Supernovas & Escapism

Chapter Forty-Two

      There's a sudden chill that roars through the room as soon as I plant myself down on the couch. The room shifts ever so slightly when I bring my head up to meet his. In this moment, we could not look more different from each other; his face was blotched with this awareness that made him seem like he was sitting on ten cups of coffee, whilst most of my energy had been drained by that earlier conversation.

     It still hurt to think about. At the same time, the last thing I wanted him to know was how much it was affecting me right now.

     My entire body ached for respite. After today, I kind of deserved it. Plus, there was the fact that I wanted to sleep on my own words and promises. I needed to know if I was still going to go through with everything when I had a better head on my shoulders. This in spite of me being the freest version of me that I had been in months. Hands, slowly sliding between themselves felt so bitterly cold, having just come in from the early morning.

     "You want to know what's going on?" I ask tentatively, my voice low and raspy. Exhaustion coated every syllable, and I was fighting the urge to not let him here the slight breaks in my tone. "Why do you suddenly care?"

     This question seemed to knock him off guard as he fell back into his chair for a moment, before regaining composure and leaning forward with those fierce eyes that he reserved for only the most serious of ass-handings. "Why do I care?" he asked, his face half-cocking to one side, trying to unravel the puzzle picture that was his own son. "Why do I care that my son has been acting out for months? Why do I care that I can't get him to sit down and talk? Why do I care that every time he walks out that door, I wonder whether or not he's gonna come back?" He's doing his best to keep himself tempered. "You act like I've never cared, but I do."

     "Bullshit," I spit back, venom obviously taking place in my words.

     His bushy brows furrow together so tightly that it's hard to find where one ends and where the other begins. I can tell his jaw is clenched from the way he holds his face, as if he's wanting to fire back but realizes he can't.

     "I've tried to be there Xavier," he spoke softly.

     The laugh releases from me before I even realize it. "Oh really?" My voice rises slightly, and I can tell from the pleading look in his face that he wants this conversation to be between us. "Was this when you pushed yourself into your work? Or was this when you belittled every time I tried to talk about mo-"

     "Enough," he growls.

     I roll my eyes and utter a short, nervous, almost angry chuckle. "What are you gonna do about it? God knows the only way things can change is if you actually became a better father."

     To be honest, I'm not sure what to expect from him. Part of me thinks that him exploding into these sharp fragments of the past will do him just fine. Another part of me just expects him to give up talking to me altogether. And one final part of me just expects him to continue grilling me as if I'm the problem child in this family.

     Instead, he wearily falls back onto his knees with a heavy head buried towards the ground for a few moments. When he brings it back up, he wipes a hand over it, trying to rub away the years which have not been kind to him.

     "I know," he whispers so softly that I don't even think he heard himself.

     My body tilts forward, the final traces of my attention having been caught in this web of an argument. In that moment I think I can see my dad in the way he says me; absolutely broken upon repair and an unfixable mess.