Palas 2

7 - "You're the best person I know."

My father is the one to get me out of bed. It used to be to like this when I was little so that he would be in time for the first class of swimmers and that I would make it in time for school.

He was never really bothered by education nor by being on time, but I wanted to do right by him. His wife, my mother, had left him with me and I felt the need to make him feel loved.

I cooked, cleaned and nurtured him from the age of seven. I would feel loved when he would smile if I brought him baked eggs and toast or when I finally mastered the skill of baking pancakes and he would complement and hug me.

I would get him through the day and he would get me through the night. Nights were hard because she left when it was dark. In the dark I would feel most alone and scared that father would leave as well. He'd hold me close and let me stay up late so I could be sure he wouldn't leave. He used to tell me stories, wild and crazy stories about himself. Stories of how he'd gotten most of his tattoo's, about his own youth and sometimes it would be stories of when I was younger. Times I can't possibly remember, but when he'd have fun with my mother that I stopped missing over the years.

I'd listen to his snoring just to be sure he was still there and finally I would find some peace and fall asleep knowing that the next day would be the same. A long time ago, I found peace with the fact that my dad's a drinker. Maybe the kind one, but definitely a drinker.

An alcoholic, as all the websites that I read when I found out about his liver condition, describe it. A disease that needs to be treated, something I have been denying for years. Because the only thing that would make my father leave me is alcohol. He'd took use of my willingness to take care of him by leaving me alone from a young age to go to the pub. Sometimes, when I would be hysterical and scared, he would bring me with him. Eventually, I learned to trust him and would let him go on his own knowing that I would clean up the mess he'd surely make after.

It is as if now I can finally see him for who he truly is. A drunk without any sense of responsibility and I hate him for it.

Yet, I am scared. Scared that I will never see him alive again. Without a job and without me close by, he will never stop drinking. Not even with me close or he would have stopped when he saw me clean up his puke just like Harry did earlier for me.

The irony hits me as I step outside in the blazing sun that sends shocks through my brain. Feeling terrible from alcohol myself, I try to go and find Harry.

He's training Mike who surely can miss him for a second while I discuss this all with him. Harry will advise me to go home or call my father but that's not what I need to hear. Nor do I really want to discuss this with him as it will only give us another reason to fight and I start to hate my father even more because I know I have to tell Harry. If only to make him feel awful for walking out like that, making me look like I have some secrets with James. He's the one with secrets, not me.

The beach is busy, too busy for my liking and Harry could be everywhere. Normally I can sense Harry like some sort of sixth eye, but I'm feeling off. Harry isn't off though, so he finds me first.

"What are you doing here?" He asks and I turn around to see him. He still looks angry with the fact that James called, but seeing my expression even with my sunglasses on, softens his a bit.

"I need to talk, do you have a minute?"

He eyes me and my appearance. I didn't bother putting on clothes suited for the beach and I look out of place in jeans and a black top. My shades hide the worry, sadness and anger in my eyes but he can surely feel that I am conflicted to say the least.

He decides he does have time and starts to walk through the loose sand until we reach the stairs and we hide in the shadow provided from the boulevard above us.