Chapter 5 - DORM ROOM SECRETS
Z
Midwest State University was everything Dustin had ever dreamed of—red brick buildings, towering oak trees, and state-of-the-art engineering laboratories. But while other freshmen were stressing over midterms and joining fraternities, Dustin was living a double life.
His roommate, a cheerful mechanical engineering major named Marcus, noticed the arm early on.
It was during their third night in the dorm. Dustin was changing into a t-shirt after a shower when Marcus looked up from his desk and blinked in shock.
"Bro..." Marcus said, squinting. "Is that... is that a tattoo of a middle-aged woman on your arm?"
Dustin paused, pulling his shirt down quickly. "Yeah."
"Who is that? Is that your mom?"
"No," Dustin said flatly. "It's my stepmother."
Marcus burst out laughing, thinking it was a joke. "Shut up, man. Serious? Why do you have your stepmom's face tattooed on your shoulder?"
Dustin sat on his twin bed, staring at the linoleum floor. He knew he couldn't tell the whole truth—not yet. The walls in college dorms were thin, and word traveled fast.
"It's a long story, Marcus," Dustin said quiet. "Let's just say it's paying for my tuition."
Marcus stopped laughing. He looked at Dustin's deadpan expression and realized it wasn't a joke. "Wait... like, actually?"
"Actually. So do me a favor. If you see me wearing long sleeves in the middle of summer, don't ask about it."
From that day on, Dustin wore compression sleeves on his right arm everywhere he went. He told people it was for a sports injury—a torn rotator cuff from high school baseball. It was easier than explaining the grotesque psychological trade his father had forced upon him.
Every two weeks, the routine was grueling. Dustin would take a two-hour bus ride back from campus to our hometown. He would meet me at the library, and together we would walk into Dr. Evelyn Reed's office for the court-ordered family therapy sessions.
Stephen always showed up looking immaculate, playing the role of the devoted, wealthy father supporting his son through higher education. Barbra showed up looking increasingly broken, her eyes hollow, sitting as far away from Stephen as the couch allowed.
During our fourth session in mid-October, Dr. Reed turned the focus directly onto Stephen.
"Stephen," Dr. Reed said, tapping her pen against her notepad. "Over the past two months, Dustin has maintained exceptional academic performance, attending all classes and adhering to your agreement. Yet, in our sessions, you continue to control the narrative. You frequently refer to Dustin's tuition as an 'investment' rather than a parental responsibility. Why?"
Stephen adjusted his cuffs, smiling charmingly. "Dr. Reed, in the corporate world, an investment requires returns. I am holding Dustin accountable. By giving him a financial incentive tied to family harmony, I am teaching him responsibility."
"And what return do you expect from him?" Dr. Reed pressed.
"Respect," Stephen said cleanly. "Acknowledgment that without my resources, he wouldn't be sitting in a university classroom right now."
Dustin, sitting in his chair with his arm wrapped in his black compression sleeve, let out a soft, mocking laugh.
Stephen's smile vanished. "Is something funny, Dustin?"
"You really believe that, don't you?" Dustin said, turning his head to look at his father. "You think money buys respect. You think because you wrote a check, you own my gratitude."
"I funded your life!" Stephen raised his voice slightly, his temper flaring. "I gave you a future!"
"You didn't give me anything," Dustin said calmly. "You made a transaction. And every time I sit in this room, I am fulfilling my end of the contract. You don't get my respect, Stephen. You only get my compliance."
Barbra buried her face in her hands, letting out a ragged sigh. "Stop it, Stephen. Just stop talking."
"Barbra—"
"He's right!" Barbra snapped, turning her head toward her husband with sudden, violent fury. "He's completely right! You don't want a family, Stephen! You want an audience! You want people to clap for you because you pay the bills while treating us like props!"
"I am doing this for US!" Stephen shouted, standing up from the couch.
"Sit down, Mr. Miller," Dr. Reed commanded, her voice like a whip cracking through the air.
Stephen froze, realizing he had lost his temper in front of the therapist. He cleared his throat, straightened his suit jacket, and sat back down, his knuckles red with tension.
"We are going to wrap up today's session early," Dr. Reed said, her eyes fixated on Stephen with deep professional concern. "Mr. Miller, I am making a formal recommendation in my report that you engage in individual psychotherapy for narcissistic behavioral patterns."
Stephen's face went completely red. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," Dr. Reed said, opening her office door. "That will be all for today."
When we walked out into the parking lot, Stephen grabbed Dustin by the shoulder. "You think you're clever, don't you? Pushing her buttons?"
Dustin looked down at Stephen's hand on his shoulder, then looked up into his father's eyes.
May you like
"Touch me again," Dustin said in a tone so sharp it made Stephen instinctively drop his hand. "And I file an injunction for physical intimidation. It's in Section 8 of your contract, Dad. Go read it."
Dustin turned and walked toward my car, leaving Stephen standing in the dusk light, trembling with unexpressed rage.
