

"Give me bullshit one more time, Grassi. I swear to---"

"My stomach does not hurt. I just cried too much and it made me nauseous, okay?"

I sat on the edge of the bed and ran my hands over my face, this day already feeling long.

"He had good intentions with that letter, Mitch. He wanted to fix some things, especially himself and you. But the only thing that letter is doing is hurting you. I mean, look at you!"

"I'm fine."

"Your bloodshot eyes and shaky hands tell me otherwise."

He put the letter down and looked me directly in the eyes.

"Fuck you."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm trying to pretend, just for one day, that I had a normal childhood. Everyone in this house right now knows that my life is and was a mess. I get that you don't understand, so good thing I'm not asking you to. Please just go off and enjoy your Christmas with your perfect family while I try to keep it together with the only thing left of mine."

"I'm not letting you ruin yourself over a piece of paper filled with lies from some drunk man." I stood up quickly and snatched the letter from his hands, his face going pale at the feeling of it being out of his possession.

"Give it back."

I ignored him as I marched down the stairs. He wasted no time to follow me.

"Give me back the fucking letter!" His shout echoed through the house, and the kids stopped playing with their toys, their faces filled with fear. The rest of my family began coming out of their rooms and downstairs as the Christmas spirit left and was replaced with unbearable tension.

I walked, determination surging through me as I neared the fireplace.

"Don't you dare!"

"Scott!" My mom yelled.

The rest of my family just waited. It was obvious that they were wishing I wouldn't do what they knew I would, yet none of them tried to stop me.

My eyes scanned the letter one more time before I let it slip through my hands and into the fire.

"NO!" Mitch shoved me out of the way as he tried to reach for it.

"Honey, you'll burn yourself. Stop it!" One of my aunts reached for him, but he was a mess, and long gone. It took four of them to finally pull him back. Tears streamed down his red, angered face.

He shoved me against the wall, and began hitting me as he screamed.

"You asshole! You monster! I loved him! That's all I had left! Why can't you try to understand?! I loved him! I loved him! He was my father!" The punches began hurting so I grabbed for his wrists and flipped our positions so that he was against the wall. "Go to hell! Go to hell you heartless, inconsiderate bastard!"

"Calm down," I forced out through labored breaths.

"I've trusted you! With everything!" His glare burned holes into my skin as he wriggled out of my grip, marks from my hands on his wrists. He slapped me, and I was sure an imprint of his hand was left on my pale skin. "Don't try to find me."

He ran out of the house and all eyes seemed to search my face after the door slammed shut.

"How dare you say you love him."

I couldn't figure out who the voice belonged to, and it wasn't until my family had left me alone in the living room that I realized it was my own.