My Savior 🔞 ( Part One )

Humiliated

"We apologize for this unpleasant visit, Mr. O'Hara,"
said the old fart next to me, voice stiff and righteous.
"But we had to bring your son home. He started a fight by the lake. He was drunk—again. We've warned him several times before, but this will be the last. Next time, we take him to the station. He has to pay for the damages. Thankfully, the man he attacked wasn't hurt badly. Unlike your son..."

He looked at me like I was supposed to flinch.
The only thing threatening me was the stench coming from his armpits.

I don't remember the punch I took, but apparently, it was a hell of a hit.
My eye's gonna swell up like a balloon. Left cheek too. Awesome.

"I apologize on behalf of my child," my father said through gritted teeth.
"He's almost thirty but acts like a brat. This will not happen again."

Of course it won't. That's what money is for, right?

The conversation dragged on. I tuned it out.
The last thing I remember is puking on the cop's shoes.
Mom facepalmed.
Again.

When the pigs finally left, Dad shut the door and tried not to explode.

"William O'Hara! Are you out of your goddamn mind?! Fourteen? Are you fourteen?!
We leave for a few weeks and come home to this?!"

I sighed. He was yelling. Big deal.

"You don't work, you skip class, I give you money to keep you out of trouble — and here we go again!
I'm sick of it! This is the last time! You have one year.
Decide what to do with your life. Or I'll decide for you."

Oh no. Daddy's mad.

I rolled my one functional eye.
He says that now, but he never means it.

And then... she said it.

"Rowan... maybe he's just lonely.
Maybe it's time... he had a personal assistant."

...

A what now?

That "mm..." sound from Dad?
That means he's thinking.
And that means I'm screwed.

I'm an adult. Maybe a fucked-up one, but still.
I don't need a babysitter.

"We'll talk about it tonight. Don't go anywhere else today.
Or expect consequences."

Consequences?
What am I, twelve?
I drank. I fought. So what?
I'm a grown-ass man.

And I will not—

—and there it is again. The second wave of vomit.

Right on my mother's favorite carpet.

So yeah. Babysitter's officially on the way.

Let's see how long he'll last.

The rest of the day blurred into silence.
I locked myself in my room,
furious that they were ruining my life with some unnecessary nuisance.

What the hell is this "assistant" even supposed to help with?

Whatever.
I'll make sure they don't last more than a few days.

Night came.
Dinner time.
Normally, I'd enjoy that with my parents.
But tonight?
Nope.

I caused the mess. Sure.
But this reaction?
Way over the top.

I tried to mentally prepare for Dad's voice drilling through my skull.
But no amount of painkillers or naps could help me now.