His Broken Angel

Chapter Sixty-Five: Him Again

"I wanted to ask you something: . .important," he said.

"What?" I asked, my eyes glued to my phone screen. Color Switch came back.

I noticed Alex sucking in a deep breath before saying, "It's about Dad."

The little blue anchor hit red when I set my phone down, my eyes adverting from the kitchen to the counter. "What?" I let out.

"I know you don't want to ever see him-"

"For sure as hell I'll never see him again."

"-but he's been calling me a bunch of times, asking for you. And I don't know what to tell him anymore."

"To fuck off?" I shrugged.

He rolled his eyes. I guess we both had that habit. "Maggs, he wants to see you. I think you should."

I laughed. "You're joking right?" My face turned serious. "I'm never going to see him again. Let that sink into all of your heads. Stop telling me that I should see him."

Growing sick of everything that Alex was saying, I stood up to leave when he said, "Don't you want to say every little thing you feel to his face?"

I stopped in my tracks. "Why would I want to do that?" I barked.

"To let everything out. Don't you want him to see how he's affected your life?"

My brother was saying it in such a bitter way that it caused me to grow angry. I could say it to his face, everything. I could say it with him feeling guilty about it all.

My inner bitch had come.
******

We were on the road towards the penitentiary while my stomach turned. I drank water the whole way as I tried calming myself down.

My knees were shaking as we got out of the car. All of a sudden I felt sick, leaning against the car while holding my stomach and covering my mouth. Claire stood beside me while patting my back.

"Hon, you look pale. Sit down for a little while."

"No," I sighed. My head was turning. "I just want to get this over with."

Inside the penitentiary the corridors were dark, the lights hanging above us were dim while I clutched my hands tightly together. Guards searched all of us until we were in the waiting room. My head was crouched between my legs as I breathed in and out slowly.

I gulped when they called out my dad's name. I stood up shakily and walked towards the sliding doors that led me inside the visiting room. It was just me and a bunch of other visitors who visited their loved ones called prisoners.

I couldn't describe what I was feeling. I was nervous, anxious, scared, upset and more. All my feelings were mixed together which caused me to feel sick again.

Then I saw him. Two guards were at his side while his wrists were held tightly in handcuffs. He had a solemn look on his face and as soon as he saw me a frail smile appeared on his dry, dead lips. I sucked in a harsh breath.

He sat in front of me, that smile never leaving his face. It was the first time in years that I had seen those piercing blue eyes. They were beginning to scare me again.

"Hi, babygirl," he said softly. His voice was hoarse but sounded sweet which only made me hate him more.

I refused to say anything. I only stared at him with fear and anger mixed in my eyes, hot tears forming in them. Finally with my mouth opening, I let out, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

The smile didn't go away. "You're so grown up. . .so beautiful."

He reached out to take my hand when I pulled them back. My nails were already digging into the palm of my hands. "You don't have any right to say anything like that."

"You look so much like your mother."

More tears. "It's hard to believe that a cold heart like yours could remember her," I spat.

"I loved her-"

"Just like you "loved" us?"

His smile finally disappeared. His eyes turned sad now. "I know what I did to your brother and you was terrible. You don't know how much time I've focused on those events," he gulped.

I shook my head. "And until now you barely started feeling bad about it."

"I've always felt terrible. After every night I would wake up in the morning and feel like complete shit."

Because you are, I thought.

"Then I would begin to drink more and the past day would start over again."

"So you always felt terrible about hitting us. About calling us worthless and give us the shittiest lives and then drink to feel better? That's how you fixed your problems?"

He gulped. "I'm sorry-"

"It's a little too late for that."

"Just listen to me, Margarita-"

"Don't call me that."

He shifted in his chair. "I'm sorry for everything. I know you that you're stubborn but please forgive me. All I want is your forgiveness and I can sleep in peace."

I scoffed and rolled my eyes. "Sleep in peace? You don't know how many times I've been dreaming about that. Even after having a great day you would pop up in my head. Every little fucking thing reminds me of you and you're the one asking to sleep in peace? Go to hell."

"Ma-"

"And I will never forgive you, because it's not only the fact that you hit my brother and I. You remember that drunk night you had? When you came into my room and decided that I wasn't your daughter anymore. That's how I felt after that night. I wasn't your blood anymore."

I didn't realize that he had started crying. It was the first time that I had ever seen my father cry. "P-please, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking straight that night. I was stupid, a dumbass. I'm sorry," he begged.

I pushed myself away from the table, causing the chair to screech against the floor. "If Claire didn't tell you already, you can go fuck yourself."