Page 18 of The Sound Of Us

Until that point, I usually hung out with them, watching the game, drinking some beer. Frank watched me like a hawk, so I made sure to always remain sane, never drank too much. Never talked too much with the three.

That day, after Peter, without hesitation or fear, ran his big, fat palm over my ass and squeezed it like he owned it, and then propositioned me right there in our kitchen, Frank threw him out. So, Peter got kicked around a lot that Christmas. Not that he didn’t deserve it.

“Don’t you have a fucking wife?” Frank asked him. To which Peter just lifted the side of his beardy mouth and said, “Hey, just wanna get a lil’ taste of that pretty pussy.” I suppose if he’d just kept his mouth shut, he wouldn’t have had to spend Christmas night under the bus shelter.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

“Do you have to go around ruining everything, even on Christmas?” Frank had asked in my general direction. I’d looked over my shoulder to see who Frank was talking to, since Peter had already been booted out the front door.

“Maybe if you cut off those fucking curls and wore some collared shirts instead of looking like—”

He waved his hand in the air up and down the length of my body, and that’s when I realized Frank was talking to me.

“—like a fucking third grade bitch, then maybe the boys won’t look at you like a piece of meat all the time.”

I’d stood there with my mouth hanging open. In the first place, I had no idea what a third grade bitch was. Maybe it was a term they used from the nineties when Frank was a teenager. But it didn’t matter because the message was clear. Whatever a third-grade bitch was, it was the reason Peter had grabbed my ass and asked me if I’d let him suck my cock since everybody always talked about how juicy it was.

My fault. It was my fault. My curls, and my sweatpants, which happened to fit my body the way it’s supposed to — it was fucking my fault.

Peter finally got let back into his house the day after Christmas, but Frank forgave him only after six months.

During those six months, after No-Lube-Friday, when Frank was asleep even before he’d fully rolled off me, I’d fantasize about how much Frank must love me to actually choose me over his childhood buddy. Over his blood covenant brother. How he threw Peter right out of our house on Christmas day… for me. For me. Maybe Frank just needed some time to realize how happy we could be together if he just stopped being so angry all the time. Stopped acting like it was my fault I was born with this face, this body. Maybe he’d go see someone, a professional, about some of his issues.

It turned out Peter wasn’t allowed to come back to our house because he owed Frank a hundred dollars and could only get back in the covenant brothers’ circle after he paid Frank back.

These days, I make sure there’s enough food for all of them and then I escape to my boulder of shame or I remain in our bedroom. It’s the only time Frank doesn’t check upon me.

“Everything is still warm, but if you all decide to eat later, then you can just heat it up in the microwave,” I say as I zip up my parka.

Frank stands in the kitchen doorway. “You don’t have to go every time they come over, you know,” he says kindly. The newly developing creases around his eyes soften, and the tone of his voice almost sends me to my knees. I’d give anything for this gentleness, this softness to last more than ten seconds. I’d forgive and forget every blow, every awful word, every bruise if he would be like this forever.

But that’s not how it works. Frank is making yesterday go away. He’s not sorry. He’s bent on making it like it never happened. Since he’s being nice now, what does yesterday matter?

‘Stop living in the past, Axel. You’re so pessimistic.’

It’s no use. I know this circle of insanity, this push and pull, so well. He’s not asking for me to stay. He’s just making sure it’s ‘not his fault’ that I didn’t stick around if it comes up later.

In the old days, maybe five years into the marriage, I’d be so shocked by the way Frank treated me, I’d just scream. And not in that oh stop, Frank way. I’d scream in that aaahhhhhh haaaaaaa way that made you think you’ve actually lost your mind. Tears streaming down my cheek, snot dripping into my open mouth, I used to just scream into the void.

I don’t do that anymore. I hardly ever get angry these days, not outwardly anyway. I’m too afraid I’ll go mad again like that and this time Frank would really get me on a video and send it to everyone. But it was his mocking that had got me every time. Oh my God, Axel, you’re acting crazy. And then he’d laugh. Actually laugh and mimic me. Aaahhh haaaa. And then he’d laugh some more.

“It’s okay. You guys have fun. I’ll take a book down to the lake,” I say now.

The book I intend to read is tucked away inside the oversize pocket of my parka. Frank doesn’t usually care about my reading habits, but he’d sneered once or twice at book covers with shirtless men on them when we visited the book fair. My reading material today has a picture of an insanely handsome man, thickly muscled upper body and a chest and arms full of tattoos. Yet another thing I hide from Frank.

“I’m glad I let you go up there for some alone time. You’re happy I let you do that, right?” Frank says.

Like a betrayal to myself, I answer, “Yes.”

Frank shoves his hands into his pockets. “You’re not still mad, right? I mean, it’s all in the past and I just got a little jealous, right?”

“Right.” I grab my book with a discreet cover from the table and shove it under my arm. It’s my diversion book.

“And I don’t remember saying all those things. I guess you heard it wrong, yeah?”

“Yeah.” And since things are calm between us, I take advantage of the situation and say, “Ben wants to have a beer next week.”

“You want a beer? I'll buy you some. Don't worry,” he says.

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