Build-A-Boyfriend

40

The room is tense.

Me- trying frantically to think of a lie.

Dad- staring at me as though he's going to murder me.

Harry- wearing an alpaca crop-top and a fluffy thong.

Dave- cleaning his privates noisily.

You could cut the air with a knife.
Dad is in such a state of extreme rage that I don't think he's even noticed Harry's outfit, or Harry himself for that matter. Dad begins to pace and Harry leaps backwards out of his way, treading on Dave in the process.

This is the dangerous part. I don't know how much Dad - or should I say, Charlie (the arsehole-bastard-stupid-snitching-cockwomble) knows.

If I let Dad speak first though, it allows him to get warmed up into a rant, then I'll never get out alive. I take a deep breath.

"Hendrix-"

"Dad, I'm sorry."

"Sorry won't cut it this time." His voice is low and that's far more dangerous than when he shouts. "I knew that you couldn't be trusted with that money. I knew all along that you'd do something bloody stupid, but this... This..." He gestures to Harry who pulls at his crop top and gives Dad an awkward grin and jovial wave, as if he's only just noticed him.

"It's not what you're thinking-"

"... To think that you'd buy yourself a slave-"

"It's not like that! I didn't buy him!"

"I know what the Dream Factory does!"

"Yes, but I'm only a volunteer! I didn't pay anything for him, not at first, Dad. They said he was faulty and that's when I had to start paying-"

"You're so bloody immature! You know, when your mother and I were your age, we already had a house, we already had you-"

"Oh so what? Should I have a baby to prove how mature I am?"

"Are..." Dads face turns an impressive shade of red. "Are you pregnant?"

"What?! No, of course not! Jesus! I was just saying that having a kid doesn't mean you're mature-" stop talking, Hendrix "- anyone can have a kid! Anyway, you can't have been that mature, naming your kid after your favourite singer-" seriously, shut the fūck up Hendrix "- I would never do that... You're not going to catch me shouting '2Pac, honey, come in, dinner's ready!" So apparently I want to die today

Dad looks at though he's about to have a fit. If there's one thing no one ever does in front of him, it's insult Jimi Hendrix in any way. Dad only has two portraits on his work desk, a small one of me and mum and a large one of Jimi.

"You..." He spits the words between his teeth. "You were named after the most talented man to ever walk this earth." He jabs a finger in my direction, apparently too incandescent with rage to speak properly. "AND I'M NOT HERE TO TALK ABOUT THAT!"

"Dad, please hear me out, it's not what you think. I didn't buy Harry, the payments came later, they were going to kill-"

"How much?"

Oh fuck.
There it is.

The question that I'm absolutely not going to answer.

"You have to understand, they were going to kill him-"

"How much?"

"Dad." I take a deep breath. "I've got myself into a stupid situation and I know I always do stuff without thinking-"