Perfect

•Five•

T R I S

I hear a male voice, so I look up from my phone to see my dad. "Your teacher just called," he says, standing in my bedroom doorway.

"Knock much?" I say, looking back to my phone screen. My parents came home yesterday, but I haven't even spoken to my dad yet.

"I don't think you're funny, Tris." I notice his phone in his hand, and the way his eyebrows furrow at the sight of me.

"Well you're going to have to be more specific. I have more than one teacher."

"Mr. Davies. He called me about a detention. Apparently, after being sent out of his class, you walked away before he could speak to you about it your behaviour."

I snort. "Tell him I said to grow some hair."

"What is up with you today?" He sits on the edge of my bed and puts a hand on my knee. "You're not usually like this."

I almost burst out laughing.

"And how would you know?" I ask icily.

"You're always-"

"No," I say, looking up from my phone "Don't you dare. You're never home enough to even know what I'm like."

He points at me. "That's not my fault and you know it isn't."

"Oh, so now you're telling me what I do and don't know?" I roll my eyes. "Now let's skip to the part where you yell at me although we both know I won't listen to you anyway."

My dad stands up, taken aback. "Tris, why are you acting like this? This isn't like you."

"No, you're right." I shake my head. "This isn't like me. But it's exactly like me to get pushed around and around and I'm getting sick of it," I say indignantly.

My voice gets louder as new words rise from me, prompted by anger. "So go on, Dad. Tell your good, little daughter who she is and what she's like when you haven't been here to give a fuck!"

"Tris, that is not the way to speak to your father!" His face reddens— anger or not, I crave his reaction. "Show some respect."

A laugh hitches in my throat. "Respect," I spit. "You'll only get respect from me when you earn it and when you're actually at home like a real dad should be."

There is no contrition in my voice; no remorse in my eyes. He is incensed. I am nothing.

"Natalie?" my dad calls. "Talk to her. I really can't be dealing with her right now."

As my dad walks back to the door, my eyes flick back to my phone and I open up Instagram. "Oh, dad?" He stops in his tracks, turns around, and glares at me with his jaw clenched.

"You still owe me all that money I spent on the dinner that you couldn't bother to cook yourself," I say without looking at him. I don't see it, but I hear it. The sound of the door shutting without remorse.

You don't care about him. Not one bit.

I purse my lips and swallow my emotions— one thing I find I'm really good at.

I look around for a distraction, but then my phone goes off as if on cue.

Christina:
Want to try something different?

I frown as I text her back.

Me:
It depends on what you mean by 'different'