Twisted Hate: An Enemies with Benefits Romance

I’m sorry, Ava.
After floating adrift for the past two years, I could pretend I had a father
again. As fucked up and selfish as it was, I wanted to savor the feeling for a
while longer.
“How’s prison?” I almost laughed at my inane question, but I was
genuinely curious. Michael’s letters detailed the minutiae of his days, but
they hadn’t revealed how he was dealing with his incarceration.
Was he sad? Ashamed? Angry? Did he get along with the other inmates,
or did he keep to himself?”
“Prison is prison.” Michael sounded almost cheerful. “It’s boring,
uncomfortable, and the food is terrible, but it could be worse. Luckily…” A
dark gleam lit up his eyes. “I’ve made some friends who’ve been able to help
me out.”
Of course he had. I didn’t know the ins and outs of inmate politics, but
Michael had always been a survivor. 
I wasn’t sure whether I was relieved or pissed that he wasn’t suffering
more.
“Speaking of which...” Michael lowered his voice further until it was
nearly inaudible. “They’ve asked for a favor in exchange for their, ah,
friendship.”
Icy suspicion welled in my chest. “What kind of favor?”
I assumed friendship was code for protection, but who knew? Crazy shit
happened in the prison system.
“Prison politics is...complicated,” Michael said. “Lots of bartering, lots of
invisible lines you don’t want to cross. But one thing everyone can agree on
is how valuable certain items are. Cigarettes, chocolate, instant ramen.” A
small pause. “Prescription pills.”
Prescription pills were valuable even in the real world; on the prison
black market, they must be gold.
And who had easy access to pills? Doctors.
A fist grabbed hold of my guts and twisted. 
Once upon a time, I would’ve given my father the benefit of the doubt,
but I knew better now. Perhaps he did miss me and wanted to make amends.

---

He had, after all, written to me for two years.
But at the end of the day, Michael Chen only looked out for himself. 
“I see.” I forced my expression to remain neutral. “I’m not surprised.”
“You’ve always been smart.” Michael smiled. “Smart enough to be a
doctor, obviously. I mentioned that to my friends, and they asked if you
wouldn’t mind helping us out.”
He had some balls to ask me to smuggle him pills in the middle of the
visitation room. His voice was too low for the guards to hear, but maybe the
guards were in on it. In some prisons, the inmates ran the show, and the
system as a whole was corrupt as fuck.
“You haven’t changed at all, have you?” I didn’t bother to pretend I
didn’t know what he was talking about. 
“I have changed,” Michael said. “Like I said, what I did to Ava was
wrong, but the only way I can make amends is if I stay alive. And the only
way for me to stay alive is to play the game.” His jaw tensed. “You don’t
know what it’s like in here. How hard it is to survive. I’m depending on you.”
“Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you tried to murder my
sister.” My pent-up anger didn’t explode; it seeped out of me, slow and
steady, like toxic fumes poisoning the air.
For the first time since he showed up, Michael’s “remorseful father”
mask slipped. His eyes pierced me like twin daggers. “I raised you. I fed you.
I paid for your schooling.” He bit out each word like a bullet. “No matter how
wrong I was, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m your father.”
The principle of filial piety had been ingrained in me since I was a child.
Perhaps it even played a part in why it was so hard for me to cut ties with
Michael, because a part of me did feel like I owed him for everything he’d
given me growing up. We had a nice house and went on fancy family
vacations. He bought me the latest gadgets for Christmas every year and paid
for Thayer, one of the most expensive schools in the country. 
However, there was a line to the blind obedience, and he’d crossed it a
thousand times over.
“I appreciate all you did for me as a kid.” My hands formed white-
knuckled fists under the table. “But being a parent is about more than
providing basic necessities. It’s about trust and love. I heard your confession
to Ava, Dad. What I didn’t hear was a fucking apology—” 
“Don’t curse. It’s unbecoming.”
“Or a good explanation for why you did what you did, and I will fucking

---

curse if I fucking want to, because, again, you tried to murder my sister!”
My pulse crescendoed into a deafening roar while my heart battered
against my ribs. There was the explosion I’d been waiting for. Two years of
pent-up emotion gushed out at once, erasing our brief moment of bonding.
The other inmates fell silent. One of the guards moved toward me in
warning but stopped short of interrupting us. 
Michael’s eye twitched. “You’re my son. You can’t leave me here to rot.”
He sounded like a broken record. 
Our shared genes were the only bargaining chip he had left, and we both
knew it. 
“You’ve survived two years. I’m sure you’ll survive another twenty
more.” I stood, my chest hollow now that I’d expelled all my emotion.
Numbness set in and turned my skin cold.
I’d hoped against all hopes that my father could somehow redeem the
unredeemable. That he could give a good reason for why he did what he did,
or at least show genuine remorse. But it was suddenly, blindingly clear that
while he could mimic love, he couldn’t actually feel it. 
Perhaps he loved me in his own way, but that didn’t stop him from using
me. If I were of no use to him—if I didn’t have access to the pills he craved,
and if I weren’t his one remaining tie to the outside world—he would cast me
aside without a second thought. 
“Josh.” Michael let out a forced laugh. “You can’t be serious.”
“You’re my father by blood, but you’re not my family. You never will be.
I’m sure your friends will understand.” I stood, a bitter taste coating my
tongue. “I won’t be visiting again, but I wish you all the best.”
“Josh.” Panic crept into his eyes, followed by stunned hurt. It might be
the first real emotion I’d seen from him in a long time, but it was too late. 
At some point, we had to let go of who a person used to be or who they
could be and see them for who they really were. And the person Michael
Chen had become wasn’t someone I wanted to call my father. 
“Sit down,” he said. “We don’t have to talk about the pills. Tell me about
your travels. You always liked traveling. Where are you going next?” 
My eyes burned as I walked away. 
“Josh.” The panic bled into his voice. “Josh!”
I didn’t answer or say goodbye. 
I signed out and kept walking until I hit the blazing heat outside the
prison. 

---

I had closure, but no one told me closure was such a bitch. It clawed at
my bones and ripped a bloody gash through my heart until every breath
became a battle.
But instead of trying to assuage it, I embraced it. Because even though
pain hurt like a motherfucker, it proved you were still alive, and it was only
after it faded that you could finally heal.

---

40

---

JULES
T
HE
DOORBELL
RANG
LESS
THAN
A
MINUTE
AFTER
I 
FINISHED
MY
ONLINE
BAR
review lesson. 
The exam was in less than a month, which meant I lived and breathed
prep until it was over. No going out, no coffee catchups with my friends, no
big dates with Josh. When we did see each other, Josh and I kept it low key;
sometimes, our hangouts consisted of me studying while he made coffee and
ordered takeout. 
But when I answered the door and saw him standing in the hall, his face a
mask of granite, all thoughts of the bar vanished.
“I visited Michael.” His hollow voice told me all I needed to know about
how the visit went.