** Warning: Graphic depictions of violence. **
"Dad, what are you doing?" I yelled, trying to coax an answer out of him. He slowly sat up in the old, worn recliner and muttered something vile. Ignoring whatever he said, I sauntered to the front of the chair to find a liter of Jack Daniels hanging from his hand. I felt such anger swell inside me, but I pushed it down, avoiding its influence.
"Dad, I wish you wouldn't do this," I said without hesitation. I was trying to be an adequate son by shedding light on his iniquitous addiction, but he scoffed at me, wrinkling his nose in contempt.
My fearful eyes searched for any sense of discernment when he attempted to get out of his chair. However, there was never anything impressive about his drunken efforts. The only skill he has ever acquired was drinking every problem away, and you could never ask him to do anything else because it'd be an absolute disaster. Even his inability to stand properly was sad.
"G-go get your sister from school will ya?" he slurred his words together as he staggered past me, standing in front of the dining room threshold. My blood started to boil over at the thought; he has refused to pick her up more times than I can count.
"You mean to tell me that you left her, again?" I raised my voice with vexation. My heart rate steadily increased, making my mouth dry and the surface of my skin flush bright red. I never wanted her to feel like she was neglected or forgotten, yet that was all he ever did. It was all he ever did to me.
The thought churned my stomach as frustration swelled in my throat. My hands clenched into fists, preparing to fight him, but he abruptly swung his arm around and broke my nose with the bottom of the bottle. My legs buckled, and I reached for my face, attempting to hold back the blood. The physical pain was almost nonexistent. The adrenaline.
Fear held me down as I pulled my hands away. They began to tremble as blood dripped into them and onto the stained gray carpet. "What the fuck!" Disbelief swept over me as I looked up at him. He bent down with little balance and I cringed at the stench of alcohol wafting from his breath.
"Maybe next time you won't talk back to me," he said condescendingly with a smug smile. I looked down at my hands once more before standing to my feet. Most of it was still drying in the crevasses of my palms, sticking like wet glue between my fingers. Seeing it gave me a sense of happiness; it meant that my sister wouldn't have to endure his abuse. I would gladly take every beating if that meant she would be safe, even if it killed me.
"Well?" my father's elevated voice broke through, "Are you going to get her or what?" His scowl made his loathing so transparent I actually feared he might swing at me again.
I smiled weakly and nodded before making a quick getaway to the front door. I grabbed the keys, but didn't even bother washing my hands or face as it would give him another reason to abuse his authority over me. None of this would matter anymore once I took my sister and left his ass behind. Maybe then, just maybe, he would appreciate what he had.
Regardless of the situation, I drove into town and shortly arrived at the elementary school. After parking, I went inside the detention center to find Charlotte impatiently waiting with a teacher. "I didn't know when you were going to pick her up," Mrs. Bates said, checking the time on her phone. "She's the last one—" she paused abruptly after her eyes examined my face. No doubt I wasn't able to wipe off all the blood with my sleeve. Fuck, I was in such a hurry.
"I'm so sorry, this won't happen again," I apologized, reaching out for my sister's hand, but she pulled away. My eyes glanced from Charlotte's hand to her face. There was this expression I had never previously seen—it was something unusual for her personality.
"That's what you said last time," Charlotte commented, catching me off guard. Her eyes started to blaze with a fire of hatred, but I knew it wasn't aimed at me. I don't even believe it was intended for my father but for someone that was lost. The realization of what the expression was made my heart twist with guilt. Even though I do my best to keep her out of my father's grasp, her heart breaks with abandonment. If I was here sooner then maybe she wouldn't feel this way.
I crouched down to her height, "I promise I will be here every day to get you, okay?" The bus may have been a better alternative, but then she'd get home before I did and I couldn't bear the thought of her being alone with my father. It was an anxiety better off avoided.
There were a few tense moments before she smiled and wrapped her arms around my neck. My eyes widened in surprise as I was caught off guard once again. Charlotte was the most forgiving child I had ever met, even with all that's transpired. However, not once before that did she give me a hug.
~~~
Fortunately, you stopped drinking for a while around the time I turned eighteen. You were doing really good and we were building a relationship that would adequately reflect how father and son should be. I even considered staying, but after you found out I intended to take Lottie, it was game over.
I told you I wasn't going to take her, but you didn't want to hear it. We fought and fought until you turned my face into a bloody pulp. You attempted to use her as a form of leverage, claiming you loved her and she was your child, but I knew it was all lies. Now, how could you do that? You beat the shit out of me when you didn't even care about her and the only reason you didn't is because she isn't truly yours. Did you think that maybe I would have stayed if I wasn't free to take her? Little did you know, your actions gave me the incentive.
I knew your ultimate goal was to control me, even after you cut me some slack, so the only choice I had was to utterly vanish. Neither of you would be able to find me, so I'd never have to explain why I was so selfish. Regardless of such an unsavory personality trait, I can't help but sometimes wonder if you really suffered her presence, since she's the reminder of everything you've driven away in life.
Maybe you'd make the decision to abandon Charlotte or redirect all your anger at her; I realized this the night I left. Sure, it hurt to leave her alone with such an unrighteous bastard, but I wouldn't become your puppet for her sake—not for another six years. Honestly, it'll always be the most selfish thing I have ever done, but I know she had a better chance of getting out without me. At least that's the lie I wish to believe.
Maybe the Roberts were a way of punishing me for leaving her, but if I believed that I probably would have gone to get her by now. Although, if I didn't want to deal with you then, I wouldn't want to deal with you now. In the end, I couldn't bring myself to fight for her; it was easier this way. That's a hard truth to swallow, but regardless of my guilt in failing to protect Charlotte, I can't care about her anymore.
Five years was long enough for me to cope with the loss but not long enough to forgive Daniel. My focus is only upon the Roberts because their demise means everything to me. Could you imagine how exciting it will be when I look down upon Daniel's broken, bloody body, punished for the sin he committed? God, I will relish every scream of pain and plea for me to stop.
My lips parted into a smile and my daydream was broken when Rachel started snapping her fingers in front of my face. When I looked up she was leaned forward, exposing some of her... cleavage. Ah, she is the ideal therapist for a young guy. Surely, others pay attention to everything she says because of her physique. However, I've grown tired of looking at her. Rachel has become too familiar, thus she proves to be less exciting and if you're honest with yourself, that's why most relationships don't work out.
"I'm sorry, I was just—" I started to apologize.
Although, she was quick to interrupt me. "What were you thinking about?" Her eyes narrowed in, attentive to every expression I made. She was good at reading people, but she had to be in order to do her job properly. There are some people that try to deceive her to get away from their unavoidable truth, but she sees them for what and who they are.
"You seemed to be enjoying yourself," she commented, making my smile grow. A couple years ago that would have made me uncomfortable, but now my confidence isn't an issue. Women used to be terrifying, but I found that they are human too. They have the same emotions and worries as everyone else. Plus, there are more pressing matters to concern oneself with rather than the trivial goal of acceptance.
"I was thinking about my family and how they have positively shaped my life." I was short, trying to conceal the lie within that statement. I'd say with the way my life played out, my family didn't impact me for the better, but it was my decisions that ultimately made me worse. Rachel leaned back onto the leather couch, intrigued by my commitment.
"You must think I'm stupid," she was very straight forward, "or have you forgotten that I know what happened during your childhood? Nothing you've told me could possible be perceived as positive."
I closed my eyes for a long moment, thinking of what to say. She was right; all she has ever heard was the bad. I remember our first session together being the most arduous encounter. Daniel had me in such a mentally debilitated state that I casted all of my fond memories aside and only focused on the bad. It was a defense mechanism because I didn't want to blame myself but rather my father for what happened. I knew if he wasn't such an asshole, then I wouldn't have moved to Arizona and I would have never of been tortured the way I was.
Once I opened my eyes, I spoke with refinement, "It's not that I was thinking about my father, but more about my mother and sister. Sure, my father was an asshole, but my mother was the sweetest."
"When did you start thinking about her?" Rachel clicked her pen, ready to write down this new information I had kept to myself. Again, it wasn't on purpose. Another reason for neglecting my memories is that I couldn't bear to remember what my mother used to be like. She was always so positive and I didn't want to perceive anything good about my situation.
"Just recently. I'm trying to stay positive and remember all the good in my past," I continued to lie. Just give her enough to see progress.
"Have you been hearing the voices still or has that subsided?" She gave me no time to fabricate a tale, but I deserved it. A long time ago, I gave Rachel the impression that she was successfully ameliorating my mental stability and I started seeing her less frequently.
Given, this was before my psychiatrist discovered I had schizophrenia. Long story short, I ended up in jail for a couple days due to a nasty physical altercation. I couldn't differentiate between reality and what the voices were telling me. To my surprise, the old man didn't press charges.
I sighed and rolled my eyes. "They have subsided for the most part."
"For the most part?" Her eyes darted up from her clipboard to meet mine. I had to conceal my sly smile. Nothing makes a lie sound better than some believable negativity to downplay the mess deteriorating in your head, but you may want to choose the appropriate circumstances—like this one.
"Yes, recently I have been having conflicting thoughts about the Roberts."
"Conflicting how?" She started to grow more interested.
"Part of me is afraid that they will come after me. The paranoia I've been experiencing at night has been driving me crazy. I've been hearing things that aren't there—the voices." And then some truth to lock it in.
"You think since Mr. Roberts got out of prison that he, or rather they, will come after you again?" She raised her eyebrows, surprised with my honesty. I nodded and glanced at the clock, realizing that was all the time we had. As I started to get up, she asked, "Are you still taking your medications?"
I answered truthfully, "Yes, I am."
She stared at me for what seemed like an eternity before asking, "Have you been drinking again?" Surprise! Sometimes my medication doesn't work when I drink, but it's no big deal.
I scoffed. "No."
"I would appreciate it if you didn't lie to your therapist," she scolded me. Again, she's good, but my slivers of truth will keep her at bay.
"I told you I haven't," I said firmly. At least not as much as I used to. I'm sober most days.
"Well, if you aren't then I'll let your doctor know, so they can make adjustments to your medication."
"Thank you, but I don't think that will be necessary." I showed my gratitude, yet tried to avoid changing my medications.
"Why not?" She saw through my façade.
"I know what is happening to me when I hear these things. It's not like before when I couldn't tell the difference between reality and my fears. I'm sure I'm just afraid of Daniel being out. It'll pass. Plus, I'm at the max dosage for some of them and I don't want to change my medications around; it always makes me feel like shit. Can't we just give me a little time, please?" I tried to sound sincere.
She hesitated before eventually agreeing to give me some time to adjust, but told me if things escalated, even a little bit, my psychiatrist would have to do something. Afterwards, I left the room and walked down the poorly lit hallway to the front entrance.
Rachel wasn't completely useless; my trepidation with Daniel being released was authentic, but it was manageable thanks to her. In the beginning, when I was crippled with fear and anxiety, she was there to walk me through it. Then in time, I was able to find the coping mechanisms that worked for me.
Additionally, with Rachel having such a fascinating "talent," she's also one of the cousins to a good friend of mine. That friend just happened to be my roommate when that unfortunate incident occurred. I'm sure it wasn't a pretty sight and he shared all the gruesome details with her.
I think that's what caused her to be more sympathetic towards me, thus she looked past all the lies I was telling her. However after that altercation, she decided to take note of all the obvious lies, but never could catch me in truthful ones—like today. I think it's because she can't muster up the effort to emotionally separate herself from me. I know it's a bad habit to take advantage of it, but I can't help myself. I need to be free and healthy so I can eliminate the threat.
"It's exhilarating to be so close."