ROSES (TeacherxStudent)

PART 2.8 Ch 19

Flemish

The door creaked yet again. I really have to oil it or call a guy.

I stepped onto a pile of letters that built over the days I was not here. Holding onto the strap of my gym bag, I bent down. Picking them up, my eyes flickered to the a certain mail. I remember seeing the logo some where before.

Baker was probably in bed right now. His fever was my fault. He should be in the hospital or something. He had not come to school for days and I kinda, you know, missed him? Ugh.

Slowly I dropped the bag at the corridor and walked pass the living room flipping the envelope. Dropping the letter onto kitchen counter, I made myself comfortable on the high chair. Confused I tore the envelope open thankfully without any unwanted interruption, like last time.

As I skimmed over the papers, my mind could not register the black words printed across the the paper. My fingers held the paper firmly, numb and unmoving. My breathing was steady and my emotions built up in my throat begging me to be let out.

What would anyone feel at this moment? Anger? Sadness? Guilt? Joy? Fear? Nothing? I felt nothing. My mind was blank, my heart emptied with my feelings trashed into a corner.

My ears picked up heavy steps that approached me. Looking sideways I saw the once strong hard man as weary and vulnerable person he was. Years of work and frowning had caused wrinkles to appear on his forehead. A sight I refused to acknowledge for all these years. The greys of his eyes were unusually sad, and perhaps lonely? That shocked me more.

The eyes that never gave me its attention, that was too grand for my worthless self was finally facing me.

'I'm sorry you had to find out like this,' he spoke deeply. His voice made me cringe.

'H-how, wh-,' no words left my lips. It was hard to speak with the lump thrashing my windpipe.

'It's not a rare case.' he smiled, his lips pushed on his thin skin to reveal more wrinkles. It was weird, my skin crawled at his sudden affection.

I read the words again so my mind could at least grasp the situation at hand.

Bipolar Disorder. It read.

'Take a seat Summer,' authority poured out of his words.

I automatically sat down on a kitchen stool not defying his words. I always followed his orders, always listened to him, mostly because I was scared of him as a child.

'This has had been so for a while,' his words drummed into my head but my body did not react to it.

'Excuse me,' I got up. I did not want to hear more shit I cannot process.

Walking away I felt up the pocket of my sweats. The keys were there.

'Summer!' Anger coated his words. After all these year's you would think he was used to it but he never could rejection well.

I fling the door to the garage. Stepping out I felt like I've been given back something that had been ripped out of me. This thing, that I no longer knew how to use.

I swiftly got on and the driver's seat welcomed me with warmth. The warmth that my ass did a dozen minutes ago but it made me happier nonetheless. I did not shift even the though I was wrinkling my good jacket.

Pulling out the driveway I debated whether I should turn on the radio.

I focused on the part of me, the one that was struggling with the decision of listening to the radio or driving with silence.

It wasn't working. My mind kept drfting back to the short, confusing conversation we had.

My absolute hatred that drives me. That made me who I am today, that was directed to a certain man I felt abandoned by. It was fading.

I felt relieved at the thought that I could blame his actions on a sickness. The possibility of my father not being cruel and it all being the disorder. It made feel weaker but happier.

The feeling of uneasiness, however didn't leave. I used to the feeling of wrath towards him. The idea of forgiveness made me feel so helpless. Would I really forgive that man of all those years just because he has proof of his sickness? Why is it that the more vulnerable a person is, the easier it is to forgive them?

Facts and feelings together, they could blind you.

I can face this alone but it'll be faster if I share.

At that time, of all the amazing people I had spent years surrounding myself with, I chose to go to the one that was most likely to disappear.

Vote. Comment. Love. Hate.

Stepping out I felt like I've been given back something that had been ripped out of me. This thing, that I no longer knew how to use.

Why is it that the more vulnerable a person is, the easier it is to forgive them or let them off easy?

Facts and feelings together, they could blind you.