Background Noise [HS]

THREE

Violet made numerous trips to Club 102, all for a man—and willingly. There was one in particular, however, that she dreaded to come in contact with. It hadn't always been that way, for she loved and trusted the man the majority of her life. He was the only one that would stick with her from day one, many jokingly told her. And that might have been true, if only she still wanted him in it.

There was fondness in their old photos, a childlikeness that shone in her eyes whilst looking to him. Purple, striped hat all too big for the hands that held it there atop her head. She lacked more teeth than she possessed, back then. There was no pain, no foreshadowing of adulthood in the growing of a new set of pearly whites—not yet. The amount of teeth matched that of her years, though it wouldn't always be that way.

She would grow.

And suddenly, whenever Violet became too heavy to hold, the weight of the world seemed to transfer from his shoulders to hers. He would begin to look down on her rather than up, for she was old enough to stand on her own. This led to a shift in their relationship, though she still loved him deeply. Possessed a childlike wonder towards the man that no longer claimed her a child. He expected her to know things, accomplish goals set out for her, and well.

The pressure was crushing.

Drive instilled in her from day one, practically forced onto her, she tried wholly in everything she did. Reports cards displaying A's across the board with a few B's slipping in every now and then. No one was perfect, and she definitely had her moments. Rather than failing to do enough, she succeeded in doing too much at once. Always had a problem with saying no, though he tried to change this. Tried to teach her to be selfish in order to get ahead. This would never work; her heart was simply too big for her own good.

The weight of the world crushed her, at times.

Her heart was heavy and sunken in her stomach as she lied across her bed, eyes cast sadly onto the ceiling. She dreaded every phone call, every visit, every toleration of the man she learned to loathe. Hatred burned white-hot in her veins as the line rang once, twice, and then a third time. She would make call after call if needed, as if she was the desperate one, the situation in fact the precise opposite.

Finally, he picked up.

There was shuffling and instruction given quietly with phone held tightly to chest, palm pressed just over the microphone at the end. The words were muffled and distorted, but it took little to guess at the purpose they served. That's all Violet did the past several months—guess, hope. See the good in someone, or imagine it. The latter was the reality, the other, her naivety playing wicked tricks on her mind.

On her heart.

"Dad?" Violet greeted softly, unsurely. Her keen ears listened in for background noise, one that would give her an idea of his whereabouts. An inclination of bad timing, for his response was delayed. She knew not whether he was ready to speak to her or currently preoccupied in giving instruction to his utmost priority. The thought nearly drove her mad listening in for some sort of response, recognition—anything. "Dad, you there?"

Shuffling noises crackled the speakers.

"Yes, I'm here."

"What are your hours? I'm working nights."

Silence fell on his end. At this her frustration grew, and for good reason. He made a habit of inviting her over and failing to warn her of previous occupations, or rather, lying. It was intentional, she knew, for his benefit, because she would not have otherwise made her presence known in the maddening house had she known about the responsibilities that he was unable to ignore, even for her. Work always called, he would say, and he would always have to answer, even if it meant seeing her for four hours out of the thirty-nine or so she spent at his residence twice a month.