Clayton - Part 2
Part 1 - Part 2
Just as Clay parked his truck in the driveway that evening. His mother and step-father came out of the house.
They were furious, shouting, spit flying from their mouths as they berated him for not helping Asher.
“I sent you to do one thing, JUST ONE! And you do that!” His step-dad looked about ready to explode and beat him up, but realizing their size difference, he rather smartly remained satisfied with the verbal remarks.
“You’ve been sending me to do ‘just one thing’ for the last 15 years, midget.” Clay sneered, a cig still hanging from his lip.
“You can’t be serious, Clayton! Talking with your dad like that!”
“My step-father, Ma. Frankly, with yer approach to my life, ya might as well be a step-mother.”
“Clayton!” She gasped, grabbing onto her husband's arm, “Riley, do something!” But he seemed rather reluctant to do anything. The pair of vibrant green eyes that was staring him down kept him firmly in his place.
“Ya heard me, my whole existence here, you’ve been pushing me aside, like I’m the ghost of my dad, getting in the way of your frivolous lifestyle, afforded by this pretty slick-haired gigolo’s deep pockets.” He dropped the butt on the ground, ground it fine against the asphalt with the heel of his boot.
“What! Gigolo?! Clayton!” His mother looked ready to faint.
“Yeah, a gigolo. You’ve got too much trust in those frequent Cali trips, Ma.” He sneered, “I’ll be in my room if ya need me.” He pushed past them inside, shoulder-checking his step-dad so hard he nearly fell, a wide grin plastered on his face.
Back in his tiny bedroom. Too hot in summer, too cold in winter, too cramped for any normal teenager, let alone all 6’4 of him. Clay slowly stripped off his clothes,thinking about life.
The cool air touched his skin as he stripped off, his eyes wandered around the room, the few things he could call his.
For most of Clay’s life, he’s been struggling. Ever since his dad died and his mother remarried with that 5’4 manlet. He felt like the fifth wheel of the family.
Riley brought with him Ash and his older twin sisters, those were thankfully gone by now. Immediately after they arrived, all focus shifted to them.
Their obnoxious, brash, often outright rude behaviour clashed with Clay’s Yes, Sir/No, Ma’am upbringing, drilled into him by dad.
Thus, even quicker, Clay turned to his late dad, to the image his 5-year old self had of him. and formed himself around that image.
Hard jobs and even harder workouts were the norm for him since he was lil. It was the one thing the parents couldn’t take away from him.
Picked up smoking early on as a way of coping, after all, his dad smoked too.
Now, he was back here, in just his boxers, squeezed onto the small single mattress, on the bottom half of what used to be the sisters’ bunk bed. Thinking about it all. Wondering what tomorrow might bring.