𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃

10

Song:
save your tears- the weeknd and ariana grande
slowed + reverb

ANGEL

It was all my fault. All my fucking fault.

At least those were the words that flew through my head as I entered the dimly lit house. Pieces of broken glass littered the floor and traveled across it in a messy path towards my father's figure lying asleep on the couch.

This was a normal occurrence. I was used to coming home to an unconscious father that had drank his sorrows away until he passed out. And what's worse? He never took his anger out on me.

I was the reason behind all of this. I was the reason that my dad had turned into an alcoholic who no longer found happiness in his life.

His happiness was stolen away from him, and I was the one to take it.

He told me that it wasn't my fault. He told me that what had happened wasn't in my control. But it was. And I hated that.

I hated how the first thing that I noticed when I entered the house was my father in his absolute worst state. He wasn't happy. He hadn't been happy ever since the day of the incident.

And so for that reason, I couldn't be happy either. I didn't deserve it.

My hands clench into fists at my sides as I examine the mess. Words couldn't describe how hurt I felt every time I witnessed him like this.

I bottled it up. I had to be strong for him. He couldn't be strong for himself, so I had to do it for the both of us.

But even bottles have their limits. They eventually fill up completely, and when they overflow, everything is a mess. I just chose not to let everyone see it.

Thankfully my friends didn't know about what had happened. If they did, they'd feel sorry for me.

The last thing I needed was pity.

I didn't need anyone feeling sorry for me, there was nothing to feel sorry for. I wasn't worth the time.

I managed to hide it for a year, and I plan to keep it that way.

I stoop down to the floor, slowly picking up the sharp pieces one by one. Not caring if they pierce my skin, I grab them all in my palms before tossing them into the trash can.

Shutting off the tv, I place the remote onto the coffee table. It takes me about five minutes to remove the empty bottles and discard the takeout boxes. I didn't want him to be greeted with a sight like this when he woke up with a raging hangover.

Moving to the kitchen, I grab a glass and fill it with water. After filling it up, I return to the living room and set it onto the coffee table.

My gaze moves to the man on the couch. It then travels to the blanket draped over the back of the couch. I lift up the soft and fuzzy material before placing it over my dad's sleeping form.

Apart of me sought comfort in cleaning up his mess. I couldn't do it for my own life, but doing it for him eased those helpless feelings that I desperately tried to ignore.

Once I made sure that everything was taken care of, I headed upstairs to my room. There was nothing better than the peace and quiet that I could bathe in alone.