Unconditional

Chapter 1: Kat

Anger. Rage. And every single thing in between, was boiling in my veins, pumping red hot in my blood. To say that I was pissed would be an understatement. This isn't because of a one time fluke accident, or a mis-placed false concern, or some other sad pathetic excuse of trying to parent me. I get it, being a single parent is hard, but man, this lady who I call my 'mother' needs to stop shoving her religion down my throat. I get it, it's a reflex action many parents do when they see their beloved kid spiral down the path of, and I quote 'sin and utter rebellion'. I'll give my mom props for her constant persistency, never once letting it go about how I should join her for church, or one of their Christian weekend outings, or a holiday special. I was going to go crazy, I swear the number of times I've had to say no, and for her to start either shouting at me for being an insolent child, or maybe to break down in tears to guilt trip me to come along. Stupid me for thinking that she would easily get the message and back down. I mean how many nights did I have to sneak out and not return only during the late hours in the morning? Or the many times I've cussed and spelled out colourful expelsives in her face? I mean I've contemplated just running away, I could pull it off. I have most of my identification, which I've stolen from her, and money saved up from last year, which would be more than enough for a flight ticket to another place from this hell hole. I would've done it sooner had I not had that tiny annoying voice in my head always making me feel so guilty for the smallest things, good thing I've got that rid off. The only thing stopping me was.. Me.

I knew I had everything I needed, I could just up it and get out. I could, but I couldn't bring myself to do any of it. I still had a bit of sorry left in my small cold heart. I was sorry for my mom, I really was. I mean beside the obvious, such as having someone like me as emotional baggage to lug around, can't be exactly the cherry on top, I was sorry for her because of how bad she was impacted by the blow when my dad left. He confused and conflicted opposing emotions in me, when I was younger I absolutely loved when my dad was around. My parents had gotten married early at the ages of 20 and had gotten pregnant with me in the exact same year they got married. It was always so happy, the picture books were always filled with smiles. We'd make the most of what we had, with the little money we got. My dad would bring me picnicking at the front yard of the big houses he'd been paid to garden, or times he'd play scavenger hunt with me at our local junkyard. My mom would be playfully upset to see us come home smelly and stinky, but when she saw both our faces painted wide with our contagious grins, she would only break down and smile as she hugged us both. He'd always make me smile and turned any tear or frown upside down. I only held happy memories of the dad I knew, but when I got older, he got more distant, and so the happy memories were fewer.

I never understood what was going on between them with the constant fights and the shouting matches that would've lasted til past midnight. I was scared and I cried, which seemed to help as they both stopped their arguments and he came and hugged us telling us it wouldn't happen again. It happened multiple times, and after the third time of me pulling the crying act in hopes that all their screaming would stop, he shouted at me. He'd ask me to shut my face and start acting like a grown up, that I should not have to be like a baby to cry the whole time. That day was the first time I was truly scared of my dad, and it was the first time that he'd swore in front of my face. I was ten when I learned how to swear. So I listened to what he'd said, and I shut up tight, I never spoke to him again after that, I never said a word. That only made him angry and he'd call me stubborn, selfish, a pain, and many more other colourful words. It was a few days before my eleventh birthday that mom and I found him at the door with packed bags and he told both of us that he needed some time to distant himself and become a better person, because he said that mom deserves a better man. I remember being happy at the thought that I could maybe get the dad I knew back, but I was also confused that the man that had overtaken my dad with his anger and fury had some how gone as quick as the wind. When all that time I was so scared, because it looked as if that man was here to stay, but we were both naive and gullible, and we were dying to hear any excuse he led us to believe, just to hang on to this hope that we'd get our happily ever after. He told us he was willing to distant himself to better himself. He said that he was too young when he was given the responsibility of being a dad, and that he needed time. Time was all he needed, he assured us, and so we gave him time.