Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 45274 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45274 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
I can’t take it anymore. Desperate to escape this ridiculous excuse for a father, I lift the bags from the table and dart through the living room, dining room, and kitchen. My heart races, my ears ringing from the panic attack coming on, rocking me to the core. Gripping the edge of the countertop, I look down, sucking in a deep breath.
I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths to center myself. My pulse quickens to a dangerous pace, my internal struggle all too real. This is what he does to me and will continue to do as long as I come here to put up with this shit.
I deserve better, needing a father capable of loving his only child. He doesn’t even love himself. So why would he love me? I can’t even recall how he used to be, what he was like when my mother was still alive.
I often remind myself of the little things like the scent of her perfume or the color of her lipstick. But not a single good thing about Jim registers in my brain. I wish she were still here. We need her. My mom was the invisible glue I didn’t know was holding us together back then.
After composing myself, I put the groceries away and head back into the living room. He’s still in the same place he was when I left. No surprise there. He’s still staring at the ceiling, with ash on his cheek, the cigarette burnt to the filter.
Wow, this is my father.
What a role model!
Hovering over him, I rip the cigarette from his mouth and drop it into the ashtray on the coffee table. I have so many things to say and no idea where to start.
“You’re killing yourself, and by making me watch, you’re killing me, too. I can’t take much more of this, Jim. I’ll stop coming here on Saturdays.”
“Then don’t,” he grunts, with one eye open. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
I tilt my head back and laugh. And it’s a crazy laugh, an evil cackle coming from my stomach. “You need more than a babysitter. Someone needs to strap you to a hospital bed for a few weeks to dry you out.”
He frowns, his eyes shifting to the table where an empty beer rests on its side, with a few drops of liquid spilling onto the scratched wood. “I can stop.”
“Then do it! You’ve been saying this for years. Words mean nothing without actions. If that were true, you would have done it by now. You would have gotten yourself some help.”
He digs his elbows into his thighs, using them to support his weight. “I’m sorry, Sam.”
“Sorry is just a word,” I growl. “It means nothing to me. I’ve heard it more times than I can count. Make a change. Show me you care. Do something, anything. Stay out of the bar and casino. Pay your bills on time. Go to work. Act like a normal human being. And when you can do all those things, we’ll have something to discuss. Then your sorry will mean something to me.”
Only Eden knows about my father. She’s come here occasionally to keep me from having a nervous breakdown. When we met at freshman orientation, I couldn’t wait to room with Eden. Even though I can commute to Strick U, I couldn’t live here and stay sane. Plus, living on campus has its perks. Like rolling out of bed in the morning for early classes. It’s also more convenient to get to work.
Pinching the bridge of my nose between my fingers, I sigh. “I have to go. There’s food in the fridge. It should last you another week.”
He tugs at the ends of his dark hair, fisting it between his fingers. His greasy hair stands at attention, even more of a hot mess than before.
“Get a shower. At least pretend like you care about your appearance.”
Every week, I find him in the same condition. My life is like the movie Groundhog Day without all the humor. No, this is just sad. He’s the reason I remain guarded. It’s hard enough being a scholarship kid at a school like Strickland University, let alone the one with a loser father.
Kids were brutal enough when I was younger. They teased me because he sent me to school in unwashed clothes, knotted hair, and dirty skin. He could have cared less about me. Even when the teachers told him about the harassment, he didn’t bother to change because he didn’t love anyone or anything more than the bottle that kept him warm at night.
My cell phone buzzes in my pocket, vibrating my right thigh. I remove the phone from my pocket and roll my thumb over the screen to read the messages. The Stick Net app opens, and I’m confronted with another man I don’t want to deal with. Tucker Kane.