Dirty Work

Chapter 1

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I hear while standing outside on the porch, arms wrapped around myself. I look up and see my dad standing in the doorway with his hand still on the knob and disgust marked all around his face.

"Long time no see dad." I ask with a chuckle. I walk right in without an actual invitation, being careful not to touch my dad at all as i shimmy my way past him.

"Was hoping you were dead or something so I didn't have to see your disgraceful face again," he spits out while slamming the door and walking up to me. I laugh at his words.

He thinks I'm disgraceful? Aww, that's too bad.

"Why the hell are you in my house Alexandria?" He yells. I flinched a bit, but not enough for him to notice. I fucking hated when he yelled. I lean back on the black leather couch and start scanning my eyes around the familiar house. Nothings changed really. Still the same old cracks in the walls from when I was a careless child, same posh marble floors that I slipped on at least five times a day. Everything was the same. Well except for all of our family pictures with me in them removed from the walls. I stop looking around the room and bring my focus back on my sad excuse of a father.

"First, it's Alex, not Alexandria, and second, don't forget it's my house too," I say back at him, examining my split ends carelessly. Damn I need a haircut.

"This stopped being your house the second you become a drug crazed felon!" he yelled at me while flailing his arms. He looked like a maniac. I couldn't help but laugh at the words he was spewing out. He over exaggerates everything.

"If you call smoking weed and getting a couple speeding tickets a drug crazed felon then you must be a cereal killer who shoots heroin everyday," I snap back at him. He always has the need to make himself appear better compared to his "disappointment of a daughter" as he likes to call it. He doesn't even refer to me as his daughter anymore. It doesn't bother me. If anything, I'm glad I'm not connected to him like that anymore. I mean, he did ruin my first 16 years of life before I womened up and got the hell out of this stupid town.

"I'm gonna ask you this one more time Alexandria, before I call the cops. Now what are you doing inside my fucking house!?" At this point he is spitting with rage. His face is as red as a tomato. I can feel his breath fuming around me even though he's 3 feet away from me. I stand up from the sofa with my eyes deadlocked on his. I slowly make my way over to where he is standing.

"What, I'm not allowed to visit my family anymore without wanting anything in return?" that was such a lie. I did want something, but I just wanted to get a rise out of him. He glares at me, sweat rolling down his forehead. Fuck he's angry. Well I guess that makes two of us dad.

"That's it," he mutters while speed walking over to the home phone. He snatches it up off the receiver and dials a three digit number and holds the phone up to his ear. Bad idea.

"I wouldn't do that if I where you," I say in a matter-of-fact tone. I rush over to him and grab the phone out of his hands before he can retaliate. I turn my body away from him, swinging my arm as hard as I can, sending the phone across the room until I see it shatter against the wall. The cops were not going to pay us a visit tonight. If I wasn't allowed to call them when I was younger, he doesn't either.

"You psycho bitch!" he screams in my face. "You are gonna pay for a new phone after you get out of my fucking house. Your mother will be home in 15 minutes and you better be long gone before she walks through that door," he says while pointing to the glass pained door I barged through not too long ago.

"Not before you give me what I want. You think this is psycho? Oh you just wait. If I'm still standing here empty handed in the next five minutes, I'll show you psycho," I snap back at him. I was done playing funny little games. I want my shit, and if he wasn't going to give it to me, I'll make him. I don't want to get extremely violent, but I won't hesitate to put up a fight. It's not like I haven't had practice with him.