Black Angel (BoyXBoy)

Chapter 14: Daddy Dearest

Any normal person would be overjoyed to see their father home after such a long time away. Good old father-son relationships, so close that you're practically best friends. Maybe watch sports together, go fishing or golfing or frequent strip clubs or whatever have you. "Great to see you, Dad, I missed you." "Oh, I missed you too, son. Let's go out and get something to eat." 

Yeah, that doesn't happen with me and my father. "Affectionate" would be the last word I would choose to describe him, other than "compassionate". The majority of the time he's never home, so we never have any remote opportunities to do any "bonding". It's always business, and more business. And then some more business. More often than not I have no idea what he's doing on his trips. He could be having multiple affairs for all I know, with exotic and beautiful women. Human women, probably. Easy to take advantage of, it's commonly said. One face is like the next. Good sex, no attachment. You hear about them all the time. 

It's pretty disgusting, if you ask me. But I digress. 

My father wasn't there when I was born. He wasn't there when I said my first word (which turned out to be "mama" anyway). Or when I took my first steps. Or my first day of kindergarten. Out of my seventeen birthdays he's been home for two. The only memorable experience with him that I can recall would be the time I fell off my bike in the driveway, and he forced me to get up and walk inside on an ankle that, upon examination, turned out to be badly sprained. Good ol' Dad. 

It bothered me for a long time. Watching other kids with their fathers as I grew up became a sort of weird hobby for me. I observed their interactions, the presence or lack of affection, and compared it to the non-existent relationship I had with my own father. I would always ask--whether it was to myself or God or whoever runs this messed up world--why I couldn't have that too. And what I had done to deserve it. But as I got older, and continued to lead a life with the absence of a father figure, it became normal, less of a big deal. I got used to it. 

So instead of running to meet my father with open arms, I watch his retreating back as he walks up the stairs and disappears from sight. 

After Luca leaves, Shawn and Melody hang around for another half hour or so before heading home as well. With heavy footfalls I trudge up the stairs to my room and lock the door behind me; it's more reflex than anything, but the last thing I want is to be disturbed when I just need to sleep.

But though my eyes ache from tiredness, rest is far from hasty. I stare at the ceiling for at least an hour. From where my room is in relation to the others where most activity (which is none) occurs, all is quiet. Other than the crickets chirping outside my window, it's only me and my restless thoughts. The scene between Six and Five Hundred fades into white noise with this unsuspected reappearance of my father. He never did answer my question; why is he home? Surely he has more important things to do than actually associate with his family.

I roll over, ignoring the faint buzz of a text presumably from Melody, and will myself to sleep. 

***

When I open my eyes, Melody is staring me right in the face.

"What the fuck!" I start violently, and Melody yelps in surprise and literally falls onto her butt on my floor. 

"Oww," she complains, getting back up and rubbing her posterior. "What was that for?"

I stare at her incredulously. "What do you mean, what was that for? The hell are you doing in my room? Shouldn't you be at school, or, I don't know, in your own house?"

"It's Saturday, smart one. And your mom let me in." 

I rub my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose between thumb and forefinger. "What time is it?"