Heaven's Rebel Heart

Chapter Six: I'm being smothered in this fake niceness

Dinner at the Holden house is an awkward affair, to say the least. I've been dreading it all day, knowing that my dad and Margaret would want to "catch up" since I skipped dinner last night. It's not that I'm avoiding them on purpose—okay, maybe I am—but I just don't have the energy to pretend that everything is fine when it's not.

When I walk into the dining room, my dad and Margaret are already seated, chatting quietly. Emily and Josh are nowhere to be seen, probably because they've already eaten. I take a seat across from them, avoiding eye contact, and start picking at my food.

"So, how was your first day at Silver Ridge, Heaven?" Margaret asks, her tone overly cheerful.

I shrug, still not looking up. "It was fine."

"Just fine?" my dad presses, clearly trying to draw me into a conversation. "You're at a new school, meeting new people. There must be more to it than that."

I can feel the familiar knot of tension in my chest, the pressure to engage in this "family" moment they're trying to create. It's like they expect me to just fall into place, as if I haven't spent years dealing with my mom's sickness and my dad's absence. The last thing I want to do right now is indulge them.

"It was okay. People stared. Some talked. The usual," I say, keeping my voice flat.

Margaret smiles, trying to be encouraging. "I'm sure it's just because you're new. Once they get to know you, I'm sure they'll warm up."

Her words are meant to comfort, but they only irritate me further. Get to know me? Warm up to me? Like I'm some lost puppy they're waiting to accept into their perfect little fold? I can't help but feel like an outsider in my own life, and their attempts to smooth things over just remind me of how disconnected we are.

"Actually," my dad says, leaning forward slightly, "we were thinking it might be easier for you to adjust if you rode to school with Emily and Josh. The kids' driver can take you all together."

I freeze, the tension in my chest tightening. Ride with Emily and Josh? Like I'm some helpless child who needs to be escorted around? My anger simmers beneath the surface, and I can feel the sharp words rising in my throat.

I take a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady. "I don't need a driver, Dad," I say, my tone edged with frustration. "I'm not some little kid who can't find her way to school."

The room falls silent, the air thick with tension. Margaret's smile falters, and my dad looks at me with a mixture of surprise and concern. I clench my fists under the table, trying to rein in my emotions. I don't want to explode—not yet.

"We're just trying to help, Heaven," Margaret says softly, her voice careful. "We thought it might make things easier for you."

"Easier for me?" I repeat, my anger growing. I glance up at her, and there's something about her calm, understanding tone that sets me off. I feel like I'm being smothered in this fake niceness. "Or easier for you? So you can pretend like everything is fine, like we're some happy, perfect family?"

My dad frowns, his expression darkening. "That's not what this is about, Heaven. We're just trying to make the transition smoother for you."

I grit my teeth, my chest tightening with the pressure of it all. It feels like they're trying to force me into this mold, to make me fit into their lives, and it's suffocating. I've been on my own for so long, and now they expect me to just fall in line.

"Well, don't," I snap, pushing my chair back and standing up. "I don't need your help. I've been fine on my own, and I'll keep being fine without you."

The silence in the room is deafening. My dad looks stunned, like he's been hit with something he wasn't expecting, and Margaret's face falls, her attempt at comfort clearly failing. The tension crackles in the air between us.

"We're not trying to replace anyone, Heaven," my dad says, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. "We just want to—"

"I don't care what you want," I cut him off, my voice trembling with anger. "You don't get to come back into my life and pretend like everything's okay. You weren't there. You left. And now you want to play dad again like nothing happened?"

Margaret shifts uncomfortably in her seat, her eyes darting between my dad and me, like she's debating whether to step in. She opens her mouth to say something but then closes it, deciding against it. I can feel her unease, the tension thickening as she realizes she's on the outside of something much deeper than she understands.

My dad's expression hardens slightly, his eyes full of pain. "Heaven, I never wanted to hurt you. I made mistakes, I know that, but we have to find a way to move forward. We can't keep living like this."

"Maybe you want to move forward," I say, my voice sharp, "but I'm not ready. You don't get to just walk back into my life and expect everything to be fine."

I can see the weight of my words sinking into him. His shoulders slump slightly, and for a moment, he looks... old. Tired. Like he's been carrying this burden for years and doesn't know how to put it down.

"Heaven," he begins, his voice softer now, almost pleading, "I'm trying. I know I wasn't there when you needed me, but I'm here now. Can't we try to move past this?"

I feel the sting of tears in my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. I won't let him see me break. Not now. Not when he's trying so hard to patch things up like I'm some broken thing that needs fixing.

"No," I say, my voice trembling. "You don't get to ask that of me. You don't get to ask me to just forget everything you did."

There's a long, heavy silence between us. Margaret shifts again, her discomfort palpable, but she stays quiet. My dad looks at me with such sadness in his eyes, and I can see how much this is hurting him. But right now, I can't bring myself to care.

"I understand," he says quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "Just... please know that I'm here, whenever you're ready."

I turn away, unable to look at him any longer. I don't want to see the pain in his eyes, the regret that's etched into his face. It's too much. Too raw.

With that, I retreat to my room, slamming the door behind me. I throw myself onto my bed, my heart pounding in my chest. The anger and hurt swirl inside me, refusing to settle. I want to let go of the pain, to let him in, but it's not that simple.

Nothing ever is.