Page 109 of The Fed Sex Man

Jo

My brokensoul lay at my feet. Shattered into a thousand pieces, my heart was littered along the sidewalk that led from the driveway to my parent’s front door. My trust in mankind had been cast into the Texas wind, leaving me incapable of placing so much as an ounce of faith in anyone I encountered in the future.

The little of me that remained intact came to rest at my mother’s side on the front room couch. She raked her fingertips through my hair. “Whenever you feel like talking, Josephine.”

I felt so foolish for believing that Tyson was interested in me. To think, for one moment, that it was possible showed my vulnerability when it came to mankind in general.

I exhaled an unsteady breath. “I. Hurt. So. Bad.”

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry,” she said. “But you’ve got to tell me what happened.”

“He...”

“…lied.”

She held my head against her chest. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

Hoping to find some resemblance of comfort, I pressed the side of my face against her bosom and listened to her heartbeat.

Ba-boom.

Ba-boom.

Ba-boom.

I wanted the pain to stop. My heart to heal. My soul to somehow return to its rightful place. How something that once felt so right could suddenly cripple me into a state of paralysis was hard to believe.

Nonetheless, I was incapable of something as simple as speaking.

Hoping the words came with the passing of time, I watched through the window for the next half hour as the Saturday evening sun fell against the horizon. I let out a sigh of relief, knowing sleep would come soon, during which time the day would pass.

The front door swung open. I looked up. Dressed in his normal work clothes, my father was coming in from a hard day of work in the fields.

He scanned the room and then fixed his eyes on me. “Where’s Tyson?”

“At home,” I murmured.

Upon realizing I was being held in my mother’s arms, he shifted his focus from me to her. “What going on, Jackie?”

“She and Tyson had a fight.”

“It wasn’t a fight,” I said. “We’re done. It’s over.”

“What do you mean it’s over?” His eyes narrowed. “What happened?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It sure as hell does,” he snarled.

“Daddy, it’s over,” I explained. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.” He put his hands on his hips and gave me a look. “If you two got in a spat, that’s none of my damned business. You’ll have a few hundred of them before you realize they’re not worth havin’. Until then, learn to like the way they taste.”

He folded his arms over his broad chest and lowered his chin. “If he did something to hurt you, that’s a different story. I need to know which it is, so I’ll know whether to go in my bedroom and get my gun or go in the kitchen and make a sandwich.”

“John!” my mother gasped.

“Well, it’s the damned truth,” he said. “If they had a tiff, it’s not your or my business, Jackie. She needs to realize the world outside of her little bubble isn’t all butterflies, bubblegum and backgammon.”