𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒚

Eight

𝚃𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚎 𝙲𝚘𝚋𝚋'𝚜 𝙲𝚊𝚛

𝚆𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚎 𝚃𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚛 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚔, 𝚀𝚞𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚘, 𝚅𝙰

𝙵𝚎𝚋𝚛𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝟷𝟽, 𝟸𝟶𝟷𝟸

𝟷𝟷:𝟸𝟶 𝙰.𝙼.

"You're an idiot, Tillie," the blonde muttered to herself, as she parked in front of her father's trailer. Looking to her left, she saw the run down, piece of shit, hunk of metal that her father resided in. "Idiot!" She hit the steering wheel, and climbed out of her car, walking to the door.

She hesitated, glancing to the sky, shaking her head. Sighing one last time, she raised her fist and knocked on the door.

"Hey, Tillie!" The door opened to reveal her father, William Cobb, in a navy blue, crew neck sweater, and worn jeans. "There's my daughter!" He engulfed her in a hug, squeezing her to his chest.

He's in a good mood, she noted to herself. Maybe she can keep him that way.

"So, how's my sweet pea been doing?" He closed the door behind himself, walking to the car with her.

"I've been okay. How've you been, Dad?" She questioned, sitting back into the driver's seat.

"I've been mighty fine. Got a new job at the 7/11 just down the road. Met a new girl and everything. Maybe she won't leave me like your mother," he casually said. That was the thing with him. He was so hurt by her mother, that's all he would talk about with Tillie.

Your mother this, your mother that. 20 years and he still wasn't over it.

"Gah, I don't think she will. She's awful nice and patient."

"That's good, Dad. I'm glad you're getting back into the world," she said halfheartedly, focusing on the road before her eyes.

The rest of the drive was quiet, until she parked at a local burger place she knew her father liked. Silently walking inside and sitting at a random table, they looked at the menu, muttering absently to each other of what seemed good and what didn't.

"You know," William broke the tension looking up at her, "I was wrong about you. You're nothing like you're mother at all. You're a lot nicer than her."

"Jesus Christ," she mumbled. Closing her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose, she said, "Dad, what have we discussed about the comparing? It's exhausting."

"It's just a statement, sweet pea. You don't have to get so worked up about it, you know?"

"I know, Dad, but she didn't just hurt you, she hurt me too. So when you say I'm like her, or I'm not like her, or whatever, it hurts."

He was appalled, "Well, I'm sorry I hurt your feelings, but she's your mother. There's bound to be similarities and differences between the two of you. Just like the similarities or lack of between you and me."

"Like our drinking problem?" She pointed out under her breath.

"Excuse me?"

"You know what, Dad, maybe this was a mistake. We can't even spend 15 minutes with each other without arguing, and to be frank I'd really rather not make a scene. Especially in a public place," Tillie stood up, grabbing her purse.

"Woah, there, kid. Hold your horses, we agreed to lunch, so we're gonna have lunch," he grabbed hold of her wrist and gave her a pointed look. Looking back at him, and sitting back down, he seem satisfied. "Good."

Silence between them returned, only breaking to order two classic burgers, and fries, with two cups of waters.

"So, anyone special in your life?" Her dad asked, trying to pass the time. Immediately, her mind went to Spencer, but they weren't necessarily dating.

"No," she said, a little too quickly, shaking her head.

"What's his name?" She gave him a look of confusion and he returned one of I've known you your whole ass life, you really want to try and lie to me?

Sighing, "Spencer Reid," she replied.

"He sounds smart, what does he do?" This is a trap, this is a trap, this is a trap.

"He's a behavioral analyst for the FBI," she knew she was going to regret this one, but she also knew she couldn't lie again.

"A fed?! The hell is wrong with you?" Shock took over his voice.

"What? Are you involved in any illegal activity?" She knew he probably was, but she had never brought it up.

"The government is corrupt, they don't know jack shit. Can't believe you're with one of those assholes," his arms crossed across his chest, disappointment masking his face.

"I'm not doing this right now, so cut it out."

He laid his eyes on her, "Excuse me? You don't talk to me that way."

"I'm sorry."

"'Sorry' what?"

"I'm sorry, sir," she spat to him in frustration, as the waiter served the plastic baskets of food.

"That's better, now eat," the older man demanded, digging into his own food. She gave up, eating her burger, trying to inconspicuously consume her food faster, so she could get out of there.

And she had succeeded. Almost.

She paid the bill and the two walked out of the little restaurant, but not before she heard her name being called out by someone who was not her father, but very familiar.

"Tillie!" She turned around, spotting a dark haired man in an olive green shirt, and a very confused look on his face.

She faced her father and told him to go wait in the car, calmly walking over to the gentleman who had called her name.

"Tillie, is that who I think it is?" She stood in front of Dr. Vidaurri, who pointed at the man standing outside of the passenger door, lighting up a cigarette.

"What do you mean, Adam?" She faked a smile and questioned in her usual peppy tone.

"Cut the crap, Otillia. Is that your father?" He only ever called her by her first name when he was serious, and teetering on the edge of anger.

"Yes," she whispered, looking at her feet, dropping the act.

"What the hell? We see each other, on average, two times a week, and we haven't made any progress. You've been drinking every night, you're distant and not your usual self, and now you're out for lunch with the man who's been a serious trigger in your life. I think it's safe to say that this is not working."

"Wait, wait, no, you said you wouldn't!" Tillie begged, eyes widening at his suggestion.

"I said I wouldn't as long as you were getting better with one-on-ones, and you aren't. You are as self destructive as ever, and I need to do something about it. You can't keep living like this, and I can't keep sitting by twiddling my thumbs hoping for the best. I'm not doing that. You will come to my office tomorrow morning at 9 A.M. and we will discuss this further. Do you understand me?" His eyes were stern. He wasn't playing around. And he was right.

She was falling deeper into the rabbit hole, and it was her fault.