Hang Ups (1/1)
Disclaimer-Recognizable characters belong to Nick Santora and Matt Olmstead. No copyright infringement intended. Any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Author's Notes-Yet another post-ep for Like Father, Like Son. Requested by claro3 . A companion of sorts to Long Distance. Still unbeta'ed.
Hang Ups-Lloyd tries to process the unraveling of his world.
~~~
He stared at the ceiling. It wasn't like there was much else he could do from inside his cell. Normally, he'd keep himself busy with thoughts on the future, on getting his reputation back, on getting published again. It was easy to get lost in the past, though. Too easy.
Columbus, Ohio.
It was a far cry from Holland.
Facing the reality of his father was hard. Part of him wanted to perpetuate the lie still, to tell himself that there could've easily been two or three dozen different Lars Lowerys in the world. That one in Columbus, who sounded so delightful over the phone, couldn't have possibly been his father. As hard as he tried to lie to himself, he couldn't. He had too much faith in Julianne to believe that she would've found the wrong man. She prided herself on accuracy and she was so smart...
Definitely smart enough to have known that he had lied to her.
Of all his actions that day, Lloyd regretted that one stupid slip of his tongue the most.
What was he supposed to tell her? That he was too weak to do much more than confirm who was on the other end of the line? That the long-blocked mental images of a sandy blonde-haired, ice blue-eyed man surfaced in his mind? That he didn't remember an important, respected businessman but an asshole instead? That the snapshots he recalled were of a man with beefy hands who liked slamming his mother into the wall before laughing about it? That he remembered screaming matches? That he remembered having to scoop up the broken glass and ceramic pieces just to be able to cross the living room floor the next day?
He wished he could tell Julianne that he had overcome the odds, that he had done everything he could do to get past his history. Most children growing up in abusive situations were doomed to repeat them. The cycle was nearly impossible to break. When the abnormal was the norm, particularly at a young age, the wires were crossed, the circuits irreparably damaged.
He could've been so much worse than he was.
But, of all the bad things he had done in his life, he had one tiny point of pride. He had never once raised his hand in anger or annoyance or drunkenness at any woman. He'd done everything possible to sidestep that trap, genetic or otherwise.
That did not mean, however, that he was able to avoid all physical confrontation. When the bullies on the schoolyard wanted their “fun,” he was the easiest target around, until he learned to fight in other ways. He was a quick study when it came to fencing with his wits.
His intelligence provided him a unique advantage in situations where he might've otherwise been the victim. His voice couldn't stop a punch once one was thrown, but he had discovered that if he talked fast enough, thinking three or four sentences ahead, he could often diffuse the situation, either with a victory or a draw. Either of those situations were okay with him, especially if it meant he wasn't bleeding at the end of the day.
Even his education had been something of an uphill battle. Lloyd knew very well that the most startling dropout rates weren't the ones for the average students, or even the below-average students. The most staggering statistics belonged to those in the above-average category. Those were the troublemakers because they were bored. Those were the ones who were kicked out of class for being smarter than the teachers. Those were the ones overlooked for services because, clearly, they were smart enough to know better.
Instead of going to Harvard, he could've easily written off the entire education system.
He'd been lucky, though, that his pushy mother had insisted on his skipping grades before he had become too much of a problem child.
Looking back, he wasn't sure that had been such a boon. Even though she had effectively prevented him from being a troubled youth, it hadn't done much to save him as an adult.
It wasn't all bad, or at least he tried to convince himself that something good might come from his incarceration. He himself, Lloyd Lowery, might be an interesting case study, he realized, especially if he knew more about his father's criminal history. And his father had to have a rap sheet.
Given what few memories he had, he imagined that Lars had enjoyed plenty of brushes with the law. Domestic violence often led to other similar charges, from assault to alcohol-related charges to disorderly conduct. Any of those would've led to jail, probation, maybe extensive fees and fines.
But not prison.
His heart sank at that realization, that he was worse than his father.
Feeling ill, he sat up. His breathing sped, coming in short bursts. He felt dizzy, his emotions running too fast to stop flip-flopping from guilt to confusion and from anger to self-pity. Simultaneously, he felt like he was going to either implode from the pounding in his head or explode from the queasy ache in his stomach, threatening his esophagus. Neither seemed like particularly pleasant options.
Somehow, having a perfect, imaginary dad made prison more bearable. Maybe it was the childhood dream he still held onto, thinking that he would and could be okay because, somewhere, someone missed him. Somewhere, someone cared for him, had ensured that he had an idyllic place just waiting for his release.
He could dig some mansion in Holland, definitely. Wooden shoes and all.
Knowing that his father was a bad man in reality, remembering the flashes of hell that he couldn't erase, no matter how hard he lied to himself, and realizing that Lars wasn't in county lock up currently but most likely in some dilapidated trailer or condemnable tenement, it did little to quell his rebelling body. Wherever Lars was, it had to be infinitely better than minimum security.
All his fast talking hadn't been able to save him from his sins. His wit hadn't been able to top the witnesses who had helped to convict him.
His own words came back to haunt him. Men screw up boys. Even after thirty years, from states away, his father was still managing to hurt him.
He should've told Julianne the truth. It was bad enough that she'd seen him right after he'd hung up, when he was still shaking inside, when he was struggling to process it. He'd panicked. He'd froze.
And he was fairly certain she knew he had lied.
He hadn't wanted to show her any weaknesses. What kind of a doctor or psychological expert would he be if he couldn't deal with his own issues? Would she ever trust him enough to let him help with hers?
He doubted it.
He wasn't sure what hurt worse: knowing he could continually screw up his own life, or already destroying what was sure to have been the one and only opportunity he'd have to help someone he genuinely cared about.
~~~
End.