Conditional

"I don't trust you anymore," I mumbled, my hands curling into fists, clenching the fabric of my pants in a vice-like grip. The tension in the air between us was suffocating. My heart was racing, and I feared it would jump out of my chest eventually. I didn't dare look up into my father's eyes. I was not prepared for the sheer amount of rage that awaited me.

"You don't trust me?" he sneered, his words oozing with venom. He watched as I shook my head no, trying my best to hide the pure, unadulterated fear on my features behind the curtain of my long, dark brown hair.

"No," I whispered. "I don't."

"Really? After all I've done for you? All I've ever given you is my full, unwavering support and love and this is how you repay me?" He stood up in a haste, abruptly moving from the dim dining room into the bright kitchen. It felt wrong to be in such a bright room in such a dark time. The contrast was jarring in the midst of our conflict.

I stood, following him. My body was moving on its own, my actions driven by instinct rather than conscious thought. My feet were moving from the short, rough carpet to the cold, tile floor. Still, I could not find the courage to look at his furious expression. His words were loud, angry and full of vexation. I knew he was yelling. I had gotten familiar with this noise by then, but that never meant I got used to it. I learned to drown it out because it was the same thing every time. Just another one of my "careless" mistakes.

Suddenly, six words yanked me out of my trance. Six cruel, stomach churning, heart-wrenching words. Six words that were strung together in such a way that they were meant to cut deep under the layers of my skin and pierce right through my already aching heart. "Well, guess who loves you less?" he spat.

My head slowly lifted to meet my father's wrath-filled gaze. His black look was focused solely on me, boring into my soul, searching for another flaw to point out. His jaw was clenched tightly, and his face flushed bright red with contempt. His movements were stiff, as if he felt his rage would take them over if he was not careful enough. My own father had just declared that his love was conditional.

My heart sank, my head felt light, my stomach began to hurt, and my eyes began to water. Blinking away tears as I tried my best to hold his gaze, I managed to find the only word that could fit this scenario. "You," I heard myself say, like I was having an out-of-body experience, watching myself submit to someone else's will. I felt like I was standing on the edge of a precipice, peering down into an abyss of nothingness. The future, once filled with optimism and possibilities, suddenly seemed dull and uncertain. The pain I was feeling was raw and all-encompassing, seeping into every aspect of my life. The delicate structure that connected my father and I finally gave way and we were left standing in the rubble, the broken remains of our once healthy relationship far beyond repair.

"That's right. Do you know why?" he snapped.

"Because I don't trust you," I murmured, fidgeting with my hands. I couldn't breathe, the air felt thick and heavy, weighing me down. I questioned my worth, my purpose, and how much love he had left for me. Was there any at all, or would I spend the future with a void in my heart? Doubts plagued my mind, taking over and blocking out any sort of positivity I had left, like a cloud blocking the sun.

He nodded, and every word after that jumbled into one long speech of gibberish. I was trying so, so hard to not let those warm, salty tears slide down my flushed cheeks. A loud command, "Go to your room!" echoed throughout the kitchen, bouncing off the walls and making my ears ring.

With a soft sob escaping my lips, I spun on my heel and turned to leave the kitchen, hoping to leave the feeling of hopelessness that I felt behind. It didn't leave, though. It stayed attached to me like a burr on a sock.