Papa Emeritus III

Chapter 1: the backstory

YAYYY, MY FIRST STORY ON HERE HEHE. ANYWAY, LETS GET GOING!! AND I DO IN FACT, NOT KISS THE BRICK!!

You were never supposed to be a part of Terzos life. At least, that was what you had figured out over the years. You were a mistake. Something that had happened during one of Terzos reckless nights when he was still on tour. Your mother didn't want you. Terzo didn't exactly want you either. But somehow, you ended up with him. And Terzo had no idea what to do with a child. You were four years old the first time you realized your dad wasn't like other dads. You just didn't know what it was yet. You knew Terzo was your father. You knew he was famous. You knew he was rich. You knew he was always busy. And most importantly, you knew that you wanted him. You wanted your dad.

One evening, Terzo was sitting in the living room with his laptop open, barely paying attention to anything around him. You came running down the hallway, clutching a drawing you had made in your hands. „Daddy!" Terzo didn't look up. „Daddy!" Nothing. You ran closer. „Daddy, look!" You held the drawing directly in front of his face. Terzo finally glanced at it. „What is that?" You smiled proudly. „It's us!" He looked at the paper. It was a messy crayon drawing of two people holding hands, one of them was supposed to be you, the other was supposed to be him. You had drawn yourself with a huge smile. „I made it for you!" Terzo gave you a small nod. „That's nice, kid." You waited. You wanted him to smile, you wanted him to look down at you and put his laptop away, you wanted him to say your drawing was pretty. Instead, he turned back to his laptop, ignoring you. You waited a few more seconds. „Do you... not like it?"  He didn't even look up. „Hm? No yeah, I do." He wasn't really listening. You smiled anyway. „Okay!" And then you ran off again. Because you were four. You still believed that if you tried hard enough your dad would eventually love and notice you. 

A few weeks later, you tried again. Terzo was leaving the Ministry. You heard the gate and immediantly dashed downstairs. „Daddy!" Terzo was mid putting his jacket on. „Where are you going?" „Work." „Can I come?" „No." You frowned. „Why?" „Because I'm working." You held onto his hand. „I can be quiet." Terzo looked down at you. „Kid, no." „But I promise." „I'll be back later." You didn't let go. „Can I have a hug first?" Terzo grumbled, crouching down for a short awkward hug, devoid of any real affection. Then he stood up. You nodded, mumbling a quiet thank you. He left. You watched the car dissapear from the parking lot, watching it until it was out of sight. Then you went upstairs. 

At five, you still tried. You would sit outside his office because you knew he was in there, sometimes you even still knocked. „Daddy?" „Not now." You'd wait. Five minutes later: „Daddy?" „Give me a minute." You'd wait another ten.  „Daddy?" „What?" You'd peek through the door. „Can I sit with you?" He wouldn't even look up. „Im working." You'd not, mumbling a quiet okay. And you'd sit outside, waiting. Eventually, you'd fall asleep against the wall, a sister of sin finding you later. „Come on sweetheart, let's get you to bed." And every single time, you'd look at the office before leaving, hoping he'd come after you. He never did. 

By six, you had learned something. Not completely, not consiously. But you were starting to understand. Daddy didn't want to be bothered. So you stopped bothering him. You stopped running toward him when he came home. You stopped showing him every drawing. You stopped asking if he wanted to play. You stopped asking for hugs. And eventually, you even stopped calling him Daddy. Not even dad. Why? He didn't earn the title, not once has he ever lived up to the father role. It became Terzo. The first time you called him that, something in his chest aches, but he quickly pushed it down. „Terzo?" „What?" „Can I have money for a toy?" „Ask Copia." „Okay." „Terzo?" „Yes?" „Nevermind." You'd walk away and he never asked what you were going to say. 

Still by six, you had learned to be very good at being alone. You made yourself breakfast, got dressed on your own, found yourself something to watch on television. And whenever he did ask where you had been, you'd just answer with a simple „Upstairs." He never knew that you had spent the entire afternoon waiting for him. He never knew you spent hours hoping he would come looking for you. He never knew you'd sit at the top of the stairs every time he came home. Not because you wanted anything. Just because you wanted to hear his voice. 

When you were seven, you got sick. Nothing severe, just a fever. You were cuddled up under a blanket on the couch when Terzo walked past. He stopped. „You okay?" You nodded. „Yeah." „You look awful." You gave a tiny smile. „Thanks." He almost smiled. „Get some rest, okay?" Then he walked away. You looked after him, seeing him dissapear down the hall. You waited, hoping he'd come back. Maybe he'd come back. Maybe he'd bring you something. Maybe he'd sit beside you. Twenty minutes passed. Then an hour. He never came back. Eventually, you fell asleep. 

At eight, you stopped expecting him to be there for you. 

At nine, you could do basically everything by yourself. 

At ten, you had mastered the art of pretending you didn't care. 

And at eleven, you had genuinely convinced yourself that you genuinely didn't. 

You didn't need him. You didn't need anyone. 

At least, that's what you told yourself. 

That's it for this chapter! Tell me what you think, okay?