Magnolia (p.t.v)

Chapter 12.

"Hi, dad." I murmured, sitting across from him. Supervised visits with your father before your date aren't fun. Or even without a date, they aren't fun.

"Hey dollface, I missed you," He kissed the top of my forehead, before sitting down. The social worker sat in the corner of the room in a chair.

"I missed you too," I replied. Okay, that was a lie. But I wanted to be polite, and try not to piss off my father. I wanted to get over with this.

"I bought you food," He said, taking out a wrapped up deli sandwich from a plastic bag. I sighed. I obviously was not going to tell him about a date I had right after this, but I attempted to be respectful and refuse.

"Thank you dad, but I'm not hungry," I told him.

"Oh c'mon dollface, I bought it just for you."

"I'm not hungry, I just ate before I got here."

"Just take a bite," He unwrapped the sandwich, putting in my face.

"Dad."

"Just a bite!"

"I'm not hungry!" I yelled, automatically regretting it afterwards. My father was so difficult to understand. He always made me frustrated somehow, every Saturday. I waited for the social worker to say something but when I looked at him, he was on his phone.

I always knew when my father was angry, and right now he was. I didn't mean to yell at him, but I had no other choice.

"What are you, trying to be anorexic again? Why don't you eat?!"

I clenched my teeth, and my fists. I try not to get angry with my father but he's so irritating. He never realizes what he's doing, but I'm trying to understand him instead. I hate it when he brings up things about me that I'm struggling to get over with. If he keeps bringing it up, how the hell am I suppose to recover?
When I was little, he was my hero. He would educate me about the wonders of the world, where he'd take me to spectacular places and love me. I was blinded by oblivion. He was always good to me, but I never realized his relationship with my mother.
But as I grew up, I realized a lot more things. It was when I understood more of what was going on. Those slams in the bedroom weren't things accidentally breaking, it was my father beating my mother. Those screams weren't small disagreements, they were screams of verbal abuse. The banging against their bedroom wall wasn't the movement of furniture, it was martial rape.

He was the reason my mother was dead. My mother committed suicide, and he didn't help her, he didn't save her.

And then when my mother died, I became the replacement target.

I hated my father, and that was a fact. I hated these supervised visits, but they were mandatory since he claimed that he wanted to have the right to see his only child. My aunts' have full custody over me, and an order of protection for me against him anywhere besides the agency.

"Mr. Graham." The social worker, Jeff gave my father a warning.

He raised his hands in the air, "I was joking, just joking."

I rolled my eyes, trying to get off topic. I wanted to leave as soon as possible.

"Dad, how are your AA classes going?" I asked about the alcoholics anonymous meetings he was supposed to go to.

"Fine," He muttered. I knew he was lying, he wasn't going to them. Because if he were, there wouldn't be the smell of vodka in his breath. It made me so angry. Changing the topic didn't help at all, remembering all these things made everything worse. I found myself clawing at my skin. I had to get out of here.