The Bar Stool

What's it to you?

Having a day off from the salon is always my favorite. I can catch up on my shows, read and read until my eyes strain to read another word.

"Tayzley!" My father calls through my door. My face is covered with my pillow.

"What?" I mumble loudly.

My door pushes open and the light flicks on. Another thing I hate about living at home, people think they can just walk in. "You said you needed to use my car last night. Take me to work." Its not even a question its more of a demand really. It normally is when it comes to him.

"Right, I forgot." I groan flicking the blankets off my body slipping on my boots and my coat.

It's normally freezing in our room because the fuck tard that built the house didn't pipe the air ducts right so during the summer its a damn sauna and during winter its an icebox. So that requires me  to wearing leggings and a sweater to bed.

When my dad said take him to work, that normally means me riding with him to work while he drives. The leather seats are cold against my legs as I slide into his Lexus, reaching for the seat warmer button.

I push the frames of my glasses up my nose and slip on my red beanie over my matted hair. I'm honestly surprised my dad didn't have a smartass remark about it.

"What did you need it for anyways?" He asks pulling out of the driveway.

"My car decided to take a fucking shit on me last night."

He groans. "Language Tayzley."

I groan in return throwing up my hands. "I'm fucking twenty-one dad. Where the hell do you think I learned this from?"

"Not from me that's for damn sure."

"You're kidding? Can we please not argue about this. I say fuck all the time. Just about as much as you do. Get use to it." I sit back in my seat, setting my hands on my thighs trying my best to keep my temper down.

"I'm about sick of your shit Tayzley. Please move out."

"Really? You're going to throw that in my face, again!" I lash at him. My nails digging into the material of my black leggings.

"You're twenty- one. Old enough to cuss, you're old enough to move out."

"And what? So you can sulk and wait for mom to come running back? Well she's not and now I'm starting to see why she left you!" My eyes widen, and for a moment I catch my father's eyes water.

Fuck! Curse my damn mouth. Curse me.

"I--I didn't mean that da-"

He cuts me off by putting his hand up and putting the car in park in front of the rent-to-own store. When he climbs out of the car, he doesn't slam the door, but closes it gently leaving me in a pool of regret.

How could I be so fucking stupid? None of that was my fathers fault my mother ran out on us. He always blamed himself. And I just threw it in his face.

The words slipped through my mouth, like something was on the other end pushing them through as I was trying to push them back in.

My stomach hurts and I feel sick. My eyes are red and swollen by the time I pull up to Parkers Automotive. I don't want to go inside looking like this. People will stare.

I wipe my eyes until they are dry from tears and head inside. Anxiety strings through my veins pulling me back to the exit, because I know I'm going to see him.

I don't know why I'm getting so nervous over nothing. He's just a guy. A normal...I take that back. He's an obnoxious asshole.

I scan over the auto magazines as I wait for the front desk person to return from wherever they are. I swear without these places I wouldn't know half the shit to do to my car. I can check oil and pump gas and that's about it.