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If these chairs could collapse and descend to hell right now, I'd beg them to.
Unfortunately, the day I arrived home, was the same day my father had scheduled his dinner party; I was stuck inside it.
My father had me sit directly beside him, at the head of the table. His arm was suffocated around my body like a rope, forcing me into a tight scrunch. His other arm was continuously lifting the whiskey glass to his lips.
And the only thing he has been doing for the past half hour is grunting and gabbing with the man sitting closest (one of the men I had seen earlier). Getting drunker as each sip cruises along the other.
Already, my mind skips to daydreaming about driving back to Sicily with his nonstop laughter and grunts shuddering against my head. The vibrations flicking of his tongue, hitting my ears like a woodpecker living in my eardrum.
The only slight break my ears would consume was when he calmed down to gulp the liquor every minute.
There. A large gulp of liquid was swallowed down his throat, with such a craving, leading on with another of his demon chuckles.
I rolled my eyes, pinning my ear with my finger and turned my head away from his dreadful aura.
I was too caught up in blocking out my father that it took me a few moments to realise someone was standing behind me. A shadow was cast over my body. Instantly, I flung my head behind me, catching the waiter's gaze in mine.
"Would you like the cocktail or one glass of Montepulciano Abruzzo?"
A smile grazed my lips at the thought of using alcohol to drain out this 'party'. But, just as I opened my mouth, my father quickly shut it for me; entering his unwanted advisements.
"She will have something with low alcohol." the grip he has on my body increases, "She doesn't work well with alcohol, aren't I correct?" he grunts with a pinch on my stomach.
Though, I wasn't focused on how much he was hurting me. I was focused on the embarrassment.
The whole dining table had gone silent. Even though it felt like the silence could have adapted over hills and ridges, stretching far over land, it was just a few men.
I could feel everyone's eyes burning on the side of my face and my father's furrowed complexion daunting on my skin.
My cheeks infusing scarlet, I force a plastic smile on the waiter standing beside me. "He's right. Low alcohol please."
He nods, rushing out of the dining room haul. I watch hoping he would turn back, seeing the fake smile, and hand me the cocktail. Though my father would find out, and if he was still in his alcohol state, god knows what he would do.
