No. No, I don't. I rather do anything else in the world than see my dad. Knowing there's the risks of seeing photos of shitty family members that my dad adores is enough of a reason. "Uh..." I glance over at Westley, who's too busy eating the 'burnt' chicken nuggets. The adorable sight almost makes me forget the question my dad asked. "I don't know."
"I miss you and Camilla. How is she?" Why doesn't he call her himself? I mumble out a response, saying she's okay. My dad picks up on my bored tone, making him asks, "Were you busy?"
Yes, busy kissing my boyfriend. "Yeah, kinda." I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth, feeling stiff and awkward. "So, uh, why'd you call?"
"Because I miss you."
I'm unsure why, but his words causes my blood to boil. How could he say that after everything he's done? Ignore me for months? Believe in his family's delusions over my truth? How could he miss me if he doesn't show any sort of care for me?
"Then why do you never call?" I didn't allow him to answer. I release more of my steam, hitting points that need addressing. Points that have needed to be addressed 8 years ago. "Why do you still talk to your family after everything that happened?"
"Son, it's my family."
My face falls to the floor. How ironic of him to call me his son in that sentence.
"I'm your family, too. They practically shunned me for something that wasn't my fault." My dad begins to interrupt, but I stop him. I have held these thoughts for far too long for him to try corrupting this conversation. "They called me a liar, Dad. And you believed them over your own son. Everything that happened... still haunts me, and you don't seem to care."
"I do care."
I scoff, "Are you even listening to me?"
"I am." Before I can reply, that uncomfortable, tingling feeling spreads through my nose as my throat tightens. My fingers began to twitch, which causes my entire hand to threaten to tremble. "I love you, Casey, and I care."
My dad's soft tone makes me feel guilty for being snappy. Tears fall from my eyes, and I can't catch them quick enough for Westley not to notice. He frowns and sends me a look that I'm unable to process. My mind begins to fog up, nothing but negativity swarming it.
"No, you don't."
And without another word, I hang up, not wanting to continue the conversation.
Why does he refuse to accept the fact that his family destroyed me? Why doesn't he reach out more? What did I do wrong? If I didn't get touched, would he love me more? If I kept the truth to myself, would things be different?
Why won't my dad be my dad?
Random breaths leave my mouth, making it difficult for me to breathe. I try to suck in air, but nothing goes in. My lungs and throat rejects the oxygen's begging to enter, causing my chest to ache with spasms.
"You're okay, baby. Everything is gonna be okay." No, everything is not going to be okay. Why doesn't my dad care? I speak the questions circling my mind, just for them to fall into broken words and phrases. My lips and tongue wrestle in my shaky breathing, losing tremendously. I become a crying, blubbering mess within second. "My boy, come here."
Westley holds my palpitating body, whispering sweet nothing's and soft reassurances in my ear. His touch and words don't bring comfort, but at least they don't upset me further. Snots, spit, and tears run down my face, smearing onto my boyfriend's hoodie. He doesn't pay any mind to it while doing the best he can to calm me.
