Unbecoming

Don't Call Me Drunk

TW MENTIONS OF RAPE PLEASE SKIP IF YOU NEED TO I'LL PUT A MARKER BEFORE IT'S TALKED ABOUT, it's only a minor mention but be careful

After our conversation outside I distanced myself quite a lot from Phoebe, Lucy and Julien.

It's been a couple days since leaving the hospital and to say everything has been a challenge is an understatement. I'm in my own personal hell loop. Getting up is a chore, eating is a chore, washing myself is a chore. Everything is a chore and I refuse to ask for help with all of it.

My brain was on lock down. I let myself be too vulnerable and now that all has been said and done I'm starting to hate myself for it. I hadn't heard anything from Arlo since being released either which made everything so much worse, I couldn't lose them too.

Which brings me to now. I was resting on the couch, thumb hovering over the send button to a message I'd probably delete in the end. Phoebe was out somewhere with her friends, I'd been asked to come too but declined in favour of doing absolutely nothing. Well, nothing and torturing myself.

Before I could press send an unrecognised caller pops up on my phone screen.

"Hello?"

"Is this Raene Arthurs?" A burly voice asks.

"This is she." I have no idea who this could be, but I sure as hell didn't like it.

"There's someone on the line for you." He huffed out, oh shit.

"Rae? Is that you?" A tired voice spoke through the phone now.

"Dad?" My voice came out in a shaky whisper. I didn't want this today.

I get up on my crutches and hobble over to the kitchen, opening the fridge and grabbing two beers from inside, "What do you want." I ask, cracking one open and guzzling one down before opening the other.

"You gotta get me out of here Raene. I don't belong in here, you need to get me out." His voice was desperate, manipulative.

"I'm sorry dad."

*TW*

"Rae, honey we can work through this. You know I'm not a bad person, you know I love you. Cmon sweetheart."

I took a shaky breath, "You don't get to talk to me like I'm your daughter anymore, dad. You lost that right the first time you did it."

"I was hurting baby, you know this." He pleaded.

"I was hurting too. I am hurting, dad. You were too far gone in your year round pitty party to even notice that. Hurting doesn't give you the right to abuse and to rape and to take advantage of your own fucking kid." I was close to tears now. The nerve he had to call me and ask for my help when all he's ever done for me is cause me pain. I grabbed another beer from the fridge.

"I'm sorry, please Raene. I'm your father."

"No. You were my father. Now you're just a stranger." The line went dead, time was up and I was left in the decrepit ruins of a burning building, left to crumble and break like every fucking other time.

Moments played on loop in my head. His hands on me. My body being pinned to a table, to a bed. His sour breath breathing, panting in to my mouth. He had nowhere else to put his pain. He was a broken, weak man.

And I was his broken, weak daughter. Destined to make the same mistakes.

"Fuck this."

I left my crutches propped against the counter as I stumbled over to a lower cabinet, seeing Phoebe go in there the other day to grab a bottle of gin.
I was a lot less weak in my legs now, one good thing about constantly resting.