Dancing with Fire (John Pearce/Justice Crew Fanfic)

Chapter 29

There was no easy way to get answers for every question I had in mind to ask my dad. Hell, I don’t even know where to start. When he apologized, my mind somersaulted and by the looks of it, I may have forgotten my questions, the cat got my tongue.

The room was silent for about ten minutes or more. The cop inside the room was working on some papers on the right corner near the door I came from. He sometimes go out, but comes back after a few minutes, it has been a routine.

Dad’s eyes was still on the floor, perhaps counting tiles, like what I do when I’m nervous or scared to talk to someone. We were the same, I kind of remember my confrontation with John in his classroom, and I stared at the tiles forever.  Honestly, I was feeling uncomfortable of having another person in the room, which may be one of the reasons why I was quiet, but dad didn’t mind or got impatient, like he used to be when he asks us questions and it takes us sometime to give him a clear answer, or more of the answer he wanted to hear.

The cop must have realized how we stopped talking when he came back the first time he left as he cleared his throat to get our attention. Looking at him, he motioned that he will go out for a bit, and that we should continue with what we were talking about because I didn’t have an appointment all day long.

Once he left, my dad started to look up and face me which tensed me up, stiffened my sitting position. He must have noticed the way I reacted as he went back to look down at the tiles.

“I’m sorry…” he uttered once again. Ouch, I just pinched myself in the arm to check if I was dreaming, but it was real. His voice didn’t sound angry like he used to these past years, it seems so composed and apologetic. He was serious, and his facial expression didn’t seem that he was insincere.

“Please help me understand what happened. Why do you hate me so much, dad?” I started, neither of us now looking at each other. My fingers were busy fiddling with the hem of my shirt while staring at the potted decorative plants on left side. At the corner of my eye, dad’s focus was still glued on the boring white tiles.

The room went on silent mode for another five minutes or something. Some people say that when the room is quiet, an angel must have passed by, maybe that angel was mum, helping us both to understand each other.  

Dad sighed loudly, but my attention was fixed on the potted plant in front me, since I was now sitting sideways. “Your mum…” he trailed off… “She was abused when we were younger.”

What the actual fuck?

For real?

Am I being played here?

He confirmed with a nod when I went to look at him to check if he was making up a story or not, but his appearance seems genuine.

“Your mum and I didn’t start out as good friends, heck we were even enemies. She hated me because of my arrogant nature, and I hated how she was a smart ass.” The cliché couple in school; didn’t know the social ladder already existed during their time. Just kidding, dad. Mum, please don’t hunt me tonight!

“We spent most of our time in detention, and day by day, we grew out on each other.” He continued and replayed each scene like we were watching it play by play on the television.

He talked differently today; he acted like a teenager talking about his first love. He sounded calm, no spots of his usual angry personality towards me. He reminded me when I was younger, when mum was still alive, the day he taught me how to ride a bike. Cheering me on that I could take on a slope without falling off my bike, and was supporting me from behind, in case I accidentally fell off.