Play No More (Player Next Door sequel) ✓

81 | A happy place

 Thank you @Xoseero for this poster! And in advance, sorry for the misleading title...

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Chapter 81: A happy place

I remember when I was the twinkle in my daddy's eyes.
Then he left one day without saying goodbye
– Heidi A. Hopson

"I called your dad."

I watched Mr Dawson's lips move in that slow motion, underwater sound type of way:

I caaaaaaaaallllleeeeeeddd youuuuurrrrr daaaaaaaaaaaaadddddddddddddddd

"You what?" I repeated, staring at him like I didn't understand the English language anymore.

At this point, I really don't.

Mrs Dawson was there, observing my reaction and realizing what her husband had just done to my reality. He'd transported me into an alternative universe. A universe where my father was reachable.

"You have his number?" I asked, trying to keep the question casual.

I was melting. I couldn't even tell if there was a smile on my face and, if there was, it must've looked like the world's fakest clown smile.

Mr Dawson stared at me like I was too slow to understand, "That's what I said. I called him."

He makes it sound so easy.

Like you can just pick up the phone and call my dad. No one can.

In eighth grade I told people my dad was an astronaut on a ten-year mission around the moon. It explained not being able to call back.

And that led to one of my first experiences with bullying. I was bullied for telling such a ridiculous lie that no one believed. The one person I was trying to fool was myself – a lie that I tried to believe it. A lie that I deeply wished was true.

I braved my next question, "How do you have his number? Can you give it to me?"

I don't know what I would do with my dad's number. I wonder if I would even call, but just having it, would mean so much to me.

Mr Dawson rejected my request outright. "I can't share it with you because that's not what he wanted. We were friends back then. Before he left, he gave me his new number."

"Oh," Mrs Dawson sighed, her heart aching from the pain of her husband's cruel words. She reached her hand out to mine, "I'm so sorry, dear."

I swallowed the giant ball that was in my throat. My eyes were stinging but I didn't care. At least he was being honest.

No one's told me anything for years. Even if the truth hurts, it's at least the truth. My dad's reachable.

"What did he say when you, uh, called him?" I asked, trying to keep my voice from cracking, "Is he coming back?"

"I've already told you more than I ever thought I would," came the strict reply.

It felt like a door had closed on my face. Mrs Dawson berated her husband and tried to console me at the same time, but I couldn't stand here anymore. I think, after all this time, and all this sh*t, I've hit breaking point.

I felt sick.

I slowly walked backwards, not sure whether I could say anything anymore. I gave up and turned around, trying not to trip over my feet. I needed to go home. I couldn't face more of anyone or anything. I tried to concentrate on walking, on making sure one foot walked in front of the other.