Apologizing to the Bad Boy

Chapter Seventeen

Alice POV

My father was an account at some big firm downtown, I couldn't tell you much about it because I really didn't know nor did I ask much about it. Maybe I should have known. Or asked more but I just didn't. Personally, all that matter to me was my father enjoyed his job.

He wasn't a man of anger or rage; usually he was very calm and collective. He always calmed our crazy mother down and proved the stern, quiet tone and got his message across without screaming.

He was like any other regular dad. He had favorite activity to do with his best friend which happened to be golfing. He liked to barbeque and summer. He liked Mac and Cheese and chicken. And one of his goals in life was to never stop making his family laugh. He protected us and supported us. So I guess if he died like this, I wouldn't object to the statement of how he was an angel.

But he didn't.

I understand why he never touched alcohol now but then I guess I never notice how he didn't really drink more than a glass of wine or beer at dinner or a party. My native mind didn't seem to think that little fact was important. It barely even noticed it or really process what it symbolized.

One night, he didn't come home when he usually did. My mother said he was hanging out with the boys and would be home soon, but even she didn't know why he was gone so long or where he was exactly.

I remember waking up, to yelling and screaming. I blinked my eyes, furrowing my eyes, attempting to turn on my brain. The sound of something being trashed on the floor shattered me out of my sleepy daze and down the stairs, the familiar sense of worry immediately filling my mind.

I walked into the kitchen noticing the shattered plate, then glancing up to my parents. My mother was seated at the kitchen table with eyes wide with fear and hand on her heart. My father was not something I recognized and it took me a second to comprehend.

He was standing, or attempting to but had the slight sway in his stance. His eyes were completely red and his face was pulled into a furious, alarmingly scary anger. His hands were clenched in fists and the room reeked of the strong scent of beer.

I stepped around the glass, hesitating speaking, "Mom, Dad?"

They whipped their heads at me, both filled with different emotions. My mother had this look of complete terror and my father seemed to get more furious. I took a step back and suddenly felt the urge to run like hell back up the stairs.

"Who said you can get out of bed," he slurred and it was a bit difficult to understand.

"Steven, leave her alone," my mother said.

I took two steps back, my heart beating hard and fast in my chest. He was getting closer and paid no attention to the pleas of my mother, who yet still remain in her seat. She was probably frozen in fear, like me.

I tried speaking, I really did, but words seemed to run away as the fear grew. "I-I-I just heard something a-a-and wanted to check it out," I felt my jaw shaking as he was a step away from me.

He suddenly, reached out and managed to grab my collar and pull me off the ground. My stomach immediately dropped and my heart was jumping out of my chest. My mother screamed his name but he paid no attention.

"Next time, don't come down," he whispered, his voice contrasting his usually tone, now completely sounding rough and frightening.

I nodded my head like a boodle head, desperate to run away and hide. He held me in the air for a while, staring his bloodshot eyes into mine and it seemed like the world was ending at that moment.