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-Content Warning: There's a small scene where it's graphic details of bugs in a horror-type way. If you want to skip it, it's "And when she looked up" until "When she came back to herself."-
"Hate is a strong word," everyone told her, "not one you use when talking about your own father."
"Hate," she replied, "seems the only ample word right now."
It wasn't the missed calls or the blatant negligence that drove a cold into her bones, that forced her to realize no one else was going to fight for her in this world. It was the postured care that struck her heart and cracked it down the middle because it could've been true, but they both knew it wasn't.
Three words spewed from Darcy's mouth- unfiltered and entirely true- and she knew it wasn't the first time he'd heard them.
"I hate you!"
It sounded through the kitchen, bounced off the cabinets, and shook waves into the abandoned cups of water on the counters. Mountains could've crumbled from its force and entire cities could've been raised with its energy, but he remained still standing, still staring at her with a painted mask of I do care.
She knew he didn't.
A haze of tears settled over her eyes, one that she blinked away, except it didn't really matter. Darcy was sick of the arguing and the yelling, but something about his presence caused a tidal wave of anger and frustration to well up and drown her.
Through the tears, she noticed the wilting of his face, how his skin hung off his face in exhaustion like he'd finally given up.
A single word from his mouth- "Okay" -had blood rushing in her ears.
"That's all you have to say?" she ground out. Her jaw hurt.
While hers burned bright with tears, the brown eyes they shared sat cold and uncaring in his face. She couldn't even remember a time when they were anything else. She'd lived her entire life with his cold stare, felt his blame whenever he looked at her.
"Well, you seem to have your mind made up, already. I don't see how I can change it," he said back and his voice was flat.
He'd given up.
That wasn't what she wanted from him. She wanted him to fight harder, to prove her wrong. Prove he did care, prove he did love her.
Darcy had had a dream once, having felt so real she held it close to her like a memory. Her father had scooped her up into his arms and cradled her close to his chest. With his heartbeat in her ear, he told her he loved her and she smiled up at him. Warmth surrounded her and, outside their embrace, the outside world didn't exist. The moment was shrouded in pure bliss.
