7 | the bad guy

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7|

the bad guy

"What do you mean you can't do anything?" Outraged, I burst out, my voice coming out way harsher and louder than I originally intended.

Mom gives me a perplexed look, her body drawing back a little as if I physically slapped her. We're on the same goddamn page then. She sure as hell slapped the living daylight out of me with the information she just announced.

"I'm sorry, Collin," she tries me to understand, goddammit, I know that's what her big pleading eyes of hers are supposed to do, but she can't possibly think I'm about to agree with this, "Your dad. . . He . . . You know how he is. I don't have a choice here."

Bullshit. She has a choice. I know she knows that. "So you're just going to let him force me into living with him after not giving a shit for years? He can't do that. I'm eighteen, Mom."

My mother's face softens, attempting to give me some kind of reassurance that everything is going to be okay, but I can see it. Her face says it all. She's already given up on me. And realizing that feels like another punch, straight into my gut.

It's not like I don't deserve it. Because this whole thing is my fault in the first place, but still. Out of all the people in my life, I always thought she'd be the one to never give up on me, to never get fed up with my bullshit.

I can feel the plea sitting on the tip of my tongue, ready to tumble out but the subtle creak of the stupid door jerks me out of it.

I don't have to turn my head to know the incoming interruption is my asshole of a father. Mom told me he was finishing some medical paperwork outside, mostly related to my hospital release, though if I didn't know, I would have recognized him by the awful squeak his nasty policeman shoes make against the polished linoleum floor.

"Hope you are all packed and ready," he casually throws my way while closing the door behind him, his eyes icing my ass to the edge of the bed I'm perched on.

There are several different ways I could go about this, but it doesn't really matter which one I choose. The outcome will still be the same.

So, even though I feel like glaring a hole through his cocky head, I choose to give him a wide grin instead, "Yeah, like that's about to happen."

I don't know if he expected it, but he doesn't seem affected. His shoulders are still relaxed as he gives me a smile matching my own, which only makes the anger in me simmer more. This man chose to abandon Mom, went behind her back several times when what he was supposed to do was take care of his wife and children. He didn't give a rat's ass about any of us. What exactly does make him think he can barge into our lives once it's convenient enough for his selfish ass and command us around?


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