Paige_Woman Empowered by MJ Fields

Author:MJ Fields [Fields, MJ]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-04-05T18:30:00+00:00

Not one word is said while I ride, not drive, in a vehicle with Paige and her brother to the marina where I get out and shut the door behind me, angry, so fucking angry that this isn’t going as planned.

I walk down the dock toward my boat, thinking about the words she may have thought were encouraging or may have been used as her way to put me in my place. I’m not sure which.

I step onto the boat and immediately walk down the stairs, grab the bottle of Dominic’s award-winning Greco do Tufo, named Alesstina after his and Valentina’s mother, the wine Paige seemed to enjoy the most while in Italy, and pop the cork. I don’t bother with a glass. I just sit on the leather corner couch and drink from the bottle.

Try harder, Vincent.

My earliest memories of my father was when he used to tell me that I wouldn’t speak with the women he brought in and out of his life when I would go to work with him. The women who told him I was strange.

I wasn’t strange. I was a kid who knew his father was fucking around on his mother. The woman he would tell he loved most mornings before he left for work. It was confusing.

I was trying hard, too hard to understand what the hell was going on around me.

Try harder, Vincent.

He would say that when I would beg him not to leave me with my mother after he no longer lived with us and she cried too much, drank too much, and slept too much.

When he was killed in a car accident, I was forced to try harder.

Try harder, Vincent.

My mother would slur that when I tried to carry her up the stairs after she had fallen asleep on the stoop outside of any given shitty apartment we happened to live in with her man of the month. Men who used her body while she used them for whatever they had to offer. It didn’t take long for me to figure out it was drugs.

Try harder, Vincent!

She would shout that when I tried to get her to understand that she didn’t have to live like that. She just needed to get a job and a place for us.

I was trying harder, and it wasn’t doing a damn thing.

Try harder, Vincent.

My mother cried that the first night she snuck out of her bed to come find me after her boyfriend had beaten me with a leather belt so badly I bled.

Try harder, Vincent!

She would scream that at me when I fought off the next five who came at me with intentions of harm, and I did the same.

Try harder, Vincent.

She would whisper that when I was old enough to realize she was selling her body and, in that last year, trying to sell mine, as well.

Try harder, Vincent!

She would shriek that when she was no longer mentally capable of realizing how fucked up it was that she couldn’t break me, bring me to a level of understanding that that kind of life was acceptable.

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