Photos [Luke Hemmings]

Chapter 21 - Trash

wow okay this chapter was a lot longer than i expected.

HAPPY 5 YEARS TO ONE DIRECTION THANKS FOR THE HELL YOU'VE PUT ME THROUGH.

i finished my 6 hours of driving lessons all i need is to take my road test in december & hopefully i'll pass & get my license tuRN UP.

**IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE IN THE END. PLEASE READ IT!!!**

Chapter 21—Trash

{ a u t u m n }

Paralyzed.

I was paralyzed where I stood in the entrance of the living room; feet rooted on the wooden floorboards as I stared at the man I hadn't seen in almost ten years. But he was here, and he was staring right at me, as I tried to make sense of the situation at hand.

Waves of confusion crashed inside me like tsunamis, wondering what the hell my father was doing here. I hadn't heard—much less seen—from him since I was seven years old and he had to be taken away from us because he was so fucked up since he had arrested for substance abuse, and then taken even further away when they put him away in some rehabilitation hospital in Brisbane. He didn't let in any visitors—not that we were too keen on going—and then once he was released, he practically fell off the face of the Earth. No way of contact or reaching him if we tried—and boy, did my mum try.

This man—this cowardly man—had nearly driven us to the ground because he lost his job, and used what little money he had left for drugs. My mum had to work double shifts for two jobs to get us back on track, divorcing my father as soon as he was out of prison because she just couldn't handle it anymore. And even as a seven year old, I understood my mother's pain. I was never angry at her for giving up on my father, when he had given up on us long before.

The anger had made itself known within me as I stared at him, but more than anything else, I was confused and hurt. Father or not, I never thought I would see him again, so seeing him seated in our living room has me coming short of breath.

"What are you doing here?" I finally managed to speak, my voice hoarse due to my sudden dry mouth.

Mum and Mark looked at me with worried expressions, knowing me better than anyone as they realized I was one step away from potentially bursting. However, my eyes were trained on my father—Richard—as he slowly stood up from where he sat on the chair across from the couch.

"Autumn."

He had gotten older, obviously—his dark brown hair graying along the hairline and his sideburns; and was also sporting a 3 o'clock shadow. Surprisingly, he looked well—not at all like a man who had spent most of his time in rehab for substance abuse. He must be nearing his early fifties, I assumed, as I did the mental math.

However, ignoring his call, I managed to keep my face neutral and my voice cold as I repeated in a hard voice, "What are you doing here?"

Richard pressed his lips together, clearly recognizing my unwelcoming tone as he rubbed his palms on his jeans. "I, well, came to see you," he answered, his Adam's apple bobbing; a sure sign of the nerves he was probably feeling. "See how you've been."

A disbelieving scoff escaped my lips, shaking my head once at his words. "Came to see me?" I repeated, raising my eyebrows. "What—after a decade you wanted to just drop in and see me?"

The malice was crystal clear in my voice as I spoke, but I couldn't do anything to contain it. This man brought up emotions in me that I had buried long ago, never to be dug up again, yet here they were resurfacing all because of him. It was terrifying how one person can make so many emotions swell up inside of you—good or bad.