Bringer of Bad Luck

Chapter 6

It was inevitable that Crimson would e sent to a psychologist or a psychiatrist. She was already eight years old and yet, still, she'd never spoken a word.

For two weeks, Crimson was a resident at a home for mentally challenged children, that was,until she was forced to leave. During her stay, she was moved to a room where she could wallow in solitude. The reason for this was because every time another child saw her, they'd have severe seizures, and so, the doctors deduced that they were unable to help such an abnormal and 'ailing' child. However, in reality, the doctors were just afraid. The little girl who was like an expressionless doll buried fear into the hearts of those professionals that were supposed to help her through whatever psychological issue that thwarted any efforts or thoughts she had of speaking.

Despite Crimson's father's threats of suing and making the matter public, Crimson was still sent home. In response to the man's threats, the doctors in turn also threatened Crimson's father about making the matter public. They'd use the fact that his daughter was the cause of a number of children suffering with major seizures that threatened their lives, all those things happened because of the existence of his 'beloved daughter.' The man was enraged by the doctor's threats. How dare they, they would be the cause of his daughter being further ostracized.

Crimson's father reluctantly cooled his temper, and after the two weeks of his daughter being in the 'home,' she returned to the only place that could ever make her feel comfortable and welcomed, the place where the only person in the world who treasured her stayed.

Back at home, Crimson's father couldn't help but apologize to his daughter. He loved her and would do anything for her, yet, he couldn't even get psychologists to properly examine her and at least try to coerce her into using her voice. He felt like a failure, even with the waterfall of money he possessed, he couldn't help his daughter. If he was anyone but himself, he would've broken down and drowned his sorrows in tears. For weeks he felt bitter to any and everyone but his daughter. Even kind and motherly Nicole was subjected to his sour behavior.

Finally though, a day came where he was spending time with his daughter. It was early morning and Crimson and her father were sitting in her room waiting for the sun to rise, this was their quality bonding time. As they sat waiting for the awe inspiring sight, Crimson's father poured out his heart to her, telling her of how angry he was the he couldn't do anything for her, and then, he, like all the other times before, apologized for his inadequacy as a father. However, this time, unlike all of the other times, he got a response from the daughter he wished to protect.

She didn't even watch him or show a sign of pity, she didn't mumble words of sympathy or empathy, no, rather, with her eyes still locked on the spot where the sun would usually rise from and her facial expression unchanged, her tiny, refined hands found her father's. She entwined her tiny fingers with his but then changed and opted for just holding just one of his fingers, his smallest one. Initially, Crimson's father was so shocked that his daughter did something other than look at him with a staunched face that he didn't respond to her gesture of affection. But as soon as his circuits rewired themselves and he made sense of what was going on, he returned her gesture by giving her a hand a little squeeze, then he allowed her to just hold onto his finger without disrupting her.

He attempted to contain himself and not show the goofy, probably creepy smile that he'd currently worn, however, every time he glanced at their joined hands, he felt to get up and do a 'happy dance.'

It was the first time she'd ever responded to something he did and said, thus, this made his bitterness subside. Maybe she was telling him it was all right, that he didn't have to be so disgruntled with everyone anymore, they'd get through their obstacles together, or maybe that was just his wishful thinking getting the best of his imagination.

For one last time, he glanced and observed his large hand with his daughter's tiny one. This time, he contained himself, only giving a subtle smile and he returned his gaze to the window, where hues of pinks and oranges clouded his vision. The sun was rising, giving him a sense of a new beginning with his daughter. A beginning of a story where his daughter would open up to him and share her feelings, where she would discard her icy crust and give way to a child that would formulate a splendid relationship with her father.

His joy rose him to new heights, he was on cloud nine, where he was sadly delusional and mistaken, trading his dreams and what was in his imagination, for what was in reality.