The Father

Prologue

I stare out of the window at the heavy snow that's falling as I button up my vest. Thanksgiving was only a week ago and we're already getting snow. It's going to be a long winter, I'm sure, and I dread it. I hate the cold and love the heat. But I've got to go back out in it soon.

I pull my suit jacket on, then my pea coat, and stare at her as I button it.

Something is wrong.

Something is definitely wrong. I can tell, it's always so easy to tell with her, and she's been acting off these last couple of days. Right now she's zoned out and doesn't even realize that I'm staring at her.

"Are you okay?"

Now she looks at me quickly, I see how red her eyes are, and she wipes at them before any tears can fall.

"I'm okay, just tired, that's all."

She's lying. It's hard to see her this way, I can't hardly bear it, and close my eyes tightly. A moment later I sit down beside of her on the couch, place my hand on her bare thigh, and stare into her eyes. She doesn't want to look at me but I grab her chin with my free hand and make her.

"You're not okay. What's wrong?"

The tips of my fingers are resting in the cool, sticky come that I left between her legs not even fifteen minutes ago. But I pay no mind to it.

"I'm okay, really."

"Talk to me, please."

She stands, grabs her sweatpants from the floor, and pulls them on as she walks away from me. I rest my face against my hands for a moment, sigh, and slowly rub at my eyes. What do I do? I don't even know what's wrong, so how can I fix it?

I find her in the kitchen smoking a cigarette and turning on a pot of coffee.

"He'll be here soon, Michael. You should go."

"I want you to talk to me."

"There's nothing to talk about. He will literally be here in a half an hour."

I suddenly feel extremely aggravated. I know I've got a long night of work ahead of me, surely, and I won't be able to concentrate if I think something's wrong with her.

"I don't give a shit."

She doesn't respond to that, but I'm serious. I don't fucking give a shit anymore. Let him catch me here, let him find out what we've been doing, it's time for that to happen, anyway. She's done enough for him and it's time to give it all up. I'm ready. She should be too.

"Talk to me."

When she says nothing again I start toward her. That gets her attention, she slowly backs away from me, but stops when she corners herself in against the cabinets.

"Please, Michael... he'll be here soon."

"I don't care."

She pushes at my shoulders when I reach her, but I'm too strong. I slide my hand across her shoulder, up her throat, and stop at her chin. As I run my thumb across her bottom lip she shudders and the shaking of her body worsens. I focus on her mouth, on the jagged breathing, and am reminded of our lovemaking from not even a half hour ago. She always makes the softest sounds, I have always likened them to purring, like a little kitten that's being stroked just right. Her black hair is still tousled and wavy, something she has referred to jokingly as her "sex hair."