Mistakes

Eleven

Ashton

I have to confess, the picture was beautiful. She showed me more, pictures of dark forests, herself, sunsets, busy streets, they were all perfect. I still felt frustrated at how Calum said "He took them!" 

She, not he.

I really could not stand it anymore. Either she stopped wanting to be a boy or she was going back to the orphanage. I didn't ask for her, and I made the mistake of getting her anyways. If she was going to be my daughter, she was going to be a girl. 

"Dale." I watched Michael stick his head in her new room.

I turned on my heel and headed for the dining room, the picture of dark trees that she took in my hands. My fingers tapped on the photo, my heart the same quick pace. Contemplating how I'd tell her, I sat at the end of the table where I normally sat. I put the photo on the table and rested my head on it.

I heard soft footsteps and shallow breathing. Staying still, I listened as the chair beside me was pulled out, squeaking as it slid on the wooden floor. Nervousness washed over my body as her arm brushed against mine as she slid into the chair. 

Finally gathering the courage, I sat up, looking straight into her steel grey eyes. She immediately looked away, her eyes watering. I sighed, listening to her whimper as she covered her face with her hands.

"Look," I started. "I don't know how to properly say this, or even think about it, but at least tell me why you want to be a boy."

She didn't respond. She pressed her elbows into the hardwood tabletop, the sleeve of her red and black flannel shirt pulled up. I noticed she wasn't wearing the sparkly, pink bow anymore, neither was she wearing the black one. 

I slowly reached for her arm, trying to pull her sleeve down to check, but she pulled away and crossed her arms over her chest. Her face was as red as Luke's when he'd realize how stupid he sounds. Her hair was sticking up around her forehead, I cringed at how it was so short.

"Talk to me, Dale. I want to help you and fix this."

"Th-Th-Ther-r-re's n-n-noth-th-thing-g t-t-to f-f-fix." She stuttered, tears rolling down her cheeks. 

She looked down at her lap, frowning. She wiped her cheeks with the sleeve of her shirt, pulling them down afterwards. 

"Dale," I frowned, getting frustrated. "Why?"

She sighed, covering her face with her hands.

"I need to know. I'm your-" I couldn't say the word.

"If-f-f y-you w-were m-m-my-y f-f-fath-th-ther, y-y-you wouldn't care about who I thought I was." She said, standing up from her seat. "Why'd you adopt me anyways?"

She wasn't stuttering anymore, and she said her words with confidence, which would've been progress but I didn't exactly like what she said.

"I am your f-f-f-" I couldn't say it. 

"You can't even say the word." She said. 

Her British accent was strong, almost northern. 

"You're not my father."