A War of Guns and Roses

Chapter 9

"Did Jake know that you were taking the car alone?" Dad asked, cutting to the chase at once, his voice hard as steel but calm. Like the calm before the storm.

"Yes." I answered after a while of silence in which Dad's grey eyes pierced mine, daring me to lie.

Dad turned towards Jake. "And with what authority did you let her take the car alone?"

"None sir," Jake answered, almost fearfully, keeping his head down like a puppy who had been kicked.

"What is this job given to you for, Jake?" Dad asked.

"To protect Ms Greene, sir."

"And what exactly did you do?"

"I put her in danger, sir."

"Very good," Father said. "And what do you suggest I do to you for neglecting your orders, your job?"

There was a tense silence in the air before my pleading voice cut through it.

"Dad, please. It was my fau—" I was stopped by my father's raised hand.

"Did I allow you to speak?" he asked harshly. I hated this side of my father. I really really hated it. He was like this whenever I asked about my mother too.

My father had two completely bipolar sides. One, a compassionate father which many people didn't get to see, but which I'm always shown and showered with. The other, the cold, heartless beast my father sometimes turns into in times like this, towards me, which is more common to other people.

I shook my head and bit the inside of my cheek, trying my hardest not to cry. It hurt when my own father spoke to me like this, as if I wasn't his daughter.

"You didn't answer my question," Father directed at Jake.

"I deserve to be punished, sir," Jake ushered after swallowing, fear dancing in his eyes.

"Good," said Father. "You're dismissed for now."

Jake walked away silently, not before giving me a reassuring squeeze on my shoulder. I took a deep breath, waiting for what was to come.

Dad pointed at the chair across from him. "Sit." I sat down without complaint and looked up at him through my eyelashes.

Dad took a cigar from the tray on the coffee table and lit it. I scrunched my face up in disgust. I hated cigars and cigarettes. I didn't understand why you would lower your own lifespan that way. Do you not care about those who love you and how worried they would be if you had cancer?

Dad usually doesn't smoke. On rare occasions such as this one, when he is stressed and angry, he doesn't prevent himself from taking huge drags of death into his lungs from the cancer stick.

"That man was following you," he stated, all business. I nodded in reply. "Why didn't you call us then than waiting for so long?"

"I didn't know that man was following me. I just thought that he was a regular racer in the street and I overtook him. After I dropped—" I suddenly stopped, aware that I hadn't told my father anything about my friend.

"After you dropped whom?" Dad asked suspiciously.

"Rebecca." I said the first person coming to my mind. "We wanted to hang around for a bit. Without security watching our every move." I added, quickly forming up a convincing lie.