0.1 | No Exit from Deception ✓

0.31 | Excuse My Tale Telling

The dimly lit corridor opened into an area where mid-century modern furniture defining the present times was situated. The bold accent walls and a palette of daring hues energized the room.

With fire dancing in his glittery eyes, Tasher who stood at the threshold of the room was about to make an entry.
"Dad, can we talk?"

As soon as Mr Garfield saw Tasher, he invited him inside. Simultaneously the other dirty-looking man who was sitting next to him ground his cigarette into the ashtray and headed out, pretending to chew something in his mouth. His eyes lingered on Tasher's face a little longer than they should, and he muttered intensely, "Like father like son..."

Tasher's eyes followed the man and his staggering walk till the very end of the corridor.

"Hey, Tasher Garfield doesn't need permission to talk to Andrew Garfield. Daddy's gonna pour you some prosecco, don't say no," Mr Garfield spoke, rotating his head to fix his poorly fitting dentures; his thorn-pricking voice was enough to make anybody's ear bleed.

Tasher grinned and as he took a frantic step toward him, stabbing pain in his foot caused him to stay put while he figured out where to sit.

"Not being able to walk." His Dad discerned sans looking at him.

Tasher winced.

"It's such a shame to hear it from Warner's mouth. You have to pass the torch of the Garfield dynasty in some time. Be a strong man. . ." He then placed a hand on Tasher's shoulder, bending down to fuel up his brain. "Remember, we are sent on this planet to fuck thousands of mistreated pussies on a half-yearly basis, and just the double in a year. No violation is allowed. You can't put the burden on Daddy like that."

Mr Garfield winked.

"The double like seriously?" Tasher jiggled in disbelief, biting his lower lip to contain his smile. "Your estimate is throwing me across the ocean."

Mr. Garfield laughed and a ball of cough formed in his throat making his sound even more intolerant to bear with. "You don't know girls still regard me as young blood."

"Really?" Tasher's laugh soon merged in the thick air as he suddenly asked, "Dad, who was that guy you were talking to?"

"Oh, Anthony. He's just a twat ─ just like how your mother was. There are always these two, three people who come out of the woodwork and claim themselves to be a blood relative of your dead mother. They await daily outside of our bungalow to collect a spit of monetary help." He shrugged his shoulders and offered Tasher his drink. "I've helped them once but still they want more. I think I'll have to resort to it in some other way."

"Looks like even after her death she has eyes on all your assets." Tasher teased before necking down the shot. "But I still can't digest the fact that she died out in a bathtub---"

"Out of drowning." Mr Garfield completed the sentence as he fixed his eyes on the large colorful rug. His grasp on the glass tightened and so did his jaw.

"But, how was this possible? I mean no alcohol content was found in her body per se---"

"Tasher, she died because it was written in the stars. It's been fifteen fucking years to her lying peacefully in her grave, or whatever. "Mr Garfield's mocked, voice getting louder to loudest. "Why are you arguing?

Tasher had seen his father in anger before, but this time it came like a big shock to him. He recoiled unnoticing.

"Dad I'm not arguing. She had no alcohol dependency, and I asked out of curiosity. That's it," Tasher said with a resigned look.