Fear and Fate(poly)(bxb)

Five

My stomach is growling in tune with my heartbeat. I might as well go to the kitchen now. I have to do everything in one trip. Close the door back as quickly as possible, as to not let the smell out, and evade my father.

I take a deep breath, letting my high settle in before it potentially gets blown later.

I open the door while making sure I'm standing up as tall as possible and not squinting. I close it without so much as a creak and make my way downstairs to the pantry. The thought of what's in there has my dry mouth watering.

This is good. So far I haven't seen my father and he hasn't seen me. I haven't made it far though.

I clench the railing hard when my foot touches something too fuzzy to be a step. George, my cat, jumps up at me. Even though I barely touched him, I'm feeling guilty.

"Aw, come here baby!" I pull the fluffy white ball up to my chest and he meows at me in annoyance. He starts purring once I start petting and soon I've completely forgotten my objective.

Dishes clattering in the kitchen bring me back to the present day and soon I'm scattering to come up with a new plan. George meows at me to put him back down as I make my way down the stairs clutching him close to my racing heartbeat. Don't be suspicious, don't be suspicious.

"Hey, dad," I start while making my way towards where he's washing stained tupperware. "I can't believe you're still up."

My father doesn't turn from where his dark skin is submerged in dishwater. He speaks lowly as I balance George with one hand to open the fridge. "Late night at work," he says simply.

I settle on Italian ice before making my way to the pantry. I have to get what I need and go. Fur tickles my chin as George rolls over and leaps out of my arms before landing on his feet and scurrying away.

"What are you doing up?" My father's deep voice catches me off guard.

I continue securing two separate bags of chips before speaking. "I got hungry."

"I grew up on Orange Drive, Brookbottom. I don't think there was a kid on that whole street whose parents would've let them open two different bags of cereal– let alone chips." He places a cast iron skillet down to dry before continuing. "My momma would've torn my ass up."

"I don't know what my mom would have done." I look down at the popcorn and hot Cheetos in my arm without a second thought.

"She was from a different world..."
he trails off. "The gang reminded her of the cartel back home, the ties were just as deep."

I turn around. I want to ask my father what the hell he's talking about but I'm afraid he'll stop talking. It's not often I get to hear him speak of my mother, no matter how much I try and bring her up.

"That's why she loved me. Your mother was crazy. Her attitude is what kept her going."

"But you turned your lives around when you had me?" I think I remember hearing this story when I was little. My father was a "bad man" up until little ole me came along. A victim of his environment, so much so that he dedicated himself to giving back to it.

His voice is low when he speaks. "It was dangerous... So she was sent away, like your friend Rosemary."

The bag of popcorn slips from my grip and lands on the floor in front of me.

"You said she was deported back to Mexico."

"Fleeing the country is the only way out," he says.

"You said she was deported back to Mexico," I repeat, louder this time.