Tangled In Strings

Chapter Twenty-Eight

"I saw in the paper that the funeral was being held here."

I don't give a shit about how he heard of this. "No, how the fuck are you out of jail?"

"I've been out, for a year now. Moved into an apartment, got a job."

My eyes widen, in disbelief. I want to tear him to pieces, kill him with my bare hands. This man who tortured me for nearly two decades, who taught me to fear men, who stole my childhood, my mother from me...I want to make him hurt. Bleed.

I can hardly stand still.

"I don't understand how you have the audacity to show up here," I hiss to him, full of hate.

"Scarlett."

I move closer to him, my anger making me brave. "No, how can you look me in the face right now? How?"

The fact that there is no remorse on his face, only a smooth mask of indifference buried in the newly formed wrinkles he's acquired over the years is what is frightening about him. I'm a few inches away from the man who taught me pain, and every bone, every muscle in my body is telling me to get out of here fast. Just run, turn away and don't look back.

It's been more than a decade since we've stood face to face. I was still a growing teenager when I saw him for the last time, forcing my mother to get into the car with him. He was shouting, bounding down the steps for the van. I didn't even go to the sentencing.

This man was dead to me the moment he walked out of that door with her. Dead and buried.

And yet, here he is, staring into my eyes, unmoving.

"Look, I didn't expect to come. I'd read about it in the paper and didn't know I was here until I was parking on the other side of the lot. I watched from afar...I come and visit your mother almost every week. Lay down flowers, and—"

"You should have stayed away."

"I don't want to be in your life," he says, flat out. "I constantly from the very beginning told Gail I wasn't fit to be a father. I didn't want it then and I don't now, so you don't have to worry about that." He exhales. "But jail does a lot to a person. It makes you think, and I thought I'd regret it if I let this moment pass. I did a lot of shitty things, I was a shitty father..."

I have no idea why, but I hear laughter bubble up in my chest and I press my hand to my mouth to hold in the fits, shaking my head at him. His eyes slant, the sound of my laughter, the fact that I'd even dare to do such a thing while he's pouring his heart out is unfathomable to him, the worst kind of insult.

"Why are you laughing? I'm trying to apologize here."

Whether it's the sleepless nights, or the bitterness that's flowing through me, or my overwhelming hate for this man, my next words are said with the intent to shred him.

"I'm laughing because you said you were a shitty father." I chuckle louder. "As if you were some guy who ran off with a younger girl, or forgot to call me for a couple of years. A shitty father..." My entire body turns to stone, my face contorting with years of unreleased loathing. "You weren't a shitty father, Ted. You were a goddamn nightmare."

"You deserved to die in jail, to rot in there. The fact that you are in front of my face right now makes me want to tear my fucking skin off. The fact that you thought any words would erase the years of torture you inflicted onto me and the woman you leave your guilt flowers for, the woman you murdered, is sickening."

His mouth has slimmed into a thin line. Still able to detect the signs, I can tell how badly he wants to hurt me, but can't because we're in public—and it's made me brave. He came here to ease a conscience, to rid himself of the burden. But it's behind his eyes, lurking in the shadows—that tick. That bubbling anger that he cannot keep at bay.