Mercy

Chapter Fiftyone

        I wasn't about to have a panic attack in here, so I opened the door and slammed it closed the second we parked. John lead me inside of the building, my skin growing goosebumps along the way. A man at the security gates checked me for anything dangerous in my possession. I spread my arms and legs as instructed, waiting until he had finished checking me. 

        When he said everything was all set, I followed John deeper into a hallway. A shaky breath rumbled through me as we opened a door and there were windows, phones connected to the walls on the side. A row of chairs on each set, and the same display on the other side of the glass. 

        "Go ahead, Harry," John softly urged me. "I'll be outside if you need me. There are also guards so please don't do anything you'll regret." I didn't answer him. I stared at everything before me with a glare. "I know you hate me right now for making you do this, but just relax." 

        I took a seat; the one in the middle. There weren't any other people visiting at this time of day. I let myself breathe deeply before I saw movement on the other side. My eyes glanced up and there I saw the man I had despised for the longest years of my life. For the longest time, I had felt so much hatred for the man dressed in orange now. He had tattoos up his neck and all down his arms. 

        Reason number one I never tatted myself completely. 

        He had gotten older, his skin a little pale from the lack of sleep. There were bags beneath his eyes, making him seem much older and much more crushed than I had imagined. He still had that muscle on him. He probably worked out here, too. I wouldn't doubt it. 

        We made eye contact for the first time in five or six years. I don't know, I had lost count. I let my jaw tightened, my stomach swirling with anxiety. I wanted to smash the window and tackle him down, show him how much he means to me. That piece of fucking trash. 

        I watched as he slowly took a seat across from me, only the bulletproof glass keeping us from embarking on a full fist fight. His eyes were grey, unlike mine. I had gotten my eyes from my mother. Thank god. But, I might have gotten the worse part from my father. I've gained his experiences. 

        "Hello, Harry," he spoke deeply into the phone. I haven't heard his voice in so many years, but it still sounded the same. It sounded like my horror and the sound of my despair. 

        The muscles in my mouth wouldn't move as I tried to make words. Instead, I ended up clenching my jaw further, inhaling sharply. I fixed the telephone to my ear. 

        I heard him sigh heavily. "You've grown a lot. Turned out to be really handsome. Your mom told me you had a girlfriend," he tried to make conversation, "She says she's a beautiful girl. I'm glad you've found someone, son, I --"

        "Cut the shit," I spat out, feeling my chest tighten. "Just tell me what you want to say." 

        He rubbed his chin, which was covered by a growing beard. The glare on my face hadn't faltered yet as I watched him. 

        "I've heard you've been getting into a lot of trouble these past years. You're mother wanted me to talk to you. See if I could convince you to straighten out a bit," he shrugged carelessly. 

        I moved my jaw around in anger. Then, I bit out, "I really don't need your advice." 

        "Listen, son --" 

        My hand slammed hard against the glass. Thankfully, it didn't broken. "Don't call me your son!" I yelled, feeling the stinging appear in my eyes. "I haven't been anything to you for the past six years. Especially not your son."