Bonding time with stepdad

Scrolling through the pile of messages you don't want to reply to and notifications you'd rather ignore, one in particular catches your eye. One that you'd rather delete than read. One that makes you wish you could get away with blocking the number entirely.

Hey Cola! Was thinking of cashing in that favor. Could use some help in the garage.

Immediately you feel a surge of twisted-up emotions. When your mom had first married your stepdad, he called you RC Cola, apparently to show you he was cool and laid back. You had shut that shit down immediately, as you had only just started going by RC when he entered your life and you sure as shit weren't going to let this asshole turn it into some dorky nickname. These days, he only called you "Cola" on those rare occasions when he decided to try being an actual parent instead of just the guy banging your mom. You hated when he did that.

Can't he just let me live my life instead of trying to shove himself into it?

He'd let you borrow his truck last month so you could visit some friends out of town. In lieu of gas money he'd just asked that you return the favor some day. With all the other shit demanding your attention right now, that favor is just going to have to wait. You're about to leave him on read when you see a follow up text.

Your mom got real excited when I told her we'd be spending time together today.

Those emotions get even more twisted as you think about your mom. Well at least she's sober enough to have an opinion. Fucking goddammit. He just had to go and get her involved, didn't he? If it was just your stepdad asking you for that favor, you'd have no problem blowing him off. He's easy enough to deal with. Your mom being in the picture makes everything infinitely more complicated. Whenever she stopped drinking long enough to actually talk to you, one of her favorite conversation topics was how she wished you and her husband would get along better. As much as you'd rather do literally anything else than hang out with your stupid stepdad, you know blowing him off now would make your home life a living hell for weeks.

Never give an unemployed woman with a drinking problem a reason to be upset with you.

Heaving a heavy sigh, you begin the long walk home, fuming the whole way. Did he tell your mom on purpose to get his way? No, your dumbass stepdad isn't that clever. Not by half. He'd probably just let it spill as an offhand remark. That dude doesn't know how to shut up. Always yammering about trucks and fishing and baseball and his stupid old man music like anyone gives a shit other than him. Between him and your permanently soused mom, there's a reason you always find any excuse to be out of the house doing anything at all, or locked in your room getting it on with whoever was lucky enough to go home with you.

You're still mulling possible excuses to get out of all this as you open the front door to your house, sweeping the pile of mail out of the way with your foot before stepping inside. Most of the lights are off, leaving the flickering glow of the TV the main source of illumination in the trash-filled living room. Your mom is occupying her usual spot, sprawled out on the couch with a drink in her hand. She turns away from the reality show she's watching as you enter, lifting her empty glass in greeting.

"Well woudya lookitthat! My daughter actually came home after school. By herself, even! What, were all your fuckbuddies busy today?" Her unkempt brown hair mostly covers her bloodshot eyes, but can't hide her drunken, mocking grin.

"Nice to see you, too, mom." You keep walking past the living room toward the back hall. "I see you're still coherent at 4 o'clock. Not bad for a Friday."

"Ah hell yeah, that's right, it is Friday!" Your mom lets out a sharp whoop. "Tee jee aye EFF! Darlin' girl, would you be a dearie?" She rattles the ice in her glass at you.

The fuck does Friday matter to you, ya lazy bitch? "Sorry, mom. Busy." You call out over your shoulder as you turn down the hall toward the door to the garage.

"Thirty-three hours of labor and she can't even make me a fuckin drink!" Your mom calls out after you.

You're practically vibrating with anger as you open the door to the garage, cringing as you're greeted with a blast of electric guitar from the stereo in the corner. Your stepdad is leaning against his blue Dodge Ram, packing a small glass pipe. He looks up when you enter, his mouth curving into a surprised smile under his stupid mustache. "Hey, Cola, you showed up! Why didn't you return my text?"

You drop your backpack on the concrete floor. "You know I hate that stupid nickname, David."

His smile turns from surprised to sheepish. "I... sorry Ro-, er, RC." He fiddles with the pipe in his hand. "You know, you can call me Dave."

"Sure thing, David."

Your stepdad lets out a little sigh. "Alright, OK. Wanna, uhh... I was about to hit this. You, um, wanna smoke some?"

Not with you. "Is that what you wanted help with, David?"

"I..." He exhales through pursed lips and then tucks the pipe into his shirt pocket. "No, not... not really. I was kinda thinking, um..." He runs a hand through his short black hair. "I needed to do some work on the truck. Tighten some belts, change the oil, thinking about rotating the tires. Thought it would be fun to do that together, maybe? It'll go a lot easier with some help, and I could teach you some things about, y'know, auto maintenance."

This? This is what I ditched everything else for? "David? When have I ever expressed an interest in auto maintenance?" You keep your expression flat and your voice even, holding a tight lid on the roiling emotions that have been building up since you first saw his text.

He looks at his shoes. "I... I dunno, I mean... I'm not really sure what you're interested in. It's not like we really talk all that much."

"And why do you think that is, David?" The lid is starting to leak. "Do you really think I care about getting to know you? Do you really think I give a shit about spending time with the dude who fucks my mom?"

He looks up, his dark blue eyes showing pain. "Hey now, don't bring your mother into this."

"Why the fuck not? You brought her into this with your bullshit guilt trip text message." The lid is off, and it's all coming out now. "I had so much fucking shit to do today. Shit I actually care about. Shit that matters to me. But no, you had to throw my fucking mom at me so I would drop everything else to come home and what? Help you fix your fucking truck? What kind of bullshit—"

"Hey!" The sharp tone of his voice shocks you into silence. "You listen here! I bust my ass all week to provide for you and your mom, and what do I get? A drunk wife and a disrespectful stepdaughter. I'm sick of it!" He's breathing hard. "You know what your mom tells me when she sobers up enough to talk? You know what she says?"

You glare at him, daring him to say whatever fucking manipulative bullshit he's gonna say.

"She says how nice it would be if we could just be a family sometimes. Actually have some quality time together, do something, anything, the three of us. But we can't do that, can we, RC? You know why?"

You're breathing hard through your nose, barely able to contain your rage. How fucking dare this asshole use my mom against me like this.

"Because you refuse to do anything with me. You won't even give me the time of day, much less deign to spend more than five minutes in my unworthy presence. How do you think that makes me feel?"

You're done being silent. "What makes you think I give a shit, David? Why the fuck would I care how you feel?"

In the blink of an eye, he's closed the distance between you. His face, red with rage, is right up in yours. "Because, little lady, like it or not, I'm your stepfather. And it's time I started acting like it."

You want to scream at him to get the fuck out of your face, but your voice catches in your throat. You've never seen him like this. This anger, this aggression, this assertiveness. You're still shaking with rage, but there's also something else. Something that wants to see exactly how far he'll go. "Th-that so, David? And what the f-fuck does that mean?"

He grabs your wrist. "It means it's time I enforced a little discipline."