Queens Arrow

Ragers

"Wait what?" I asked.

"To the party."

"You want me. To go. With you. To your party?" I asked skeptically.

"Yes. Is that so hard to believe?"

"Yeah. I mean what will people think when they see you arrive with a young girl."

"Your my daughter Y/N Nobody is going to think anything about that."

I think Oliver believed what was coming out of his mouth as he was delivering the line. I don't know if he truly let himself forget or even believe that I had not been revealed as a Queen to the world while he was gone. I don't know why as the words fell from my father's lips a fire ignited inside of me. He got to forget, he forgot what I had to live with every day. Ever since my father died my temper became extremely bad, I didn't want my father to know how angry I had become so I just replied. "I know I'm your daughter, you know I'm your daughter, and Tommy knows I'm your daughter but no one else at that party is going to have any Idea who I am, or know I'm your daughter."

"Oh right, I forgot."

I knew that I shouldn't be angry with him but my father had me at an extremely young age and was never exactly what anyone would call a hands-on father. I can see it in his face ever since he's been back that he has no idea who he is or who he wants to be in his second life. When I heard he was coming back just for a minute I let myself dream about the father that I wanted him to be. Seeing him back here and so full of life and not at all what I want him to be is quite frustrating. While he was "dead" I told myself that he was a good father and I forced myself into believing false realities about him. It got so bad that my father became a facade to me and now that he is here that facade is broken. The memories that I have warped, twisted, and bent into a better completely unrealistic fantasy were all being unraveled into something real, raw, and unprotected. Those changing memories are slowly becoming the only thing I see when I look at my father.

There was a long pause after Oliver's response; neither of us knew exactly quite what to say.

"Easy for you to forget," I remarked under my breath.

The room immediately went to a deafening silence, and a chill ran down our backs. My father didn't say anything and I could see he still hadn't completely registered the comment I had made. I could see his face melt as he processed what I had said and the severity of his feelings came to light. I could tell that I had cut him to his core and that my words as they lingered in the air continued to eat at him. He tried to hide that he was bothered by what I had said and was gathering his face and calming his mind. Even after those five years, even with a haircut, and some slight stubble, even though he seemed to have changed, and even now that he is a different man. That face was unhidable, undisguisable, and unchangeable, the face he made when he was trying not to show his feelings. His eyebrows were disturbed nudging toward each other, his cheeks looked almost simultaneously puffed out and hard at the same time. The thing that makes this face particularly memorable is his eyes. His eyes were never looking at you, they were always looking through you, and he always looked like his mind was somewhere else.

"Well, get ready, I want you to come," Oliver said, trying to sound optimistic.

"How am I even gonna get in?" I asked with a bit of angst feeling my plans flying out the window.

"Don't worry about that, I have a plan, I'm gonna go and tell Tommy you get ready I'll be back in 10 minutes."

"Dad, I don't know, I think I would just rather stay home. It's not worth the hassle, it's your welcome home bash you should go have a night of fun before getting responsibilities." I pleaded, trying to keep my plans for the night.