subside. // haylor au

forty / end.

[january]

The busy atmosphere of the airport and the loud chattering sounds of the crowd cuts in between the audible noise from my music as I struggle to find a cab. New York is always a hard place to find a cab.

"Rose Publishings, please," I say politely to one taxi geezer who's patient enough to stop for me, but instead of letting me in the car, he shakes his head and drives off. I roll my eyes at the common rudeness here.

It was about a month after the incident and I came back to see Dad.

To my luck, after fifteen minutes of waiting, an airport taxi driver was kind enough to actually do their job and after long minutes of horrendous traffic and violent screams at delirious drivers, I arrived to what I used to call home. I still remember the smell of burning candles and the feeling of having water droplets trickling on my head for long periods of time due to the horrid incidents of constant air con leakage.

The building now smelt of newly painted walls, freshly constructed cement and it smelt new. It all smelt like it new and even though the renovated version didn't look bad, I miss how it used to look before this happened. Before all this hectic, life screwing, abrupt situation barged into my life and dragged me into an abyss of problems. And I can't help but feel suddenly nostalgic about remembering my past - I felt a little guilty for leaving dad for long time and I haven't seen him, I've just missed how much time we used to spend together.

I greet the people I used to work with, most of them were familiar faces that I was so close with a year ago, the people I used to work with brings back even more memories. Ah, New York, where it all started.

My workmates are the type of people who, honestly, are the most tired looking people you'll see, but they're also the most hardworking people you'll ever meet. Their breath still smells of coffee and their eyes obviously forced open by caffeine, but their spirit and enthusiasm as high as ever.

For some reason, I was somewhat nervous at the sight of Dad. How he'll feel about all this and my decision, plus it's been ages after the incident, what could Dad say?

I smoothen out my coat to weaken the appearance of the wrinkles on it so I look decent before knocking on the door to Dad's office.

"Come in." I hear the familiar voice. And I gulp down the lump in my throat. It's been a while.

I turn the knob and I see him. His face all old and his expression fixed on the computer consisting of his work, as always.

"Dad," I barely whisper as I walk towards the chair in front of his desk.

"Taylor?" He looks up and I instantly see him smile, "Sweetie!" His expression lights up and he comes over to hug me.

"I've missed you so much, Dad," I hug him as he rubs my back roughly, gently laughing out of pure joy.

"I've missed you too," He says back as we pull away.

"Now, how you've been doing?" He sits back down and I sit as well, but why is he acting like nothing had happened? Why is he acting as if he hadn't experienced death threats from Caleb and got tortured?

"Uh," I hesitantly answer, "Good."

"Isn't that so."

"Dad, is everything okay?"

"Everything is perfectly, honey, why?" He lightly smiles.

"Dad, you can't act like none of that happened, I know about it," I say in a more serious tone which instantly brings down his expression.

"I was hoping you wouldn't bring up that topic, but, uh," He looks away and sips his coffee.

"I'm sorry, I just..." My voice trails off.