UNCONDITIONALLY YOURS

I have fears too // 5

I woke up tangled in my thick duvet. My baggy T-Shirt was tight against my skin, my sweat acting as some sort of glue. I almost instantly flung my duvet off of my bed and spread my arms and legs out, lying flat on my back. I pulled my head up a little to check the time. 11:47am. Served me right for staying up late thinking about the green-eyed guy. I did not want to focus on the previous night. I did not want to remind myself of the text, I wanted to leave it on the tip of my brain, it was best I knew it existed but did not have to constantly think about it. Life was best not lived in fear. It was a Saturday, and so I was not at work, I only worked of Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. I had to avoid working of weekends, as my father tended to be home and he could notice me leaving the house. I took no chances. My eyes where heavy with exhaustion, and despite the fact my father would probably be unhappy about it, I wanted to wear comfortable clothes. After taking a quick shower, I dressed myself in ripped skinny jeans, a white t-shirt, and a black jumper. I was not in the mood to apply makeup, so I simply put some lip balm on my chapped lips, and I went downstairs to grab an apple for breakfast. I was hoping I would not have to run into my father whilst I was too tired to deal with him, but I never had the best of luck.

"Morning." I said fairly bluntly. The dining room smelled strongly of bacon and eggs, and I presumed my father had asked the cook to come in early again to cook him breakfast. My father was always someone I could personally never understand, let alone relate to. Why ask the cook to come in early when I was sure he could have easily fried some bacon for himself? And if he were just so lazy that he could not manage it, I would happily make it for him. I would have far preferred that than the poor cook, who was both underpaid and desperate to keep her job, have to come in at probably too early in the morning.

My father was sitting on the sofa, in front of the fireplace, which was lit, and I could feel the warmth radiating upon my skin from where I was standing. "Did you call Mr Anderson yesterday as I asked? And what on earth are you wearing?" He hardly looked up from his newspaper. I rolled my eyes. "I saw that," he said. How did he manage to only spot that after he barely glanced at me as I came downstairs?

"Yes. I called Mr Anderson just as you asked." I spoke almost mockingly. As I was growing up, I went through a large section of my teenage years afraid of my father. He often shouted at me, even when I had hardly done anything, and he most definitely never treated me as a daughter. He was blatantly rude to me. And within the time I spent afraid, I was also always trying to please him, none the less, he acted no different toward me. That was why I eventually stopped trying. I realised who he truly was, he was an arrogant, cold, heartless asshole, and he had spent my entire life controlling me. But I was twenty-one, I was legally an adult and did not know how much more I could take of him being so inhumane toward me. Anyone would wonder why I had not left home already, seeing as I had every right to leave. I would have, granted that I was someone else's daughter, but wistfully I was born the one of the most important men on the planet. He knew everything that happened in the area, he could control my life even more without being directly in it. No matter what I did, where I ran, he would eventually lure me back to him, presumably by making it impossible for me to find a job to the point where I was at a struggle for money. The money I was making at the café was for me to one day leave the country, I believed that was the only option I had.

"Before I forget," my father surprisingly looking up at me as he talked meaning what he was saying had some sort of importance to him, "you must be ready at six o'clock as we are having dinner here with the Erikson family this evening." I felt instant rage at the mention of the name Erikson, yet I managed to contain my anger and sadness. They had been family friends for years, starting through business deals. Their family consisted of James Erikson, who had done many business deals with my father over the years, Laura Erikson, his wife who was good friends with my stepmother, and Ben Erikson, their twenty-two-year-old son. Whilst I was growing up, I constantly found myself spending time around the family, they had become close to my parents. I tolerated James and Laura, although they were hungry for both money and power, however, I was used to this attitude for many of the people I was forced to spend time around. Ben was the issue. When I was only sixteen, my father constantly pressured me that I should be in a couple with Ben, to the point where I began to believe I truly liked him based on my own opinion. I was ashamed to have once been his girlfriend as I had always told myself if I were ever in a relationship, which I had never intended to be, it would not be with someone like Ben. I hated myself allowing my father to win and for being too much of a coward to express my real feelings. Ben and I were in a relationship for two years. At the start of our relationship, I was brainwashed to believe I wanted to be with Ben. But over time I realised I was unhappy with him. None the less, had never planned to break up with him because I was too afraid. He had become the only person in my life that seemed to care about me, and I did not want that to change. I was stupid to ever trust him, but he was the only one I trusted. I confided with him amongst my darkest times, and that is what made him so important. Everything fell apart on my nineteenth birthday. I caught Ben kissing my so called 'best friend' at my own party. That day I realised once and for all the toxic world I lived in. Everyone with money seemed to be fake, that day I vowed not to trust again, because trust is valuable, and people have proved to me that they do not deserve my trust. My past was the past, however, and I had changed since then. I was not the same girl that was naive enough to believe anyone related to my father's life was a genuine person. And most of all, I learnt to tame my emotions. But that was where the problem lay, as I was not in fact dealing with my problems, but instead I was ignoring them. There were countless reasons that had led me to hate my father during my lifetime, the power he had over me was just one.

"I will not be attending." I said sternly and confidently whilst staring my father in the eye. "I believe you understand why." He could not make me go, I was my own person and I was sick of being the secondary character in my own life.

"Yes you will. It would be a shame, for example, if I had to keep you in your room for the week." Freedom. Possibly the only thing my father could have threatened.

"For goodness sake, fine I will come. Don't except me to play the role of 'perfect little daughter' though or you will be disappointed." Before he could reply, I quickly turned around and went back to my room. I would have rather not eat until later than spend unnecessary time around my parents.

Once I had returned to my room, I settled on the decision to go for a run and blow of some steam. The previous day had been crazy, and I had a horrific evening on my way. Before I got ready to run I collapsed face down onto my bed. I wished to just disappear for a second, or to travel to a world where everything was happy and easy. I took a rare moment to stop and think. I knew I needed an escape, I had to find freedom from this life. I came to the conclusion that my father's control was not the only reason that I could not leave. As I tried imagined freedom, I could not. I hated my father and he did not care for me, but he was still someone in my life and without him I was afraid I had nobody. Nothing made sense anymore. The money I had been saving from my job, what was I ever going to do with it? I realised my most cowardly, yet most powerful fear. I was incontrovertibly petrified of loneliness. Something I felt I experienced every day, something I could not escape from without awakening my other deepest fear. My life had defeated me and in the time I was face first against my bed, I believed I was nothing but a broken soul. Trapped in the endless cycle of my two fears. The fear of being lonely and the fear of being hurt.