Jasmine
"This isn't a problem," I pour myself a glass of wine.
Travis eyes me as he edges his beard. "It's 8 in the morning."
I shrug. "It's a... people have coffee in the morning with infinitely worse for you than a small glass—"
"This is your second and it's at least 10 ounces."
I roll my eyes. He's such a worrywart. It's not that serious.
"And you didn't sleep last night, either." He remarks.
I don't sleep. Night time is true only time I have for me. Since I was young. Alone in my room, it was the only time anything good happened.
It's my...safe space, I guess. He sighs, kissing my head. He hugs me, kissing my head again.
He looks mad at me. Is he mad at me.
"Are you mad at me?"
"For what?"
I shrug. "Drinking? I dunno. Are you mad?"
He sighs. "I'm not mad."
"You sound mad," I get up, starting to pace. "Why would you be mad at me? It's just a little wine. Okay. Relax."
"I'm relaxed. It's...it's not—I mean I can't stop you. You're grown. Nothing I can do. I just think you should consider looking into your drinking is all. Cut back."
He gets up. "You have work. Take a taxi. Don't drive. Oh and...did you ever call your dad?"
My father? Oh yeah Lorenzo said he was dying. Wonder if that's true. I don't trust my parents. I never like to around them I feel uneasy.
They make me...sick. I hate them. I really hate them. Sometimes I feel bad about it, but then...I don't.
Anyway, being around my parents is fucking depressing. They should've gotten a divorce in 1997 but they didn't. Now they just hate each other and it's fucking disgusting.
Travis opens the door to find my father. He pauses, before looking back at me. "I'm guessing it's best that I don't leave this time?"
He looks awful. I pour myself another drink. "What are you doing here."
"Lorenzo said he stopped by. Oh, Jasmine. It's...it's cancer."
Travis stands behind me, as I sit down on the couch. "Oh? That sucks." I nod, taking another swig.
"I came to...I came to make amends. For things that I've done. Things I've let your mother do."
"You don't have to do all that, Father. It's fine. Just get some rest. Go home." I pour some more wine. Need something stronger for this.
"Jasmine, listen," he steps forward, reaching his hand out. "I just want to talk. Can we do that?"
"No. No we can't. I have to go to work. I have to go—"
I stand, a little unsteady. Travis helps me up, putting his hands on my shoulder.
My father stands in front of me. Gaunt. Smaller than he used to be. Way smaller. His eyes softer. It's death. It's the death encroaching. Makes everyone soft. Everyone wants to feel loved before they drop dead whether they deserve it or not.
He doesn't deserve it.
"Please, Jasmine. I...I'm sorry."
Something inside me boils over. "Oh! Oh you're sorry. Oh you hear that, Travis? He's sorry. He's sorry! It's all over now! He's sorry!"
I laugh. "He's sorry, he's sorry! For what? What are you sorry for?"
Father looks away. "All of it. I'm sorry of all it."
Well, that's it. That's it ladies and gentlemen. Story over. Issues resolved. Problem? Fixed. He's sorry. He's sorry.
"Okay. You're sorry. You're sorry." I chuckle. "Okay. Okay, Father."
Travis looks away, squeezing my shoulder.
"Maybe you should go," he suggests to my father. "And you," he grabs my glass. "You should call in from work. You're absolutely plastered now."
He picks me up, taking me to the bed. "He's sorry," I whisper. "He's sorry, Travis. He's sorry."
Travis nods. "I heard. I heard him say that. But just because he's sorry doesn't mean you have to accept his apology. Yknow? That's your choice. You don't owe him forgiveness. The only person you owe is yourself. No one else lives with you longer than you do, yeah?"
He lays me in my bed, pulling the covers up on me, turning on my ceiling fan.
"You want me to stay? I don't have any customers booked today?"
I nod. He lays next to me. "Is your dad the type who gets the point or should I muscle him out for you?"
I snort. "I don't think I have nearly enough sex with you for you to do this much for me."
He sighs. "Not about sex. I mean you're a fucking goddess in the sack really, your pussy is like crack but...I just like you. Is that okay?"
I wish I could trust that. But I don't and that's just what it is.
"Light some candles maybe. Help you relax. A bath. Some jazz. Ya like jazz?"
"I'd rather die than listen to Jazz. Sincerely,"
He chuckles. "Yeah gotcha. Then classical?"
I shake my head. "I fucking...I like you y'know? You know that don't you, Travis? You're so sweet."
He smiles, putting his hand over my eyes. "Tell me again when you're sober."
