Wedding Day Massacre

“I can’t believe our little girl is all grown up now,” Anthony Mazzarelli confided to his significant other, Lisa, as she shoveled another load of baked cod into her mouth. He stared across the room glossy-eyed as Taylor and Sebastian laughed playfully while finishing up their meals. He’d never seen her look so beautiful, which to him was saying a lot.

“He’s a lucky man, a damn lucky man. Better treat her right or else he’ll regret it.”

“Of course he’s going to treat her right, Anthony, he paid for all this, not us. He’s been nothing but a complete gentleman since we’ve met him. Don’t be so pessimistic,” Lisa replied.

“Money isn’t everything, Lisa. I mean, you’re telling me that there isn’t a small part of you that thinks this is a little too fast?”

“Honey, that’s just Taylor, she’s spontaneous. You know your daughter, when she sees something that she wants, she takes it. And no one, not even you can stop her. It’s how she’s always been.”

Taylor’s parents had aged with a grace that anyone would pray to. Their bronzed tone and fit physiques were what their daughter chose to emulate. They were also young at heart—they had to be to chase around and supervise a completely dependent nineteen-year-old.

They both loved children but weren’t expecting what they’d ultimately received. In a move that was probably a premature knee-jerk reaction to Taylor starting to grow up, they decided to try and have a second child. Evading the void that their daughter’s absence would eventually leave was something they tried to fix, maybe a little too early…

Christopher gulped down a swig of cola and puffed out his cheeks. He gargled for a moment before mumbling, “No one can stop her.”

Unfortunately, their son was not what they were expecting. Regret was the wrong word to describe how they felt, maybe disappointed fit better. Every already proud parent automatically assumes that their next child will be just as healthy as the first, but that wasn’t the circumstance for young Christopher. In Anthony’s own words, the boy was “fucked.”

Being born with Fragile X Syndrome, the plethora of effects the disorder thrust upon him were trying and horrible. Christopher’s mental retardation was severe, and at that very moment, he was now forming his mashed potatoes into a pyramid after cracking open his chicken bones and sucking out the marrow.

His trademark traits being hostile and untiring hyperactive behavior, protruding bulky ears, and a comically long face. His smile had become different since he was constantly biting things and grinding his teeth. They evolved to be a bit more jagged and sharp. His mushroom haircut was something out of a 90s nightmare but he spat on the barber and tried to stab his father with a pair of trimming shears the last time he’d suggested trying a different style.

Anthony and Lisa were always looking to lay the foundation to success for their second child, just as they’d done for their first. They gave him all the tools he required to mature and move forward with stability and have a comfortable independence. But to their chagrin, Christopher’s odd birth anointed conditions ensured that they would be providing his care until they were no longer capable of even caring for themselves. They’d unintentionally bit off way more than they could ever hope to chew.

“Chicken! Dead chicken!” he yelled, eagerly slamming the fractured bone onto the plate. The other family members that were seated at the table tried to ignore the ruckus, but their expressions captured subtle aggravation.

“Whoa, settle down there, buddy. You’re right, it’s definitely dead chicken…” Anthony said, trying to calm him but it was a task easier said than done.

Although he was not what they’d envisioned in a son, both Anthony and Lisa took on the task without complaint. They treated Christopher with the same enthusiasm and love they would have any other child. Anthony found a way to always embrace his boy through the hard times and endless outbursts.

As Anthony tried to calm him, Christopher began to unzip his pants, “Okay! Let’s get you to the bathroom then!” the embarrassed father shouted.

Anthony tugged his boy away in unison with the relieved exhales from the table. When they arrived inside the restroom, Anthony opened the handicap stall and lifted the toilet seat. Christopher urinated wildly all over the bowl’s rim and tile floor. He seemed to be having fun spraying his stream everywhere.

“Hey! Hey, knock it off! Cut the garbage, in the bowl, mister!”

“Papa, what’s a slut?” the boy asked, still pooling his urine closer to the handle than the bowl.

Confusion overtook Anthony. As troubled as his son was, he’d never heard him use a word like that. They exited the stall after he flushed the semi-yellow contents and moved over to the sink.

“Son… where did you hear that word?”

“Papa, is Taylor a DEAD SLUT?” He moved onto the next question, clearly not capable of answering his father’s counter query.

He wasn’t sure where his son was getting those words from but it was concerning. Both he and his wife had tried extra hard not to contaminate his psyche and only put him around people who were respectful and conscious of the fact that their vocabulary could quickly become his. They also avoided any movies and music that offered explicit content or concepts, knowing full well that if Christopher was exposed to vulgarities, it would be like hitting a bell that you couldn’t un-ring. It was an extremely challenging task, but one that he and Lisa both took seriously.

To Anthony, the bride would always be daddy’s little girl, but he wasn’t blind either. He wasn’t some fucking oblivious idiot. The reality was there were plenty of scumbags swarming around his baby’s magical celebration that had a reason to make foul remarks about his daughter. His girl was no angel, quite the opposite, in fact, but that didn’t make him love her any less. Taylor was the type to play with fire until her hand was only bones. She had no issues being who she was—vocal and selfish. Her audience never impacted her actions because she simply didn’t care.

There was no doubt in Anthony’s mind she’d made enemies. The girl was too nonchalant about her misdeeds to avoid severing ties with those that she’d wronged. He’d seen his daughter exploit men for lavish gifts and attention with no thoughts about the future implications.

Their jealousy, obsession, and ill will had never found her before but that didn’t mean they weren’t lurking in the shadows. It was something he always feared. A thought that constantly jogged his mind. It was a potential powder keg for a girl who had no fear to a fault. Playing with that fire may not have destroyed her hands entirely, but it burned a lot of bridges.

Anthony knew all too well her predictable patterns and the minutiae that muddled her mind. It ran off one basic algorithm; I’m cute and they’ll want to fuck me again, so they’ll eventually forgive me for whatever I do, no matter how awful I am.

Forgive they might, forget they wouldn’t. The breed of brash, unabated immaturity that fueled her engagements was extreme enough to seat a table full of her fuck buddies right behind her own family. These weren’t longtime friends that she had just happened to hook up with over the years. Either way, these were narcissistic beefcakes that were only in the picture for one reason—the hole in between her slender caramel legs.

Anthony had seen quite a few of these ‘sons of bitches,’ as he referred to them. He’d happened to cross paths on more than a few occasions when they were leaving her room or coming out of the bathroom half-naked before she moved into Sebastian’s house. These fuckers were the tool bag specials; when they weren’t drinking their protein shakes, they were busy railing his daughter and having her drink theirs. All just a few feet down the hall from him and his wife no less.

Anthony loved everything about his daughter except her selfishness and how she carried on with men. She didn’t have many faults in his biased eyes, but the ones she did have dipped so deep that they were enough to make up for everything missing. The question in his mind was had she gone too far?

He knew that his daughter had ruffled many a meathead feather in her time, but he wasn’t about to let some veiny, roid-raging goon ruin his daughter’s special day. Anthony knew the occasion called for him to take some extra measures that would ensure his family’s security and, like any good father, he had seen to that.

Anthony turned away from his son while he danced gaily and played with the motion-activated sink. He watched Christopher with a smidge of discontent on his face, knowing that the measures he was taking for Taylor would never be required for him. Maybe that was a good thing. He wasn’t sure yet, but knew he would find out shortly.

He removed the revolver from his interior pocket and spun open the cylinder, confirming that six slugs sat inside. Then he closed it and shoved the gun back out of sight. He was fully prepared to handle an outburst if anyone felt so inclined to make a scene. Inside, he almost hoped that someone would try.