scarred.

{5} him.

Thank you for reading~ <3

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{5}

F I V E | H I M

“Stanley.”

“Jill.” Said the man on the other side of the glass. He sat there on a chair he’d said was uncomfortable multiple times as a filler for the awkward silences we shared. A weak smile crossed his thin lips as he looked me in the eyes.

“Have you been well?” I asked him, purposely asking a question that can only have a short answer.

“Yes,” He nodded, his eyes not leaving mine. I looked at them for a little bit—how soft wrinkles fanned out of the corners of his light brown eyes.

I had Stanley’s eyes. And I hated it.

“That’s good,” I replied with a dull tone in my voice.

He tried smiling harder, as if that would get me to smile too.

“You get prettier every time I see you, you know,” He told me. I could hear the sour Italian-American accent in his voice.

“Oh.” I didn’t even give him a thank you.

I noticed him play around with his hands, showing a trace of awkwardness. He didn’t know how to talk to his own daughter and get a reaction.

“Jill,” Stan looked at me again, this time a serious look growing in his eyes, “I get outta here in five months,” He inched closer to the glass which separated us, “Five months.” He repeated.

“That’s soon.” I replied.

“And how long ‘till my baby girl turns eighteen?” He attempted smiling again.

Baby girl. How could he call me his baby girl? Who hits their baby girl when she’s six years old and innocent?

“I turn eighteen in five months.” I said softly.

“That’s right, Jill.” There was something in Stanley’s face that day. It wasn’t the usual depressed and awkward look, it was something else. Ambition.

It was apparent that Stanley had been dreaming of a bright future. Too bad once he’d get out, he’d just fall right into the old blur of drugs and crimes.

“I’m moving when I turn eighteen,” I told him, feeling a spark of anger in my heart.

That’s it.

It was as if Stanley had pushed a button that caused me to start talking. Kind of like what you did, Alexander. How you got me to tell you so much about me that day in the park.

“Moving? Where are you moving?” Stanley’s blonde eyebrows furrowed and his smile was wiped away.

“Maybe Paris. Maybe London. I don’t know—somewhere nice. I like Sydney, too. Australia seems like a beautiful country.”

I wasn’t serious. I didn’t really want to move—I didn’t even want to live. But at that moment, all I wanted to do was hurt Stanley. Hurt him like he hurt me. Punch his mental wall down like he punched my face when I was little. Set his dreams on fire and burn them down like he burned down my future.

Stanley laughed dryly, almost scoffing at my fake dream. “And how the fuck do you think you’re going to get there? Where’s the money for the tickets, dear?!” His voice escalated. He had cursed in his sentence.

Just like he had pushed my button, I had pushed his. A spark of anger had ignited in his heart just as it had ignited in mine.

I shrugged, trying to keep my anxiety down.