The Thief Who Saved My Life

Chapter 22

"There is a difference between not being very close and being completely oblivious to the fact that your teen-aged daughter is being beaten up by some guy!"

I sat at the top of the stairs. The yelling had started about the same time my father walked through the front door and two hours later, it had yet to stop. I felt a small, minuscule amount of pity for my father who had walked through the front door not expecting this at all, but mostly, it made me really like Julia. It wasn't just that she stood up to my dad, though that in and of itself was impressive, it was that she was doing it for me. I couldn't remember the last time someone berated my father for his lack of involvement in my life and it took away some of the pain.

"Jules," he attempted to reason but was cut off by more yelling from Julia.

"Don't touch me!"

"She hasn't made an effort either," my father yelled back and that was the wrong thing to say. It hit my like a punch though I wasn't sure why. I had kept all of this from him, and he had made it easy but what he was saying was right too, I had never made any effort to be close to my father.In fact, I'd done what I could to make sure the chasm between us would never be closed. I barely knew him anymore and I didn't want him to be overbearing and in my business, but it was nice that someone recognized it was his job to do that.

"You are the adult, Cal. Of course she didn't come to you. It's your job to make her feel safe, protected, and when she tried to kill herself, you didn't even care. How can I marry a man who would let his own daughter stay scared and alone in a hospital bed while he was on vacation?"

It suddenly became silent. That was probably my cue to go down there. I stood slowly from the top step where I had been eavesdropping on their conversation and walked down the stairs. When I spotted them in the kitchen, they had still not resumed the argument. Julia's face was tear stained and my dad was pouring a drink. His eyes were dry and his lips were formed into a thin line that made him look nothing more than mildly inconvenienced by this argument. His hands trembling as he poured the scotch was what gave him away. My heart was pounding, as I cleared my throat to get their attention. Julia wiped at her cheeks and my father lifted his eyes to me. In that moment, I think he hated me. Truly hated me.

"Are you happy?" he asked in a deadly, quiet voice. "Glad to be getting back at me?"

I reeled back, surprised that after all the yelling, he was still accepting no fault for anything wrong in his life. I knew my part. I knew exactly what I was doing, that I was looking out for myself. I was being as ruthless as he was, putting myself first, the rest of the world be dammed. I could accept that had made awful mistakes, that I did everything wrong. And I hated that he couldn't. He did something awful and cruel and it came out and he was being punished for it. But he was making it my fault. I was the one who let it slip that he didn't care enough to come see me. I was the one who told Julia a long sob story that painted him in a less than wonderful light. To him, this was my fault. I knew that in part, it was. But his refusal to take any responsibility made me snap."

"You think that's what this is about?" I said quietly knowing that if I raised my voice above a whisper it would be too wrought with emotion. "I've spent two years of my life letting someone do his best to destroy me to protect you."

There was so much more to it than that and I knew it. I had issues and probably needed to start seeing a therapist years ago. A whole slew of dead mommy and daddy issues. Wanting so badly to piss him off that I let myself make decisions I knew were bad. I had made the mistake of telling Garret what I'd found out about my father. But at the time, I was so angry with him and I thought I could trust Garret. Or I told myself I could trust him. I was sixteen.