Darkest Fears

Chapter Twenty-Seven

HELLO GUYS! THIS GOT WRITTEN FAIRLY QUICKLY SO I'M HOPING YOU'LL ENJOY!

Again if you guys can keep pointing out any mistakes you see - that would be monumentally helpful <3

I love you all! Please enjoy:

Chapter Twenty-Seven

 

I felt like the world had come and kicked me in the face, as I stared at the door in front of me, trying to get the key to work and my hands to stop shaking.

“Fucking dickhead had it coming!” My dad was yelling, his words slurring together slightly. I winced, trying the key again. “He deserved worse than the beat down I gave him.”

He was spitting mad, and seemed to have no idea we were in public. But he must have been cold because as soon as the door clicked unlocked he shoved me to the side, stomping loudly past me into the house, where he proceeded to stumble into furniture.

I flinched at the sound of his explosive cussing, knowing it was a bad idea to be in the same room as him when he was this angry, but hesitantly stepping inside the house anyway.

“Why is it such a fucking tip in here anyway?!” My father yelled, when he almost tripped over the coffee table.

He whirled around on the balls of his feet, throwing an accusing glare in my direction.

“I’m sorry, Dad.” I muttered.

I only half meant it. How could I be truly sorry for the last week of my life, when I had loved it so much?

Even though I knew he needed me, and I had abandoned him, I couldn’t be completely sorry.

My apology didn’t seem to help any either way though, his eyes still blazed hot with fury.

Giving him a tight-lipped smile, I stepped cautiously closer. “Come on, Dad.” I said gently. “How about you sit down and rest, and I’ll make you a sandwich or something?” I tried to coax him into sitting in his favourite chair, but he didn’t want to.

He gave a loud hoot of derisive laughter, at my suggestion. “You cook?” He said mockingly. “You’re fucking useless in the kitchen. Your bitch of a mother ran off before she could teach you anything useful.”

My throat and chest tightened. I knew that my father had to be either extremely drunk of excessively angry before he would ever make mention of my mother, and today it seemed he was both.

“But then again she always was a useless whore.” He gave another sharp laugh. “I bet she was stupid enough to think I didn’t realise she was cheating on me.” He looked straight at me; leaning in closer so his alcohol soaked breath almost had me gagging. “I always knew though.” He grinned.

It wasn’t a happy grin. It was a cruel, contemptuous one, full of loathing.

And it was directed at me.

“And then she left.” He said, as if he was telling me a story I didn’t already know. “And I got stuck with you.”

The way he spat ‘you’ out had my stomach churning, and my heart breaking. I wasn’t fool enough to think he in any way loved me, but today the way he spoke made it sound like he hated my very existence.

I ignored the hurt.

He didn’t mean it like that. He needed me, and tonight was proof of that.

He needed me, and I couldn’t abandon him.

The truth made me want to cry.

I didn’t want that. I wanted to be able to turn away and never look back.