Little White Lies | Klaus Mikaelson (1)

Resurrection Never Hurt Anyone

(ALARIC TURNEDINTO A VAMP I WAS HUST TOO LAZYTO FINISH THE LAST CHAPTER)

"Dad- stop," I spat, grabbing the rather large stack of money from his hands. My broken arm had healed in about ten hours, thanks to the werewolf bit, "This isn't for your stupid gambling addiction. Do you know what I had to do in order to get this money?"

My father sat across from me, a half-smoked cigarette in his hands. The house I'd once called mine smelled of cigarette smoke and body oder. Something I'd of never allowed if I was living there. It was becoming more and more obvious that he didn't plan on using the money for the right cause. "Huh? What did you need to do to get that?" His tone was patronizing, judgmental.

I clamped my jaw shut. What's to stop him from ratting me out if things don't go his way? But what if what I did would make him proud of me? Even for just a moment. "You know that old couple who's pool I used to clean over the summer?" I questioned, "They always leave their back door unlocked. They're away on vacation right now. So I slipped inside and... Well, there's your 35k,"

"So you're a thief now, hm?" He asked. His voice was sharp and demanding. Suddenly I didn't feel so confident in my decision. I just stole from old people.

But my ego wouldn't allow me to feel so guilty. Instead, I blamed him.

"You did the gambling. You spent too much. You got into the wrong crowed," I tried my hardest to hide my growing anger, "You need this money. Please, god, just understand this isn't for crack or-or gambling. You need to pay them off before they go after you again!"

"God damn it, Emma," his voice had its normal furious growl, "I work too hard to be spoken down to like this. Show some god-damn respect."

"You... work hard?" I chuckled bitterly, shaking my head, "You haven't moved from this couch in two fucking years unless it's to slap me across the face or buy another 12 pack. And maybe I'd show you respect if you stopped acting like a damn child!"

He stood suddenly, causing me to stumble back a few steps. He balled my shirt into two tight fists as my back slammed against the wall, his face drawn into a scowl from beneath his unkept beard. When he spoke, I had to hide my disgust for his yellowed teeth and horrible breath. My mouth grew dry as I felt fear slamming itself into my rib cage.

"Do you know how much I've spent for you, you little shit? Schooling, food, clothes? Don't be so fucking ungrateful," He slammed my back against the wall once more, knocking the air out of me.

"Fine," I whispered in a shuddered breath, "I'm sorry..." he moved away from me, letting out a huff of air and collapsing onto the couch once again.

After some silence, he spoke up, "What happened to you? When did you become so glass half empty?"

I could hardly process his question. Why had I become so... negative? This man must be living in his own little world. What kind of braindead bastard was he? I come here, offering money to fix up all his problems, and he does this? Threatens me, yells at me. It's all just the same process over and over again.

"You disappeared to New York, Dad," I cried, "I had no idea where you went, I had not idea when you were coming back! And then you appear a week later all black and blue, completely fucked up. And then you tell me some fucking loan sharks are after you! I was 15, damn it. I cooked you dinner every single night just waiting for you to come back. But you didn't. Now, you told me to get you that money. And I got it. All 35k. Now, whether you chose to spend it or not is none of my concern. But I'm not gonna help you again."

"Yes, you will. If I ask you to," His glare was unending, "I'm your father. You do as I tell you, no questions asked. Am I fucking clear?"

I contemplated just not responding. Just cursing him out and walking out the door. But... I didn't want another one of his violent outbursts, though. I hate this. And with that thought stuck in my mind, I simply said, almost in a whisper, "Clear."