Violence is Always the Answer

Chapter 2: The Origin Story

I parked my motorcycle outside of my apartment complex and headed upstairs. I unlocked my door and threw my jacket on the floor. My foot knocked over a pile of pizza boxes. "Oh, fuck."

I jumped into my couch relaxed in the comfort of its cushions. My eyes darted around searching for the remote to the TV. I found it on the coffe table just out of my reach. I put my foot up on the table and tried to drag it towards me. All that did was push it off the edge.

"Goddammit," I sighed.

There was a knock at the door. I leapt off of my couch and went to the door. "Who is it?" I asked.

"Max," she answered.

I looked through the peephole to see my supposed daughter. "Max who?" I toyed with her.

"Your daughter."

"That wasn't funny. You were supposed to say something funny. I don't think you know how knock knock jokes work." I opened the door for her.

"I don't think you know how dying works," she responded.

"Touché. Maybe you are my daughter. Come in, we'll have a beer," I invited her in.

"I'm not old enough to drink," she told me.

"That's okay, I'll drink enough for the both of us," I grabbed a couple beers from my fridge as she sat down.

I placed the bottles on the coffee table and took a seat next to her. "Okay. Now, tell me how you found me, before I put a few bullets in you," I said pointing my gun at her.

"What the fuck!" she panicked. "What are you doing get that thing away from me!"

"I will. If you give me a reason not to kill you," I cracked open the bottle and gulped down the contents.

"How about the fact that I'm your daughter."

"Eh, not good enough. You have two more guesses left," I told her in a game show host voice.

"You'd kill your own flesh and blood?" Max asked. Terrified of the answer.

"Well, yeah. I once killed my son because he ate the last piece of cake on my birthday."

"Really?"

"It was my birthday! I should have had all the cake I wanted. Maybe if little Johnny thought about that he could have kept his arms," I ranted.

"Jacob, can you just put the gun away? Please." Max pleaded.

"Fine," I agreed. "What do you want from me? An apology?"

"Yeah, kinda."

"Alright, I'm sorry," I admitted. "I'm sorry for getting your mom pregnant if I'd known you'd be this annoying, I would have never fucked her."

"Why are you such a dick?"

"Because I've been through 150 years of hell," I confessed. "I've seen shit that you don't won't to live through. I've done shit that you don't want done to your worst enemy's cell phone. That's why I'm such a dick."

"I'm sorry," Max said. "Let's just sit and talk."

I chuged what was left of my beer and threw the bottle into the wall. It shattered into pieces with a loud crash. Max jumped at the sound. She became more uneasy now that my joking demeanor was gone.

"How long have you been in Miami?" She asked trying to ease the tension.

"About two years," I answered.

"You like it?"

"Nope."

"Well, where are you from?"