Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 111165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
I take in a deep breath but I'm shaking. "We'll go once we know you're okay."
He gets to his feet, swaying. My father is a big guy. Just as tall as Laz and twice as wide. I can feel Laz stiffen beside me. No one wants to deal with a big drunk guy who is unpredictable. Even though I don't fear for my safety, I guess I can understand why my aunt would, why anyone would. God, I miss my father so much, not this stranger that's standing in front of me.
"You're a fucking witch, aren't you?" my father slurs at me, his voice coming out low, almost demonic. "You and your fucking too good for this world ways. You think you’re so fucking good huh, helping your poor old dad. You bitch."
"Hey," Laz says coming to my defense but I immediately elbow him to shut up. He can't provoke this beast, not now.
"Dad, I heard Margaret was here," I tell him, ignoring the insult, not letting it hurt. "She was going to call the cops."
"Call the cops then, I don't care. That's what you always wanted isn't it. Want me locked up for everything I've done. Huh, you fucking bitch."
"Mr. Owens," Laz's voice booms. "That's not how you talk to your daughter."
"She's not my daughter, she's nothing, she's no one," he says, his eyes still on me, looking harder and deeper than ever before. Then he blinks and looks at Laz in surprise, like he's just realized it was him talking. "Who the fuck? You get the fuck out."
He stumbles forward to take a swing at Laz but my father is slow and Laz is fast. Laz ducks backward and I immediately jump in front of my dad, giving him a hard shove in the chest.
"Fuck you!" I scream at my father. I shove him again. "Fuck you, you fucking MONSTER!"
I scream so loudly, it's painful. It's ripped out of me, pulled from somewhere deep and all the anger and all the rage is now flowing out of me, unchecked and wild and dangerous. I start pounding my fist into my father, into his chest, his arms, his shoulder. I want to hit his face so badly, I want to strike and kick and hurt him. I want to hurt him.
Hurt him.
Hurt him.
"Fuck you, I hate you!" I scream, tears now coming like a flood. "I hate you! I HATE YOU SO MUCH!"
The last words I scream so loud that I nearly pass out, I can feel my words shaking my skull, vibrating throughout the room. Everyone seems to freeze. My ears ring.
I stare at my father as I’m gasping for breath and he's taken a step backward, staring at me with an open mouth. I pray, I pray, I pray I see my father inside somewhere. Just a glimpse, just a flicker, just a hint of the man he was, the father I know he still is.
But there's nothing. His eyes are glazed and they don't belong to him. He stares at me in complete confusion.
I.
Break.
Down.
"Hey," Laz says gently, grabbing my arm and pulling me away. "Come on, let's go."
"No," I say to him as he leads me out the door and down the path to the car. I can hardly breathe, I'm sobbing so hard it feels like my lungs are being wrung out. "No. No, I need to help him." I try to move back toward the house but his hold on me is strong.
"I will help him," he says. "You sit in the car and you stay here."
"No, Laz, he'll fight you, you can't, you can't."
He opens the car door and gently pushes me down so I'm in the seat. "He will not fight me. I will not fight him. This isn't like that."
"You don't have experience with someone like that, he's not himself, he—”
"Marina." He gives me a long, steady look. He crouches down beside me and holds my hand. "I grew up with my father. They are no different. The only difference is that you still have one. I don’t. So let me go take care of him. It's the least I can do."
I swallow, snot, tears, everything falling down my face. I nod, squeezing his hand as hard as I can.
He shuts the door and walks back to the house. I grip the hem of my shirt with both hands, twisting it around and around, trying to dispel the sadness, the hate, the futility of it all.
I didn't know that Laz's father was the same. I knew he was a drunk but Laz never talks about it so I assumed it was never that bad. But god, even though my father is like this now, he wasn't when I was a child. I'm not sure how I would have fared growing up if he had been. My happy childhood is the only thing that keeps me from being a complete write-off sometimes.