10 Things I hate About Her (10 Things #1)

17. Enter the Dragon's Den

Fear. The tendrils of which travelled the length of my arm, coiling around my neck and blocking the breaths that were vital for life. My black shoeprints stained the white concrete porch that I travelled so often. The familiar golden knob felt like an unmoveable weight against my palm. It sucked the warmth from my skin, drained the little life that was left. This was my home, but it felt like I didn't belong there. Even without opening the door, I knew that he knew. News travelled fast in this suburban town where most of my neighbours' children went to the same school as I. My fingers brushed the knob.

Open it. Open the door, Val. The worst has come to pass; you might as well face it.

No, Val, run. Run down the sidewalk, go somewhere safe. Give him some time to open his heart up to you again.

Val, don't go, you don't know how he'll react. Maybe there's hope. Maybe he'll remember that you're his daughter and love you all the same.

Maybe he won't.

It was terrifying to think that the father I had shaped most of my behaviour and values off might abandon me. I rubbed Naomi's pendant for good luck, but it did little. It gave me no strength and would not change my father's response. I dropped my bag on the floor and sat atop the steps, perched like a cat ready to flee at a moment's notice. My bike waited on the cobblestone driveway sandwiched between two polished black Mercedes Benz. I had bought the motorcycle with my hard-earned money. I had gotten scouted by two or three universities. I had volunteered at a homeless shelter. I had made a difference in the lives of my friends, supporting them when they were in need. I had been a good daughter, helping with chores, telling jokes to keep the mood light and doing what they had asked at least half the time.

I wasn't worthless. Deep down, I knew there was some value to my existence, but in this instance, I felt wrong. Like an error on my family's records. Like someone that should have never been born. Like something that was better off dead. I sat on the porch in my sleeveless jersey and shorts in the cold evening. The tips of my fingers where white, goosebumps rippled across my flesh. Mucus threatened to drip from my nostrils, but I couldn't move from there. I didn't know what to do. As I sat there, I could only think, I want my dad to love me, always, I don't want him to hate me. He could beat me, he could yell, but he should never say that he no longer wanted me as his child. My hands trembled, and I placed them on my knees, willing them to calm down. Please, I begged them, stop shaking. It'll be fine.

Will it?

The front door opened and my sister's soft footsteps broke the silence. She sank to the ground next to me in a flowing white gown, a blanket across her shoulders which she wrapped around me. Shoulder to shoulder, we waited, her bare feet tapping the ground.

She said, "I'm sorry, that was a dick move."

I didn't respond.

She continued, "'Delilah' as you call her, and the video? She shouldn't have done that. I'm going to talk to her tomorrow."

I said, "I don't see why you're friends with her."

She groaned and said, "For the last time, she and I aren't friends, but we have the same friend group."

"Doesn't make much of a difference," a pause then, "does he know?"

"Dad?"

I nodded.

She said, "You know Kevin who lives next door? He sent the video to his mom and she sent it to our parents. They know about you and Naomi. A lot of people know."

"Why?"

"This is a Christian town. That kind of thing is scorned. They won't say it to your face, but people gossip about you a lot. There's nothing you can do about it." She bumped her knee against mine and flashed a small smile.