The Sleepless Moon

42. A fearless girls who guides

"Don't talk to your mother like that!"

"Oh, but I will! You think you can dress up nicely in only labeled things that cost a fortune and leave your son alone to be present at some shitty donations while smiling and waving like idiots not even once thinking of me and what I could be doing in this mansion al..."

Slap.

I'm not surprised, I just want to see who gave it. I open my eyes to see my furious dad in front of me, squeezing his first and knitting his brows, giving his perfect face an angry expression that I, to be honest, missed seeing. I missed him. I miss him. And I want him to slap me again, anything, just to keep him longer next to me. I'm even going to memorize this slap because for me it's like he caressed my cheek. It's like a gesture of tenderness.

"You don't speak like tha..."

"Punch me again", I find myself saying. His expression is slowly turning into a confused one while his knitted brows are coming back to their normal place.

"What?", his voice is low, unrecognizable.

"You heard me. Punch me again. If slapping me is going to make your presence longer then I want you to keep punching me until I can't breathe."

"You are going crazy, Jason." He steps back, reaching for his jacket and I know what he's about to do. To leave. I know what is next. My mourning and endless cries for help. Me drowning in alcohol that leaves me as well after a very quick time, but I can't notice when it leaves me nothing else but the dizziness and a stupid smirk on my sad face.

"I am! I am going crazy because I'm living alone!"

"That's bullshit! You have everything you want. I even threw money for your damn cinema because of your obsession to watch shoes and movies all the time."

Threw. He's been throwing money on his own soon. But the donation he's about to give is not a waste of money.

Good to know, dad. Good to know.

"Threw?", my voice is small probably not audible at all. "And that donation? That is not throwing money?"

"No", his voice is determined and stern, "because those kids will appreciate it unlike you."

"So, you think that money is enough?"

"And what do you need? You can buy everything? What do you want, Jason?"

You, I want you. I want to yell this from the top of my lungs, but I know that wouldn't be enough for them to understand, obviously they can't decipher it when I'm literally screaming it in their faces with make-up and treated with a lot of creams to prevent their features from aging.

"Nothing", I bow my head, mumbling to my chin.

"I'm asking you one more time to come. If you don't show up..."

"What will happen, daddy?", I ask him, chuckling, provoking him. Maybe he will slap me again. Just touch me again.

"Honey, let's go." Mom takes dad's hand and causes him to turn to her, his expression softening, the anger in it disappearing once his eyes catch hers. "Jason, be a good son and come. You don't have to stay till the end, just take some pictures with us, shake some hands, then you are good to go." Her voice is softer than dad's as if she's pleading with me.

Why does that event mean so much to them? Why do they care for it more than they care for me? I wish I was a homeless child more than theirs. Maybe then people who would adopt them would love me more than these people who are my actual parents.

"And what do I get from it?", I shout.

"Let him, honey. He's ungrateful. Hopefully, those kids to whom we are donating money would appreciate him more than he does. Let's go."