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August 12th
Aug. 3rd, 2014 11:28 amI really start to think I might survive my birthday without giving in until I see him. He's just sitting there smoking a cigarette like always, smoke billowing in front of his face and making him seem like the oldest, wisest person in the world. I feel like a child all over again, it feels like no time has passed at all. All I want is my daddy, and if my throat wasn't close to closing over I might call for him as exactly that.
Nobody in the world has ever loved me like my father did. Maybe nobody in the world has loved me since, period. There have been pretenders, of course, boys like Sutter Keely who have loved me until they didn't, boys like Randy's son who loved me until they'd taken all that they wanted, stolen all that I had to give and more. So when my dad says in that silly Southern accent of his, hi, darlin', he sounds like love and home. I haven't missed home until right now, until I remember that it's the first place I saw him and last I'll ever see him again.
I start for him and he disappears into the air like the smoke from the cigarette in his hand. I have never hated this city more, and I want to scream and rant and rave but instead I run away. Run for the only thing that's ever made the hurt stop hurting. The bartender gives me my first drink on the house, even, after he checks my ID and sees the date. He wishes me a happy birthday and I smile and sip it like it's the first time I've ever tasted the burn.
My father burned his brain with gasoline. I never understood how good poison could taste until it was placed in my hand.
I don't even feel that drunk until I step outside and realise it's almost nighttime. My legs feel light and I think maybe I could fly until I realise I can barely stagger, that the heaviness of my heart is weighing me down. I think I might be sick and I look for a bin, a bush, a something, but by the time I'm crouched over I realise all I have left to give are sobs.
Nobody in the world has ever loved me like my father did. Maybe nobody in the world has loved me since, period. There have been pretenders, of course, boys like Sutter Keely who have loved me until they didn't, boys like Randy's son who loved me until they'd taken all that they wanted, stolen all that I had to give and more. So when my dad says in that silly Southern accent of his, hi, darlin', he sounds like love and home. I haven't missed home until right now, until I remember that it's the first place I saw him and last I'll ever see him again.
I start for him and he disappears into the air like the smoke from the cigarette in his hand. I have never hated this city more, and I want to scream and rant and rave but instead I run away. Run for the only thing that's ever made the hurt stop hurting. The bartender gives me my first drink on the house, even, after he checks my ID and sees the date. He wishes me a happy birthday and I smile and sip it like it's the first time I've ever tasted the burn.
My father burned his brain with gasoline. I never understood how good poison could taste until it was placed in my hand.
I don't even feel that drunk until I step outside and realise it's almost nighttime. My legs feel light and I think maybe I could fly until I realise I can barely stagger, that the heaviness of my heart is weighing me down. I think I might be sick and I look for a bin, a bush, a something, but by the time I'm crouched over I realise all I have left to give are sobs.
