It All Started With a Diary

living

With a sample of a nod, I took my seat. For some type of relief, my fingers dug around the edge of the table until I was sure I drew blood.

I was going to look into the eyes of my sperm-giver again. Of the man who, for so long, I believe I'd turn into. An angry, bitter, lonely man who gave no fucks about anyone, but himself. But, I hadn't.

My eyes drilled holes into the glass until his side of the glass rattled with the opening of the door. A click, as well as a buzzer sounded out through the space.

I knew that could take him down without any effort now, but once I saw him, I felt my body tense up so tight, it hurt.

It wasn't of fear, though, for the first time in my life. I had nothing to be afraid of any longer.

Even though I ached for Kimberly's presence, I was glad that she wasn't here. For everyone's sake in this building.

I knew my father's wandering eyes, and the crude comments he would have made about her. I would have found a way through this glass the moment he even looked at her.

Hatred, rage, fury...all of it. It gripped me so tightly, I felt my skin warm until I got to the point of regretting my hoodie. With a rough grip, I tugged at it before all of my actions froze.

The hair on the back of my neck rose first. Chills ran up my spine, only further worsening my nerves. I knew, then, that he was here.

My fathers' eyes met mine through the glass as he took his seat.

As I remembered, his expression was glazed over, entirely. The only thing that I could detect was his shock.

I couldn't blame him; I'd vowed to never, ever see him. The last time we even laid eyes on one another was whenever I shot him. And, that was only for a passing second between the rage and grief I felt that night.

We both made a reach for the phone at the same time, causing me to pause. I didn't like doing anything in sync with this motherfucker.

I waited until he pressed the phone to his ear before I went for the one on my end.

My eyes remained on him, carefully cruising his figure. It nearly left me hurling up the lunch Kimberly made for me.

His body was much thinner than I remembered, but not too drastically. Past the orange jumpsuit, tattoos stretched all the way up to his ears. His black hair had thinned until there was barely any left, face wrinkled and tight with age and rage, with whiskers of a beard to top it. I noted the way his brown eyes examined me over, as well, and I despised the pride that grew from his end once he did.

His lips lifted into a half-smile. "You look good, son," his tough voice spoke through the phone. Every hitch echoed with agony throughout my mind from all of the times I heard it, mostly of him yelling at me. "You're a man, now." The urge to rip his throat out as he chuckled only intensified.

"How would you know? " I responded, drilling my glare into him. "You don't even know what the hell a man is, you never have."

His smile fell at that, fully merging into a frown. I think he expected me to say something else, but it wasn't my responsibility. I owed this son of a bitch nothing.

The silence stretched on before he let out a sigh. The phone hung between either finger as he swiped at his forehead with the front of his wrist. I knew that he was itching for a cigarette right about now, and the fact that he couldn't have it pleased me.

He cleared his throat. "I've been writing to you," he attempted. "You never answered." I heard his voice drop, almost as if he felt sad. As if he expected differently.