The Hourglass

Fifty - Adam

My dad was stopping by for an in-person meeting today. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a nervous wreck, but I couldn't let him know that. He'd be at my house any minute now. I imagine it has to be something incredibly important for him to suddenly announce he's flying in from New York for a meeting with me. 

I pace back and forth with a glass of whiskey in my hand - just a little to calm the nerves. I've never really had pleasant encounters with my Dad. There have been awful encounters and bearable encounters - nothing more, nothing less. Memories of my dad beating me with his belt flood my mind. My grasp tightens around the glass and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to unsee the images. Those were the awful encounters. The meetings we had now were bearable compared to that. 

Thoughts of Rosaline's dad suddenly appear, and I find myself relaxing a bit. The words he had spoken to me last night still rehearsed in my mind.  "I love you, Son." Those were words my own father had never uttered to me. Not even once. Yet, after two months of dating this man's daughter, he tells me what my own father never could. 

I had no idea how to respond. Rosaline is the only person I've ever uttered those words to. I had surprised myself when I said them to her, but once I had said them, I realized how true they were, and I knew I couldn't take them back. What surprised me even more was that she had said it back.  I knew at that moment that one day, I would marry this girl. 

I chuckle to myself at the realization. If you had told me even a year ago that I would meet a girl that I could fall in love with and want to marry, I'd never have believed it. I still couldn't, really. Logically, it seemed to make no sense. There was just something about her that completely captivated me and warmed every part of me. The fact that I've been celibate for her should speak volumes. 

I was having to workout and throw myself into my art more just to burn off the energy. Every time I see her, I just want to rip her clothes off and lose myself in her. And when I see the hungry look in her own eyes, it's nearly enough to undo me. 

The knock at my door startles me out of my reverie. The sinking pit in my stomach returns. I finish my drink and slam it down on the counter before going to welcome my father. Part of me was surprised he even bothered to wait at the door instead of just waltzing in. 

When I open the door, my father stands before me, smiling wickedly. I recoil inwardly. I knew that look. It meant he was playing a game and winning it. "Dad," I greet him monotone as I open the door wider for him to step in. 

"Adam," he greets me cunningly. "I love what you've done with the place," he comments. I hadn't changed a single thing since he was last here - the day I had officially moved in. I bite back whatever snarky remarks want to make their way to the surface. 

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" I ask, keeping my tone even. 

My dad laughs, amused. "Always straight to business with you," he says turning and pointing at me. "I knew I raised you well," he prides himself. I can't help but inwardly scoff. Thankfully, my exterior remains stoic. 

The grandeur expression on my dad's face fades to disappointment, "Though, not as well as I would have hoped," he says bitterly. I steel myself, ready for the verbal attack I well know is coming. "How are things with you and that tramp?" He spits the last word out like it's acid on his tongue, and my blood boils in response. 

"She's not a tramp," I can't help but say. There were many things I could take from my father, but insults about Rosaline were not one of them. The slap across my face tells me my mistake, but I don't care. I wasn't going to let him degrade her. 

"Have you at least gotten her to sign the paper?" He growls, irritated. 

I open my eyes and brace myself for another slap as I say, "I will never ask her to do that." My jaw clenches as I wait for the slap, but it doesn't come. 

My father looks at me with disgust. "You stupid, insolent boy!" he spits in my face. He steps toward me and grabs my shirt collar in his fist. "You never were a sharp one, were you?" he yells at me. I do my best not to flinch or move. I learned the hard way as a kid that cowering and showing fear only made things worse. But now, as an adult, I stay still for a different reason. I hold in the urge to throw him off me and beat him to a bloody pulp. I hadn't put up with all of his crap and worked this hard to lose everything now. 

My father shoves me away from him, and I stumble back a step but keep my composure. "Why don't you like her?" I find myself asking despite my better judgment. The older I get, the harder it is to respect him and not talk back. I was going to have to learn to bite my tongue - literally.  

He looks at me with disgust, and I know I'm pathetic in his eyes. I take advantage of his stunned silence and speak again. "You were married once," I remind him. To my mother. "Why don't you understand?" 

He laughs maniacally before turning to me with anger. "I never loved your mother. Our marriage was a business transaction. Love is for the weak," he emphasizes as he pokes me in my chest. My heart stung at his words. 

Was that why my mother had drunk herself to death? Did she not know of my father's true motives prior to the marriage? Had she known and hoped she could change him? Was my birth not enough of a reason to give her hope for a future? I would never know because the evil man in front of me took her from me. 

My father sighs as he reaches into his coat pocket. "Lucky for you, I'm willing to clean up your mess," he scolds. He thrusts the paper into my hands. 

I open it and immediately recognize what it is. I had seen it a dozen times before and then some. What I didn't understand was Rosaline's signature on the bottom. "Where did you get this?" I question. "Did you ask Rosaline to sign this?" I demand, waving the paper at him. 

He smirks, "In a sense." 

It somehow dawns on me, then. "The job," I say in realization. "You wanted her signature." 

My father smiles triumphantly with an evil grin. I turn towards the kitchen and grab the lighter by the stove. I set the paper on fire, dropping it in the sink as it burns. The laughter in response makes me turn back to my father, glaring at him. 

"You idiot," he insults me. "Did you really think that was the original? It's just a copy. And I can make plenty more of those," he warns. "I can add her signature to whatever I deem necessary," he threatens. His tone changes suddenly, "Still want to keep her around?" he taunts. 

At that moment, I had never hated my father more. He was taking away Rosaline's rights. I knew I didn't have to worry about getting her pregnant now. I was being careful. But one day I wanted to marry her and I wanted her to be entitled to everything I owned and inherited. I wanted our children to have the same rights. My father was doing everything in his power to make sure that if something happened to me, or if for some reason she left me, she would have nothing. 

Why did he hate her so much? She was pure and kind. She would never hurt a fly. He would know that if he gave her a chance. But I was kidding myself for even thinking that. The cruel man in front of me wasn't capable of real emotion. He would never accept Rosaline. As the thought occurred to me, my body reacted without my permission, and before I could fully understand what I was doing, I punched my father. 

He stumbled back in surprise, holding his jaw. He chuckles softly to himself before glaring at me. "You just made a huge mistake," he growls at me. He storms past me and out of the house, slamming the door as he goes. 

What did I just do?