Chapter Four - Victorious Summer Secret

Joseph's POV 

My head throbbed violently from the slap Trish gave me; it sent shockwaves right through my skull. I hadn’t known she had that much power in her. I had mistaken her frail frame for weakness and tried forcing her to get intimate, but who knew she’d react like that?

Though I hid it, I felt ashamed. My life would have been over if a girl did that to me at school. I mean... I am Joseph f**king Roland. I’m practically the king of our school; everyone knows me. I’m the best quarterback Mthland High has ever seen. I called the plays, and the whole school knows it. For Trish to be at Mthland, she must know what type of guy I am, so how dare she slap me? And in my own house? She must have lied about attending our school. If not, she’d know exactly who was approaching her. Girls would kill to have me around, yet she acts like I’m not even there. I’ve dated tons of them, played with them, and threw them out the next minute, and they didn’t even seem bothered because they knew the caliber of guy they were dealing with. Never have I been rejected like that, and certainly never slapped.

Her instant spark of resistance brought back memories of him. She made me feel like my father, and that is the last thing I ever want. That f**ker, who I desperately try to forget, left me and cheated on Mom multiple times before she finally called it quits. Now, all the idiot does is call my phone: "Hey son, hey son, how's your mom doing?" as if he didn't kn*ck up random b!t*hes and leave Mom broken. Now that Mom has made a fortune and bought this dope house, suddenly he acts concerned.

I’m not afraid of him, though. That’s the only reason I play football: just in case that fucker tries any shit. The last thing I want is to be like him... but I go around partying in clubs, drinking, smoking, and having s*x with whoever I please. So, I guess at the end of the day… I’m just like my messed-up dad anyway. And this girl is at fault for making me feel this way. Why did she have to play hard to get?

I washed my burning face, put on some clothes, and roughly tousled my hair to give it a disheveled, dangerous look, something calculated to throw Trish off her composure. I strode downstairs to the dining room for breakfast, hoping to give her one of my stern glares that would ruin her peace of mind. But my plan was cut short when I heard, and saw how close she was getting to Mom.

"Hahaha, oh Trish, you add fish into your porridge too? I love that, but Joseph said he hates it so much," Mom laughed loudly.

"Not only is it good, it’s healthy too. What does Joseph know?" Trish laughed along.

I couldn't stand the sight. Was she trying to steal my mom; my only love, my home, my family from me? How dare she speak about me to my mom like that? She’s my mom, not hers!

Mom looked toward the corner and saw me standing there, looking gloomy. She looked worried at first, but then she smiled and served the pot of porridge, with fish onto the table!

"Mom, you know I hate porridge with fish in it. It’s disgusting," I fumed.

"Trish here said it’s her delicacy, as well as mine in my childhood days. Come on, just try it, Joseph. You’ll enjoy it," she smiled.

I sat at the table opposite Trish, with Mom next to me. I stared at her and the disgusting porridge. She was avoiding my eyes. All I hoped to do was give her a piercing stare; if she felt disturbed or infuriated by it, I would know if she liked me, or if she was just pretending not to.

Mom looked at us both and smiled mischievously, like she knew something was going on between us. I’d never seen her look like that.

"Uhhmm, Trishy, why are you sitting far opposite? Come over here with Josh; I’ll sit opposite you two. This is the first time we’ve gathered like this in the new home, and I don't want you feeling like an outcast. Come on," she said loudly.

Trish looked at me with a poise I’d never seen before. It was like a death threat.

"No, Miss Britney, that’s not really necessary," she said, covering up her anger with a weak smile.

She didn't have a choice; when Mom said something smiling like that, you can't refuse. Trish walked up, face down, holding her plate of porridge and adjusting to the seat right next to me. I couldn't lie, my heart thumped in a way I never remembered happening before. She drew the chair back sluggishly before giving me a stern look, and I gave her one right back.

"Good, now we look like one family!" Mom shouted joyfully.

Trish smiled and munched on her porridge like a starving animal. She had absolutely no shame. And right next to me? I wasn't sure if it was out of anger or if she was genuinely hungry, but she chewed so loudly I could hear every munch. I knew she hadn't really eaten since she got here yesterday, but still, how could a girl eat like that?

"Slow down, love, you’ll choke," Mom laughed.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm just really... hungry," Trish said timidly.

I just watched how lively the room was. There was so much life compared to any other day. Mom just laughed over and over again. I hadn't seen her that happy in a long time. I never made Mom laugh; instead, all I did was give trouble to the only person who ever truly loved me, the one who stayed by me even when my so-called "father" could not. I just gave her worry instead of relief. Meanwhile, Trish, arriving just yesterday, had already brought more light and happiness to Mom than ever before. Maybe all Mom needed was a daughter, someone like Trish who would always make her smile.

I looked at Trish and Mom repeatedly, observing quickly. It was almost as if Trish were Mom's actual daughter. Their bodies were both fragile, like they didn't eat at all, though clearly, they both did. Their jaws were almost alike. Their height and shape were similar too, and they both had almost the exact same type of piercing curves from stomach to waist and hip. I started to think that Mom was lying, maybe Trish was actually a daughter she had kept hidden from me. But that could never be the case.

I contrasted them one more time. I couldn't stand how beautiful Trish was. I didn't want to admit it, but my heart knew in that instant: Mom was the most beautiful lady I’d ever laid eyes on, and no other woman could match her perfection... but looking at Trish? She might be even slightly prettier than Mom.

I shook my head hard. Falling for someone? Not happening. My dad screwed that up for me years ago. Watching him tear my mom apart taught me one thing – loyalty is a lie people tell before they cheat anyway. So I don’t do relationships. I do fun and temporary; dates, quick s*x, cheap thrills. And the girls involved know the drill. It's not about love. Better to keep things shallow than end up like him… breaking someone who doesn’t deserve it or even being broken.

When we were done eating, Trish gathered the dishes to wash them like the house servant she is. I was glad; it felt like her punishment for the slap. I looked at her, almost letting my smirk be caught, secretly celebrating that I'd never have to wash dishes again as long as Trish was here. But my victory was short-lived. 

“Don’t let Trish do everything. Joseph, up. Help her,” Mom barked.

I squeaked internally. She should be the one doing that, she’s the stranger living here, why should I help her? I frowned at Mom, but she gave me one of those scary looks that forced me to help Trish take the plates out to the sink.

"I saw you laughing secretly when I was taking the plates out. Don't think I didn't see that," Trish said firmly, giving me a short scare.

She spoke more politely than she did when she hit me. But it didn't matter; I maintained my hostility.

"That's because it wasn't a secret," I said.

"Okay," she said, almost laughing now.

It was annoying watching her look happier, knowing what she did, acting like she didn't just beat the hell out of my face. She paused and looked at my mom in the distance, then looked at me emotionally.

"Listen, Joseph," she said. "Why are you so... like... yourself?" 

She searched for words, speaking with concern. 

"I mean, your mom is kind, and amazingly moral too, so why are you almost the opposite? You go out at night, get drunk, party, date foolishly, and chase girls around. I'm scared... you'll hurt your mom if you keep this up. But if you don't care for Miss Britney's feelings, I do. And I want her to be happy, alright?" She said it with unshakable boldness.

I was stunned. How could someone talk to me like that, someone who hasn't even known us for twenty-four hours? Who was she to lecture me? I am Joseph Roland. I live however I want. I don't live for anyone; as much as I may love my Mom, I don't live for her either. I looked at her, and our eyes both darted toward Mom, who was reclining at the table, watching us, smiling for no reason.

"Okay, look. You have no right to talk to me like that, and I do whatever I want. The only reason you're standing here, Trish, is because I let you hit me," I said angrily.

She let out a loud laugh that signaled Mom, making her smile more, thinking we were actually getting along.

"Okay, you let me hit you? Wow." She laughed again. 

She controlled her outburst with expertise habit before turning serious. 

"Okay, for real, Joseph... I’m... I am really sorry for hitting you. I had no right, and no right to tell you how to live your life... I am truly sorry. So... for your mom's sake, let's not fight anymore." She said calmly.

First she hates me, now she wants to be friends? I hissed at her. No way was I letting her off for slapping me. Girls like her may seem grounded, but I wasn't falling for it.

"You act all 'good girl.' Just drop it. You're just like me. I bet if my mom was gone, you'd want to f**k every bit of me like all the other girls," I shot at her.

"Okay, Joseph. If that's how it is, screw you then," she said quietly, avoiding Mom's hearing.

That was exactly what I expected. “Screw me,” she spat. Good. That felt more like her real nature slipping through. She just needed to give in once, and she’d be under my control. I wouldn’t even have to wait until summer ended or school reopened to start having fun again. We were technically roommates now, and I’d have every opportunity to break through that “good girl” act. And when I did, we’d spend the summer tangled up in my room, her pretending she hated it while secretly wanti

ng more. Having someone like her, she’d become my most cherished, victorious summer secret.