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11. Trauma

   She didn't move from her side of the bed. Little Walnut came up into the room, his chunky little paws kneading on the woman's lap. It soothed her as she spoke, though she was the most calm she could ever be right now. She felt blissful.

"A month ago, I saw my father."

   Brandon looked at her, not sure where she was going with this. It was another story. The last one she had in mind for him to hear. "What do you mean? You said he was dead, right?"

   Cindy went on, ignoring him. "My mother recently passed away from an infection, and it left him alone in that house. She was too busy caring for my father to care for herself. My mother was long gone already. There was no hope for her. She had babysat that adult toddler since I was kicked out of the home on my graduation day."

   "Nobody wanted to care for my dad because he was a cranky, miserable piece a' shit. That, and he hated the thought of being in a nursing home. He refused it, but he knew he couldn't take care of himself anymore. One day, he called me apologizing for what happened to me when I was little. He said he was sorry for everything, and begged for me to help him because there were no other options. He couldn't help himself. He was stuck in a recliner, rotting away like the fat bastard he was."

"You didn't accept it, did you?" He questioned.

   "Actually, yes I did. I accepted his apology,” she grinned. “I came into his home every day to make sure that he wasn't shitting himself, making sure he took his baths, and I cooked him food. It only lasted two months, and my visits became less and less. I knew he wasn't sorry. It was funny he would've ever thought I'd'a believed that for a single second. He was scared of being alone for the first time in his life. It was kinda amusing seeing him get all pissed off that I stopped visiting every day.”

   "When I did visit, he was quiet, snappy, barked orders like he could just boss me around despite me being an adult. This was how he treated mom, and she just took it until the very end. One day, while I was cleaning the old shitter's house, he started talking to me about the past and how crappy he felt. He told me that he was worried for me and that was why he did it, and that I'd be like my mom and get AIDs or some shit, hang out with the wrong crowd, he said. That's why he made me step on glass, made me piss in buckets, made me sit in a closet in fear for my life. Shot my boyfriend in the head. Forced me to witness the man I love lay down dead in a casket while the sad son of a bitch sat in a jail cell for a lenient charge."

   "That day, I accepted his apology. I nodded on because it was all I knew how to do when it came to him. I despised him. I hated that he ever got out of prison for what he did. He should've died in that shithole."

Brandon's stomach tilted to its side again as he listened on.

   "That day I served him dinner. Mashed potatoes and dumplings, just what he wanted," She grabbed onto her container of cigarettes, and flicked her lighter until it sparked a tiny flame. She sucked the air in, deeply. The taste of her Malbouro was satisfactory.

   "He fell asleep on the recliner that afternoon while I cooked. I saw him peacefully sleeping his cares away, and I decided it was time to deal with him. I had it planned for a few years now, and I still don't regret it."

Brandon went from a state of fear into shock. His eyes looked her up and down, fearing the absolute worst.

   "As he slept, I grabbed onto the soaked dish towel I used to clean his dishes an hour before. I soaked it up like a whip and twisted it. Afterwards, I emptied the boiling water from the pot on the stove that was to prepare for the dumplings that he asked for," she smirked. 

   "I told the old bastard, 'Dinner is Ready'. I figured it'd give him the prompt to wake up, but it didn't. He was sleeping too deeply. Despite that, it wouldn't have made a difference anyway. I guess I was waking him up the hard way. What a pity.”