The Unwanted- /re-writing/

Chapter thirteen_(13)

••Will I ever be okay?
Someday?
Today?
Never?••

     I would have fallen flat on my butt if not that Clara was still holding on to me. I went blind for a second, my cheek going numb from the intensity of the slap I'd received. Tears flew out of my eyes like a tap had been turn on and I didn't know whether it was due to the pain from the slap or the pain of never having a father again.

"What's going on there? Why would you slap my daughter like that!" A voice I never imagined—okay, maybe I'd daydreamed that moment many times, but it was a dream I never thought could manifest itself in real life—yelled, heels clicking rapidly as my mother walked towards us.

"Did you not hear me! I said why did you slap my daughter like that?" She demanded, now standing in front of Clara and I. I watched Clara's mouth open and close at a loss of words at the sight of my intimidating mother, but I didn't care about the drama that was about to unfold.

She called me her daughter in public. She's standing up for me. Mom's standing up for me!

I couldn't help the part of me that was happy. I just couldn't.

"I-I...she, um—s-she bumped into me," Clara stuttered in her altered accent, fear evident in her eyes as mom stared her down with those dark eyes I used to think were evil as a child.

"So you think that gives you the right to slap her? Ah! Awon omode isin ma laya o! (Children of nowadays are so daunting!)" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together, her car keys jiggling with all the activity.

"I-I'm sorry ma'am," Clara said, her voice quieter than I'd ever heard.

"Why are you apologizing to me? Come on apologize to the person you wronged!" Mom chastised and Clara turned to me, rather unwillingly.

"I'm sorry," She said, her eyes trained on the ground. It took everything I had to not burst out laughing.

See how the mighty ones have fallen.

Mom walked me to my dorm after that and even though it was still so uncomfortable and awkward to have her around like that, I was a bit lenient.

Maybe all hope wasn't lost after all.

•

•

•

•

Beloved son, husband and father.
In death, you continue to be loved.

I stared at my dad's headstone, tears brimming my eyes as my leg muscles cramped up in the crouching position I'd been in for the past ten minutes.

Do you really continue to be loved?

I couldn't help but think as the tears dropped slowly, drop after drop on my dad's grave. Flowers covered every inch of the marbled grave and I looked around at the rest of the graves surrounding me.

Young, old, rich, poor, everyone would end up six feet under this earth in the end. So then why do we lose love and chase after things that would never last with us?

I cried for myself because I would never have a father again, but I cried harder for this man that had lost the chance to love before he ended up underground. I cried for him because he was pitiful. And I cried for him because all the money he'd spent his life chasing after now sat in the vaults of a bank, and he sat cold and rotting, six feet under.

"Are you happy now!" I screamed out loud, tears blurring my vision, with my pain carrying through my lungs and out in the air along with my desperate question. But all I got in response was the resonating sound of my own voice in the silent graveyard and the rustling sounds of dried leaves.

"Are you happy Mr. Smith? Are you happy now! All the chances you got at redemption are all wasted now, aren't they? Look at you now, in a few months, no one would remember the billionaire Mr. Smith who radiated power everywhere he went. No one dad, no one! Except the ones you loved. Now tell me, who have you loved? Who have you shown love to?!" I couldn't stop screaming and crying as I hit my father's graveyard repeatedly, hurting from the deepest part of me.

The hurt I felt inside was more than the hurt I felt by hitting my hand on the marbled grave—It couldn't even compare.

"It's okay, Mayowa. Let's go," mom called softly from behind as she placed a hand on my shoulder. I was a bit startled cause I didn't know when she got there and I wondered if she'd been there all along, panic setting in my mind. But then, if she'd heard everything it was even better. Maybe she would learn from this and grab her chance at redemption before it was too late for her too.

She helped me up and I dusted dried leaves off my black dress and then adjusted my barrette. I took one long look at my father's grave, then turned my back on it and followed mom to the car.

I knew I would never be back there.

I spent the week helping mom out in the house, greeting family members and friends that came to offer their condolences and basically staying locked up in my room. I couldn't really cry all the time like most people do when they lose someone close because it was hard for me to miss my own dad. But I think the hurt I was feeling about my own loss was more than anyone could ever feel even if they were the one who died.

I mean, do you know how it feels to pine, want, need, something for your whole life and not have it, but still have a little hope that someday you would eventually get it and then one day, that little hope that's the only thing keeping you going is suddenly snatched away? It was more than actually missing him like a normal child would.

The house was mostly quiet except for days when visitors and all those stupid news reporters came by and before I knew it, the week was over and I was strapped up beside mom in the car, heading back to school.

Hell.

Ironic right? Because weeks ago, I couldn't wait to go to school. And now, I dreaded going back to that same school.

"Are you okay?" my mom's voice came beside me and I took my gaze off the blurring streets to focus on her.

"Yeah, I'm fine." I answered and she smiled at me. It felt like she was apologizing and I smiled back—for the first time it wasn't forced.

I smiled because I actually wanted to and suddenly the red gates of BIS that loomed in front of us wasn't so dreadful anymore.

Maybe this time, things would be different.

But you and I know that with a fate like mine, even if there was an option for things to get better, they'd rather get worse.