Thalia

Chapter 24: Relationships Change

Chapter 24: Relationships Change

A can of bug spray and a gallon of hot sauce should be enough to drown out my worries. All I have to do is dump the contents of both into my eyes and maybe I'll feel a little better. You could saw off my arm with computer paper and I'd still feel better than I do at this moment. My dad just won't leave me alone no matter what the crap I do to try and destroy every living fiber in his being. 

I've "accidentally" kicked, punched, food poisoned and even ran over his foot with the car he bought me and he's still here. It's been way too long. This city just needs to hire some other Neurosurgeon that maybe doesn't live fifteen states away. Then the new one could actually stay near his family he actually cares about and feed them, spoil them; heck, if they're lucky--he may actually talk to them unlike some fathers in this pampered country!

"Rosie, just talk to me, okay? I'm leaving later on this week and you already skipped out on Thanksgiving. Will you please just let me in so we can talk?" So now he wants to talk to me. After five long, parent-less years he wants to sort everything out. Would he like it if I shoved a two foot long loaf of bread down his throat and ran away for five years? That's basically how much it hurt.

I engulf myself deeper into my new vintage covers and tighten the sheets around my head, ignoring my dad's pleas on the outside of the door. He's not coming in here, ever. The sound of skin rubbing to metal fills my ears and Carl walks into my room with his business suit on and silently closes the door back behind him. 

Word to the wise from the un-wise: Always lock your door when trying to prevent one from entering your resting place.

My body sinks lower into my mattress when Carl comes over and sits on it. He's making it all wrinkly! Wrinkly things either get disposed of in the garbage can or get diagnosed with so many medical problems, they put Paula Deen to shame. "Rosie, look," he sighs out. Here we go again with the same crud I always get. "I don't expect you to ever forgive me for how badly I tore our family apart, but I think I should apologize anyways." You apologize for something you won't be forgiven for and you know it. Because that makes perfect sense.

To get a better look at his withering face, I peep my head slightly out from underneath the blankets. He's on the end of my bed staring off into space as he speaks, looking almost so vulnerable, it gets to me. Rose don't care; Rose don't give a crap; Rose is a freakin' pimp. Rose don't need to give no sympathy to nobody.

"It was very wrong on my part to expose you to so many things no child should ever be exposed to and I'm sorry for not being the best dad ever. I'm sorry for all the times I've made you cry, get hurt, or put you in danger. I really am and even though you may not see it," He pivots his head in my direction and stares directly at me, half smiling. "I love you, Rosie. And I always will."

It's at this moment when I'm supposed to give the ugliest cry in the world, hug him and let everything go back to the way it shoud've been. But I don't. I'm just sitting here--staring, wondering. Why would he love a girl who he doesn't even know, anymore?

"You don't even know me, anymore, Carl." Way to voice an opinion, Bubble-Butt.

"Like I said: You may not see it, but I honestly do love you and would do anything for you. You're my daughter, Rose." His words finally hit me like an arrow to the knee. He actually called me his daughter. I was never called a daughter by him; it was always "girl", "that one child" or "it"--but never his daughter.