Eucalyptus & Honey |H.S.|

Chapter 37 - It's All Too Much

Dad.

My fucking Dad. Was standing in front of me. Alive.

And he was blackmailing Harry.

My head was pounding in a way that I hadn't experienced before. Harry had crossed the room to steady me, but I could barely even process the action. I felt as though I were experiencing tunnel vision, and the only thing in sight was the living ghost of my father.

I couldn't hear anything over the rushing blood in my ears, and it felt like a very real possibility that I would pass out. I think maybe I stopped breathing, or maybe I was crying or screaming. But in any case, I couldn't tell you which it was. My brain felt disconnected from my body, and it was like watching my life through a TV screen with no volume and no clear script to follow.

Distantly, I felt Harry's thumb swipe over my cheek, and that answered my question about whether or not I was crying. I didn't really understand why I was crying—if anything, I felt numb at the moment—but I couldn't help it at this point.

"Dad?" I asked again, but it wasn't really a question. It was more like my brain's way of comprehending the reality of the situation. Which was a reality that I could hardly begin to wrap my head around.

"Dad..." I heard Harry repeat, as though the word was foreign to him. As though he couldn't understand why it would be coming out of my mouth at the moment. Which, to be fair, was definitely hard for even myself to comprehend at the moment.

Rather than answer me, my Dad looked to Harry, having the audacity to fucking ignore me. I take it back. Maybe I wasn't numb. Maybe I was really fucking pissed.

"I told you not to bring her, Harry. Can't follow one fucking rule?" my Dad—my fucking Dad—asked, and it would have hurt less if he had directly slapped me across the face.

Harry gave him a hard look, and he opened his mouth to respond, but I did it for him. "Don't fucking talk about me as if I'm invisible. I'm right in front of you," I said firmly, but I think the firm tone got lost behind the whole world of hurt that I was currently experiencing. I genuinely had no clue where to even begin navigating this experience.

His eyes seemed to soften slightly as he looked at me and really took in my appearance. My tear stained cheeks. The hand that was holding onto Harry's with an intensity that I was sure must've been painful. The anger and hurt and confusion behind my eyes.

Somehow, that soft look didn't comfort me. It only hurt me so much more.

I didn't understand any of this, but all that my mind could focus on was the basic facts.

My father was not actually dead and had never tried to contact me. And my father was spending his days torturing my fucking boyfriend.

"Stephanie..." he began with a sigh, and I flinched at the name. He was the only person I used to like hearing my full name from. Now, it just felt like a slap to the face. "I never intended for this to happen."

I was still frozen in place and made no move to approach him. Harry was still standing next to me with complete shock on his face, and I was sure he was going through his own feelings of hurt and confusion, but he was kind enough and emotionally intelligent enough to allow this moment to be fully mine.

I felt conflicted. Seeing the face of the father, who I thought was dead, that I had always deeply loved—the parent that had taught me what love is—standing in front of me sent waves of relief throughout my body. It was like the feeling of your pet running away and thinking you would never see them again, only to be reunited with them. Except a much more dramatic version of that.