A/N: updating will probably be slow and very unedited from now on. Got a ton of school stuff to do. Sorry.
Skye
My father is a millionaire.
I've taken the liberty of googling the name on his card, 'Cole Reed Marlowe'. I have learned the following; he is a business man, specialising in advertisement and economics. He has gone to fucking Harvard, where he has not just one degree, but two. One in Computer Science (I can't even wrap my head around, whatever the hell, mega pixels are.) and one in business, (I can't wrap my head around that either.)
After that he worked on god damn Wall Street as a stockbroker, which inevitably he was pretty god damn good at. At 28 he had made his first Million dollars. Then he had gotten a -VERY - well-paying job at an advertisement company, they made commercials for a lot of major companies, including Walmart, McDonalds and ToysRus. He has worked there to this day.
So just to Sum up, Cole Reed Marlowe is doing very well for himself.
And the man claims to be my father... Well fuck me...
"So that's your big bad daddy?" Sheehan asks, he is sitting next to me on my bed. It's Sunday morning and like always in LA the sun is baking.
I glare at Robert.
"What? Not like the guy doesn't look like you!" he says, taking a gulp of a water bottle. We're both still in our pyjama's, we had a sleep over last night, Sheehan, Godfray, Evelyn, Patrick and myself. Jorge had gone to see a "friend". I had told them about Jamie's brother and then we had gotten very drunk after that depressing ordeal. It had seemed like a good idea, Jamie's brother was possibly standing with a foot in his grave, the whole of Hollywood thought I was a whore and my father suddenly decided to show his face after 22 years - drinking was a necessity. Now we all have a light head ache - or Sheehan and I have a light head ache, Evelyn, Patrick and Godfray are currently clutching the toilet.
"He is not my big bad daddy." I grumbled. "He is possibly my biological father. Not my big bad dad!"
"Oh, no, I forgot! That's Jamie who's your daddy..."
I push Robert of the bed. He lets out an indignant yelp.
He appears again his hair in severe disarray.
"What was that for?" he voice is high pitched and vexed, he leans back against the wall behind him. He is smiling.
"Jamie isn't my daddy, you blithering idiot!" I yell. I am not really mad at him, I am just pretending to be for the fun of it. Robert goes along with my drama tirade.
"That's up for discussion!"
"Is not!" he laughs at my frustration as he gets up to sit on the bed.
"But seriously Skye, what will you do about that dad of yours?" his voice has become serious, no humour to be found. I liked the playfully annoying joke-yelling better, can we go back to that?
"No idea, he called me yesterday and told me to meet him today," I tell Sheehan, "I don't know if I'll go."
"When is this meeting supposed to be?" he asks.
"What time is it now?" I look behind Sheehan at the clock on my bed side table, "9. 37 A.M, in 4 hours I think? At 13.30 or so, I suppose."
"What are you gonna do?" he asks.
"I am gonna go, and see what he has to say for himself," I answer. My father haven' shown his sorry face for 22 years, it would be an understatement to say that I resented the guy. But I have to submit to one of humanities fatal flaws; demoralising curiosity.
"And then what?" he asks
"I don't know? scream at him for leaving my mother?" I didn't in particular like my mother, she would never stop telling me what to do, how to walk, how to talk, how to put on a face for the world. That was what she wanted; for me to be her push little puppet. In the end it was exactly that, which had driven me away. But being left with a child, having to become a single mom, wasn't something she deserved. "Or scream at him for not taking me with him."
"Mommy issues?" Sheehan asks.
"You bet."
"Huh." Sheehan mutters, "How is she?"
"Try and imagine Mrs Dursley from the Harry Potter franchise,"
"Yeah?"
"Then multiply that by a thousand."
"Oh fantastic!" he exclaimed, "That type of woman. You really don't seem like a person raised by that sort of push-ness."
"Thanks," I say and added, in the celebration of sharing, "I left home at 18, and I don't plan on coming back anytime soon."
"I don't blame ya," he says, "but what about your dad? Why do you think he'll contact you now, After so darn long?"
I flopped back on the bed, letting out a heavy exasperated sigh, "I don't know... He isn't exactly the type who lacks money," I say, Sheehan read over my shoulder when I had googled him.
"Maybe he just wants to get to know ya?"
"I hope not."
"Why?"
"Because he had 22 years, the time is up." honest to god, I am angry at him, very angry. I just want him to simply stop existing and leave me alone. But I persist at one thing in life and that is being a fucking hypocrite, so obviously I am going to see him. After all what could he want with a daughter like me? It isn't like I have anything valid to offer? Right?
***
I walk down the street, my eyes trained on my phone. I read two indirect tweets Jamie sent me a couple minutes ago.
'There's no news with Sam. It's all the same.'
'I'll go nut cooped up in here. Please distract me.'
So I did.
'Sheehan wrestled Patrick to protect my honour yesterday. It was very heroic of him.' I write.
'He failed spectacularly? Didn't he?'
'I thought that was implied in the word 'wrestling'.'
'ahaha, thanks.'
'What for?
'Making me laugh.' He writes, 'it's been a while.'
I text him all the way up to the building where I am to meet my father. It's a good thing otherwise I might have jumped up and down the streets seeing as my body is filled to the brim with nervous energy.
I had looked up the address on his card before going, and I've found that I knew exactly where he works. It is one of those shiny white office building, you see everywhere. They all look so darn important, but you know it's only filled with boring accountant in there.
I swing the door open and find myself faced with a little brunette the size of a dwarf. And I thought I was small... If she stood next to me, instead of behind that counter, she'd barely reach my shoulder.
"What can I help you with, miss?" she asks pleasantly, she has a slight southern drawl.
"I'm here to see Mr Marlowe." I state as I reach the counter.
"And you are?" she asks her tone still pleasant.
"Ms Delaney." she nods and takes a phone to her ear. "A Ms Delaney is here to see you, sir." a reply, "I will sir." then she turns to me. "He'll be with you momentarily. Take a seat." She points at a cluster of grey chairs in the corner of the foyer.
I did.
Then suddenly he appears. My father. He is dressed in a blue tux, he looks like straight out of some layer show. Like Amy's.. Something.. Okay, I am terrible at remembering anything but lines, let's just keep it at that. I stand up.
"Hey Scarlett." he says, he doesn't imply to greet me or anything; he just stands there.
I correct him, "It's Skye." he nods. Should I kick him and run, or is that possibility a little too childish? - even for me?
"So you're my father?" I ask stupidly. It's a stupid question because it didn't exactly take a genius to figure out we're related. The curly red hair, the curve of our jaw and lips, the high cheek bones, the eyes. Almost everything is the same. Like I was his female counter part. Or clone, or something. It is actually sort of scary. The tiny lady behind the counter had made herself disappear. we're alone.
"I am." he answers.
"How long have you known?" I ask. My voice is monotone, it was either that or yelling and my head wouldn't appreciate that.
"Ever since your role release in the press." he says.
"How'd you know I was you daughter if you'd never knew anything of me before?" I ask sceptically, his explanation seemed strange.
"I've got my sources." Okay, so he is that sort of man. Okay, got it. I know he's lying. I know, I can't trust him. So I make a snap decision.
"Aha." I say, "I think I have to go." I turn on my heels and head for the door, "bye." I shout. He isn't worth it. I've got my sources' what kind of explanation is that!
"No SKYE! Wait!" he yelps, taking hold of my wrist. I stop and turn around to give him my best 'fuck-off' - glare. He lets go instantly, "sorry." he mumbles.
"What do you want from me? Dad?" I spit the word out like it's poison. "Why choose to acknowledge my existence now? It's been fucking 22 years!" maybe I should calm down, "22 fucking years! And you didn't think that once; your daughter might want to see you! Don't! " I hold up a stern finger, it would look funny if I hadn't been yelling my lugs of like I was, "don't give me some kind of crap, like you didn't know about me. You did! My mother barely talked about you, but the despise in her eyes when she did made it very fucking clear to me that you fucking knew I existed! You knew, but you choose to stay away anyway!" calming down, didn't seem like a choice anymore, so I kept going, "and what now? You want to prance into my life now that all the hard work is over? Is that what you want? Is it? Well, you're not gonna get it. You're not my father and you never will be." I turn to leave.
"Please don't go," he says, again grovelling at my wrist like some beggar.
"Go fuck youself." I spit yanking my wrist from his grasp.
"Skye, I want to make amends! Please give me a chance!" he pleads.
"You blew that the first 20 seconds by lying to me." I have regained some sort of control over my temper.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have." he apologizes. He is so pathetic it dulls my anger.
"So again, how long have you known of me?" I ask, testing if he actually meant it or if he was just full of crap.
"Since before you were born." he answers. Okay, that actually hurt more than the lie. He has known about me his whole bloody life, but has chosen to ignore both me and my mother.
"Why haven't you ever contacted me?" I ask, my voice is dead again. Ridded of feelings.
"I didn't want to be held back. I was 19 at the time. I had big dreams. I didn't want a wife and child destroying them." he tells me. I feel like he is stabbing me repeatedly in the chest.
"So you just chose to have your fun and leave the woman with the consequences?" I gulp. I didn't even know this man and yet his words made me want to weep like a baby.
"Yes." he said, he did sound sorry, though it was kind of too late. Way, way too late. "I was young and full of dreams, what I did to your mother was unfair and unforgivable." he continues.
"Did you love her?" I ask, finding that I actually cared about the answer. I cared that I was conceived under loving circumstances. He stayed silent. "got it." I say. He hadn't loved my mother, she had been a fuck. Nothing more. Good to know.
"Now I really think I need to leave." I mutter and take a step backwards.
This time he just nods and says, "if you ever find it in your heart to forgive me, you know where to find me." he tells me.
I don't give him the curtesy of an answer - he never gave me one. I just turn around and head out into the street of LA making my way to my favourite coffee shop. 'Little Miss Mugs.' It is this adorable little place which sells the best coffee in the world. Like 'Starbucks' can suck donkey balls compared to the heavenly drops of 'little miss mugs' coffee. I need it. I need coffee. I need to indulge. I need to tear into the bits of a tasty muffin. I, in the word most primal meaning, need it.
I go in and find the shop mostly deserted. I place myself in a booth at the back. An old woman with white short hair sways over to me. She is dressed in a light pantsuit.
"What can I get you, Sweet? The regular?" she asks in a sweet voice.
"Yes please," I answer kindly, "and one of those muffins over there" I point to a displayer with sweets on it. Fuck the food plan, wasn't like I followed it anyway.
She strokes my cheek the way only old ladies were allowed, "Coming right up, Sweetheart." She says, before she sways over behind the desk. When she comes back she places the Full-fat, high caffeine coffee in front of me, along with my requested muffin.
"Here you go, Sweetie," she says, then she smiles at me like she knows all my secrets, but won't tell a soul and sways away.
I drink in peace, slurping down the heavenly drops. I'll probably be awake for 24 hours now, just fantastic. I put my phone on the table, clicking it to see the time. 14.06 P.M.
*message from Jamie the bootylicious*
The name is his a demand of his own, might I add. I swiped in open and clicked the message.
'Sam's heart gave out again.'
That's all it said. What? He really thinks he doesn't need to elaborate that! Really?! My heart pound hard in my chest
'Is he..?' I write.
My brain keeps repeating the mantra, 'Oh my god he's dead', 'Oh my god he's dead', 'Oh my god he's dead'. The answer didn't come, before two hours later.