Strings Attached

~Chapter 14~

When did I last hear him laugh, actually laugh and not throw nervous chuckles around? I rack my brain for the memory to resurface and then I remember, it was when mum was alive!

The man wasn't always a brute. The first eight years of my life were the happiest of all years. And the remembrance makes me strangely nostalgic and yearning for what I've come to lose. 

I look at him and remember how I used to cling to him whenever he came from a long day at the Firm, until I got my quota of chocolates for the day.

And mum would gently admonish me and shake her head at dad for spoiling me rotten. And he would laugh pleasantly, hoisting me up on his shoulders; not guilty of indulging me for even a second. Best days, they were.

I wonder whom he's talking to, at the moment. Because he's laughing that familiar laugh in abundance. The one he reserved for me. Like he's indulging the person on the other side. The Laugh of Indulgence. And I feel like laughing myself. The Laugh of Mirth. Now, that would be a fitting one.

I wonder why things took such a dour turn in so less a time. But I know that he won't laugh with me again. And I feel like guffawing and howling at the same time.

I haven't gone very far when he finally sees me. And telling the person on the other side that he'll talk to them later, he quickly shuts his phone, daring me to move with his eyes. I remain where I am, not in the mood to fire him up unnecessarily.

"Where have you been?" he asks sternly. "At Seth's," I answer truthfully. "Were you drinking?" he continues questioning me. And I can't help but let out an ironic chuckle at his query.

"Are you seriously asking me that? And what if I was, hunh? Will you report me? Whom will you report me to? I'm 18. And mum's dead, for your information. She was the only one who cared."

At the mention of mum, he goes stiff, like a shock has passed through him. We haven't talked about her, ever. But I'm in the mood to push boundaries today. "Don't talk of her like that," he warns me, and I am incensed. "Oh really! And you are allowed to sully her memory to the rest of the world?! That's brave of you, father dear."

He pauses for a bit, thinking of what to say next, and then typically changes course. "Don't make it about her. It's about you, boy! Your principal tells me you haven't been to school for a week! For the last time, where have you been?!"

It's been a week? Sh*t! I'll have to go to school and ask Mrs. Judy to help me get back in the Princi's good books. Else I'll get landed with a detention. Any excuse will do for now. And after only pausing for a second or two, I give him my answer.

"I had something urgent to do," I casually shrug him off, making my way to the door. "What was more urgent than school, boy?" And something ticks off inside me. "Making money, you miser!" I bark hysterically, rotating in a split second and facing him. "Making money," I repeat, stressing on the last word in hopes that he would be ashamed of himself.

But he isn't. At all. No painful wince, nothing. "No need to shout!" he hisses dramatically. "Stop with the name calling and the excuses. I don't have time for your tantrums. How much have you made by now, I'd like to know?" His taunting tone irks me. "That's none of your business," I state, signalling that the interview is at an end.