Looking for trouble | Vol. 2 | Jamie Bower fanfiction

24 | Failed parenting

"And then what?" he asks

"I don't know? scream at him for leaving my mother?" I didn't in particular like my mother, she would never stop telling me what to do, how to walk, how to talk, how to put on a face for the world. That was what she wanted; for me to be her push little puppet. In the end it was exactly that, which had driven me away. But being left with a child, having to become a single mom, wasn't something she deserved. "Or scream at him for not taking me with him."

"Mommy issues?" Sheehan asks.

"You bet."

"Huh." Sheehan mutters, "How is she?"

"Try and imagine Mrs Dursley from the Harry Potter franchise,"

"Yeah?"

"Then multiply that by a thousand."

"Oh fantastic!" he exclaimed, "That type of woman. You really don't seem like a person raised by that sort of push-ness."

"Thanks," I say and added, in the celebration of sharing, "I left home at 18, and I don't plan on coming back anytime soon."

"I don't blame ya," he says, "but what about your dad? Why do you think he'll contact you now, After so darn long?"

I flopped back on the bed, letting out a heavy exasperated sigh, "I don't know... He isn't exactly the type who lacks money," I say, Sheehan read over my shoulder when I had googled him.

"Maybe he just wants to get to know ya?"

"I hope not."

"Why?"

"Because he had 22 years, the time is up." honest to god, I am angry at him, very angry. I just want him to simply stop existing and leave me alone. But I persist at one thing in life and that is being a fucking hypocrite, so obviously I am going to see him. After all what could he want with a daughter like me? It isn't like I have anything valid to offer? Right?

***

I walk down the street, my eyes trained on my phone. I read two indirect tweets Jamie sent me a couple minutes ago.

'There's no news with Sam. It's all the same.'

'I'll go nut cooped up in here. Please distract me.'

So I did.

'Sheehan wrestled Patrick to protect my honour yesterday. It was very heroic of him.' I write.

'He failed spectacularly? Didn't he?'

'I thought that was implied in the word 'wrestling'.'

'ahaha, thanks.'

'What for?

'Making me laugh.' He writes, 'it's been a while.'

I text him all the way up to the building where I am to meet my father. It's a good thing otherwise I might have jumped up and down the streets seeing as my body is filled to the brim with nervous energy.

I had looked up the address on his card before going, and I've found that I knew exactly where he works. It is one of those shiny white office building, you see everywhere. They all look so darn important, but you know it's only filled with boring accountant in there.

I swing the door open and find myself faced with a little brunette the size of a dwarf. And I thought I was small... If she stood next to me, instead of behind that counter, she'd barely reach my shoulder.

"What can I help you with, miss?" she asks pleasantly, she has a slight southern drawl.

"I'm here to see Mr Marlowe." I state as I reach the counter.