The Fence || h. s.

15 || Daddy Issues

"Gee, thanks for reminding me." 

Seriously, I need to double-check everything I say to this man, because he'll hold on to any tiny detail if it gives him a fun opportunity to torture me. 

"And by the way, that was nothing. You have not seen me throw a fit just yet… Trust me, you'd know if you saw one." 

Oh yes, I am the self-proclaimed queen of drama… At least I used to be, before I've become the kind of girl who watches old shows' reruns on public television, or takes care of her neighbour's cats whenever said woman is too lazy to feed them. 

"Yeah, so, speaking of fits…" 

My heartbeat picks up again, mostly because I know H is about to bring up what happened, but also due to his wary tone. It's not often that he's hesitant around me—usually being the first one to blurt out something weird or crude—and I hate myself knowing that I caused this. 

"Yeah, about that- I'm sorry. My dad just… Pissed me off. I think I mentioned once how strained our relationship is," I rush to explain, hoping that he will save us both the embarrassment and move on to an easier topic. "So, uh, thanks for comforting me, but I'm okay now. It's nothing I haven't been through before." At least the last part isn't a lie. 

"Cherry, listen, this might sound weird, but… How old are you?" he asks bluntly. 

Instantly, I cringe. What's this supposed to mean? Does he find me immature, overdramatic? My face flares red as I consider all the possible implications behind his question. 

"Pretty late to be asking this, don't you think? And don't worry, I'm legal enough to be fraternising with weird clingy men," I say, deciding to play it off as a joke. 

"Cherry, I'm serious," he says, "If anyone's hurting you, and you can't get away from them because you're not eighteen yet—" 

"Wait," I chuckle, "You mean my father? You think my dad's…abusive?" 

"You seem to be very scared of him," H says gently. 

"I am, but not like you think," I promise with a sigh. "He's never laid a hand on me." 

"Then why can't you just tell him to bugger off?" he presses. "Are you not eighteen yet?" 

This is a surprisingly naive statement for an overall intelligent person like him. 

"If you must know, I am twenty-one," I say, now beginning to find this whole situation amusing. "Did you really think I was so young?" 

"Nah, you love to hide your sharp wit underneath all that sass, but I can still tell you're way too mature to be a teenager. Although I've learned throughout the years that teenagers can sometimes surprise you with their level of maturity." 

"My age is not the reason why I can't cut myself off from my parents," is my curt response. 

I really, really don't want to get into this topic with him, because that would mean digging certain skeletons out of my closet that I'd rather keep buried for now. Besides, explaining the complexity of my situation is impossible without revealing who I am, and that's out of the question. 

"Well, I had to cover all my bases since I couldn't think of any other reason why you'd stay glued to a person who puts you down so much."

"I have my reasons," I mutter. 

"Is your father the one who bought you a house in Malibu? Or do you still live with him? Don't get me wrong, but this area isn't cheap. So either you're a very successful young lady, or…?"