Everytime |18+ ✔︎

[12] ᴛʜᴇ ɢʜᴏsᴛ

I THINK THE WORST PART ABOUT BEING A GIRL is that no matter how problematical a situation is, you try not to be emotional but we continuously get emotional in the end.

After receiving a letter from my alleged 'dead' father, I locked myself in my room; I turned off my cellphone and any devices leading contact to the outside world.

Flipping through old photo albums of my childhood looking at the photos of my father. He was or is handsome man, I have the same russet orbs like him, and my hair is the same shade of his—I looked more like my father than my mother. My father looked happy in all of the photos, so why did he leave us and made us believe he was dead? That was a mystery that can only be solved by asking the devil himself.

I didn't go to school for three days because of this new revelation that unnerved my family—my mother especially. I could hear how she was crying that first night when I showed her the letter from dad; Daniel was distressed as much as I was. I felt sorry for him because his wife's 'dead' husband risen from the dead and wants in with his family could only mean trouble for him—and his relationship.

Today was day five of staying at home; I got an adequately decent routine going on for me. Eat, sleep, cry, listen to my 'sad boy' playlist, cry in the shower and repeat. Daniel made sure that I was okay, dropping in and out of my room, checking if I'm alive—which I was physically, of course. Inside, I was broken, my heart shattered from this overwhelming exposé.

He wanted to see me—my father.

Eric called the house to see if I was alright because I haven't texted him and didn't go on our date and I dropped off the face of the earth—he said. I decided to text him and tell him that I'm alright and that I needed some space; Eric sent a message, 'Okay.' And that was all I heard from him.

At that moment, Ifelt miserable. My feelings for Eric intensified tenfold and my emotionstowards my father disheartened me.

I knew in order to feel somewhat 'normal', I have to confront my demons, Eric and my dad.

***

I was seated outside the quaint coffee shop—Enzo's, it had this rustic charm that I adored and the ambiance was serene. I can't believe I was waiting here for the man who claims to be my father. The wooden door opens and the bell tings indicating someone has come inside, my eyes flicker to the door and see a tall broad man. His hair was slightly longer from what I remember, he had crinkles around his eyes, and he was wearing a white t-shirt and a black bomber—it made him look to some extent younger. He noticed me and walked over to my table, the chair slid against the woodsy floor.

His presence made me feel oddly safe then I remember he left me, his absence haunted me.

"Hello Rosa," he says then clears his throat, snapping me out of my trance.

"Hello Spencer," I say, emphasizing his name.

"How are you?" he asks.

"Oh, you know the usual. Finding out my presumed dead father is alive and wants to reconnect with me. I feel just dandy."