Taint Me More ☑️

Chapter Twenty Four

I thought of many ways my night would have turned out if I had just stayed home. One of them being that I wouldn't be walking in the dead of the night, freezing my butt off in heels that made my legs hurt like I was walking on ice cold knives that were sharper than anything I knew.
I could have easily called a taxi and headed for home but I decided against it. The wheels turning in my head made it feel like I needed a time away from the whole world. I felt detached already, and I just wanted my raging thoughts to quiet down.

My father's apartment was just a few blocks away, and the neighbourhood seemed a lot friendlier than any other place I'd been in the city, so I decided to take the walk there, succumbing to the physical cold and pain that were somehow not matching with the cold and pain I felt emotionally.

I dragged my feet up to my fathers door and knocked, hoping he wasn't already asleep. Being in his presence I knew would take away part of my worries and distract me for a bit.

"Papa." I voiced out the moment he opened the door and without warning, I threw my hands around him.

He didn't hesitate, he wrapped his arms around me and held me for the longest most satisfying moments of my evening.

"There there, il mia piccola." He soothed, his voice sounding hoarse.

He led me into the apartment, and It somehow felt like home. It was neat, with not many items and it smelled like laundry detergent and cinnamon.

"You're freezing." He pointed as I took off my shoes. "Good thing I was already making some ginger tea." He said and went into the kitchen.

I remembered his infamous ginger tea with honey and cinnamon. The thought gave me some kind of warmth as my belly danced and my finger itched to have a soothing cup.

"Can you tell me why you look so sad and also why you're out by this time of the night?" He asked as he came to me and handed me a cup, taking a seat beside me on the sofa.

The hoarseness in his voice was a little alarming, so I took the opportunity to examine his face to see if he looked well.

He didn't.

In fact, he looked worse than the last time I saw him.
His neck appeared red, I could tell by the little skin exposed from the collar of his polo shirt that it ought to have been so uncomfortable. His beards was completely shaven, and his hair was thinner than it had been from the last time.

"Papa?" I choked out, suddenly feeling sick as I stared him down.

He shook his head and took a hold of my hand. "No, Ila. I'm fine, you mustn't worry yourself." He tried to reassure me. His hoarse voice more pronounced now that I'd discovered it.

"You don't look fine, papa. You don't sound fine." I spoke with a heavy heart as I squeezed his hand back.

"Yes, I know. In fact, the diagnosis say that I'm not, but ti giuro (I swear) I feel fine, this cancer may be killing me but I will not let it kill me." He spoke as if to reassure himself and not me, and that made my heart break for the millionth time that night.

By this time, a few drops of hot tears had already found their way down my cheeks as I shook my head repeatedly. "Tell me Papa, what are the doctors saying?"

He took the cup from my hand and dropped it on the coffee table, he sighed and stared into nothingness. "Well, I decided to stop the chemotherapy and just let nature do whatever, my doctor tried to talk me against that decision but I made my choice." His throat bopped up and down in a swallow, he flinched a little and then composed himself again.