This Is My Story

|| You don't know me at all||

[Dedicated to BlueForgetsMeNots for always being supportive and making me smile with your comments and votes 💙]

C H A P T E R T E N
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I stare at my hands and wonder how great it'll be to be anywhere else but here. My dad is inspecting the apartment with his scrutinizing glare and I can't help but feel extremely self-conscious. I even begin to bite my nails, which I never ever do. He passes his hand on the kitchen table and I know that he's checking if there's any trace of dust anywhere. He then stares at a painting on a wall of the living room and I blush in embarrassment. I forgot to take it down. Dad never liked this type of art: colourful and "meaningless". He clears his throat but doesn't say anything which only makes me even more nervous than I already am.

"Don't you want to take a seat?" I ask anxiously.

"Make yourself at home, or take a seat please, is a better way to greet people Skye Grace." My father remarks and I bite my lip.

I don't know why he keeps calling me by both of my names, no matter how many times I try to tell him that I prefer to be called by my second name only. Skye is the name of my deceased mother and I think that I make him think of her. Dad has always been very strict about etiquette. We aren't rich or anything, but he always said that being poor doesn't excuse bad manners so he has raised us like any bourgeois would have raised their children.

The time I spent away from him definitely made me forget how to behave correctly in front of him and I feel like if I'm messing up every move I make and word that comes from my mouth sounds vulgar and impolite.

After a moment of silence, he finally sits down on the couch, his posterior barely touching the fabric of his seat, as if he's afraid that he'll catch a disease or something like that.

I know that he wants me to stay polite and stay where I am, so I do not sit beside him and instead, stand alone, watching him.

The first thing that I notice is that he has aged. Wrinkles that definitely weren't there the last time I saw him have formed their ways at the corners of his eyes and on his forehead and he looks like he has lost a lot of hair -which suddenly turned salt and pepper. His back is bent down and it makes him look like a very old man.

He coughs and sighs.

"So" He says formally and I immediately guess what the next subject is going to be about. "How's university?"

I take a deep breath to calm myself and stare at the black screen of the television that takes most of the place in the room. The sound of kids playing outside fills the void between my dad and me and he frowns. He never liked kids, he only liked Matt.

"Oh, you know." I shrug as he take a look at the book on the table in front of him. It's The Alchemist, by Paulo Coelho, one of my favourite writer. It's about destiny, dreams...about life and I truly love the book, but now that it's in my dad's hands, I begin to question its value. "It's very uneventful, like always. I made some friends for a change and the classes are awesome."

He nods and replaces the book at the exact same spot from where he took it.

"Try using wonderful instead, dear." Is all he says and even though it proves that he didn't really cared about what I said, I'm still relieved that he doesn't ask me questions about my grades. "Also, I didn't know you were reading such... imaginative stories." He adds.

I know that it's his way of criticizing my choice of lecture, but I don't say anything and restrain myself from telling him that The Alchemist isn't just any fantasy book.