Heart and Track

-13-

☆꧁༒Louisa May Pearl༒꧂☆

✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽

"Dad... are you drunk? It is 8 in the morning!" I look at my dad who is looking so mess. He just sit there on the couch and drink the last sip of the wine. Yes, wine. He asked for money and I gave it to him. He said he wanted to eat and i give him because I don't want him to starve himself. I never expect him to buy a wine. "You should stop,"

"Don't fucking touch me! You filthy bitch!" he said and push me to the floor.

"Dad... are you drunk? It is 8 in the morning!" I look at my dad, who looks like a mess. He just sits there on the couch and drinks the last sip of wine. Yes, wine. He asked for money and I gave it to him. He said he wanted to eat and I gave it to him because I didn't want him to starve. I never expected him to buy wine. "You should stop."

"Don't fucking touch me! You filthy bitch!" he said and pushed me to the floor.

I stumbled backward, hitting the floor hard, the impact jolting through my body. Tears sprang to my eyes, but I bit them back, forcing myself to stand up. "Dad, please, you need help," I pleaded, my voice shaking.

He glared at me, his eyes bloodshot and wild. "You think you're better than me, huh? Just because you have a fancy job and a pretty face? You're nothing!"

His words cut deep, but I took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. "I don't think I'm better than you, Dad. I just want to help you."

He scoffed, staggering to his feet. "Help me? You can't even help yourself. Look at you, wasting your time on that rich boy and the stupid gallery. You're pathetic!"

My heart clenched at his harsh words, but I refused to let them break me. "Holden is not like that," I said, my voice firm. "And the gallery is the one that helps us to keep everything that e have now, it doesn't give you the right to treat me like this."

He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "You're delusional, Louisa. Just like your mother."

At the mention of my mother, something snapped inside me. "Don't bring Mom into this," I said, my voice low and dangerous. "She loved you, despite everything. And you repay her by drowning yourself in alcohol and treating us like garbage."

He sneered, but I could see a flicker of guilt in his eyes. "She left because she couldn't handle it. Just like you will."

I shook my head, tears finally spilling over. "No, Dad. She left because she had no choice. She is sick and I'm not leaving because I still believe you can change. But you have to want to change."

He stared at me, the anger in his eyes slowly giving way to something else—regret, maybe even shame. For a moment, I thought I saw a glimpse of the father I used to know, the one who loved us and took care of us. But then he looked away, slumping back onto the couch, defeated.

"I don't need your pity, Louisa," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "Just leave me alone."

I stood there, feeling torn. Part of me wanted to scream at him, to shake him out of his stupor, but another part of me knew it wouldn't do any good. He had to want to change, and right now, he didn't.

"I love you, Dad," I said quietly. "I just want you to get better."

He didn't respond, and I turned to leave the room, my heart heavy. As I walked out, I heard him mumble something under his breath, but I couldn't make out the words. I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, tears streaming down my face.