Collection of Older Works

Faethfully Yours: Chaper Twenty-Two

We stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. With widened blue eyes, his mouth opened and closed a few times before he finally ran to my side, helping me up. Truthfully it's a good thing he did because my head was still reeling from--well from everything and my legs had yet to recover.

He gripped my shoulders, "Are-are you all right?"

First weird moment: my dad was worried. Not for nothing but the man never even so much as looked at me but then and there he looked terrified. Right, right I had just practically evaporated from thin air, falling with what I can assume was a loud thump but still, it was not the expected response. How many times had I fallen down the stairs and my father just looked the other way? Pushing aside the crying wolf theory as I was rather clumsy and fell down the stairs more times than not, it was still a very strange response from him. Second strange occurrence: my dad gripping my shoulders. I don't ever remember  the man hugging me, so this lifetime moment we were sharing was, to be brutally honest, scaring the shit out of me.

With his help, I rose to my feet, "I'm fine dad...really," I backed away slowly, wrapping my arms about myself. Staring with a measured gaze, a million questions become apparent on the lines forming above his brow. Cowering further back, I headed off whatever questions he thought to ask by asking one myself.

 "What are you doing here?" I didn't mean for it to come out as harsh as it did, but luckily that was what I voiced rather than the barrage of curses flailing about my brain. Honestly, I wanted to venture out of that room and leave the entire past few months behind me, including the sudden appearance of my beloved father but for some reason I couldn't get myself to move.

He shook his head, clearly confused, "This is my house-"

His house? Does he mean the house he never frequented? Classic...

I clarified, this time the edge in my voice fully intentional, "I mean what you are doing here, right now. Aren't you a little too late for this concerned act?" My mouth had run away with itself.  Simply, I was getting tired of this person I was turning into. I was done with the tears, I was done with being the victim and I fully intended on rectifying things, starting with my father.

"Did you know I was in the hospital for two months? Oh," I put a finger to my lips, "You did know because surely they called you, yet you never thought to check on me. To maybe come and see me?"

"Charlotte-"

My hand flew in the air, "Don't. It's called sarcasm dad. You're not supposed to answer the question." I scoffed, "And honestly, even if you did, I really don't care about your reasons. I've experienced things that I am proud of, ashamed of, scared of-and just when I thought things were low, you show up and magnify what a mess my twisted little world has become. It's almost fitting really as it seems all of this is one big shit on Charlotte parade." Storming to my closet, I retrieved a duffel bag that I'd gotten at a church retreat a few years back. It wasn't big by any means and I wasn't even quite sure why I had retrieved it in the first place. Perhaps it was just nervous energy and the need to run away from it all. Regardless, I had pulled it out so filling up was the next logical step. Dropping it on my bed, I set aim for my dresser.  "So why are you here? Have you come to tell me that now I'm eighteen so I need to move out, is that it? That I need to pack my things and leave your house?" Lifting piles of random clothing which in all honesty I hadn't a clue what I picked out, could have been piles of socks for all I knew,  I walked back to the bed, "Well, I'm already doing so. Mind closing the door on your way out?"

I could still feel him at my door though my back was to him. Seriously, what, after almost ten years of nothingness did we have to say to one another?