Hell Flower

||5||

My body was electrified with rage. I needed to get away from her. I needed to get away from all of them, but on a moving bus, my options were limited, so I went with the first and only thought I had and marched my ass to the front of the bus where Alex was driving.

"Allison!" I heard Veronica call to me.

"Let her go," Liz said lowly. "She's always been her father's daughter."

When I reached the cab, I caught Alex's blue eyes in the rear-view mirror. I plopped into the passenger seat next to him, ready to give him a piece of my mind, too. After leaning back and getting as comfortable as I could against the scratchy fabric, I placed my feet up on the dashboard, making sure to get the mud from my boots strewn over all the surfaces. It was petty, but I was pissed.

"I know who you are," I spat with venom.

"Put your seatbelt on," Alex told me without taking his focus off the road.

I crossed my arms. "Why, are you going to crash?"

"Seatbelt."

Reluctantly, I removed my feet from the dashboard and readjusted myself to sit upright, rolling my eyes. I pulled the seatbelt out from behind me and clicked it into place.

Alex looked nothing like the man I remembered my father to be. My dad had been tall with short blond hair and a beard, and he was built like a football player. Meanwhile, Alex had dark, long hair and was skinny as hell. Yet, the way he talked to me was chillingly familiar. I never would have noticed it if I hadn't already known the truth, but the fact that I did made it unsettling.

"So, what is it that you know?" he asked, finally giving me a quick glance out of the corners of his eyes.

"I know my parents didn't actually die." I watched him carefully as I said it.

His jaw tensed, along with his grip on the steering wheel.

"I know you're my dad."

Alex flipped his long, black hair out of his face as he gave me a glance. The mannerism was something I could never imagine my father doing, and yet it seemed natural when Alex did it.

"Well, sort of," he said.

"I hate you."

He loosened his grip on the steering wheel. The backs of both his hands were tattooed in dark ink. The left displayed a pile of skulls and bones that rose from his knuckles all the way to the back of his wrist. A banshee clawed her way to the top, her jaw contorted into a scream of agony. Waves in a storm covered his right hand, and a siren reached out from the water, wailing her song to the sky.

"I'm sorry," he finally said.

"That's all you're going to say?" I clenched my hands into fists in my lap. "You abandoned me when I was twelve years old, and all you have to say for yourself is I'm sorry?"

"I don't expect you to forgive me for it. I don't deserve to be forgiven."

"But why?" I asked, suddenly feeling like I was about to start crying again. Even though I was angry, I wanted him to fight to win me back. I wanted him to give a shit. "Why did you leave me behind?"