Faded Scars (#3 Confused Cliche Love Series)

My Precious Disguise

Chapter One: My Precious Disguise

The sky was a dark opaque blue that reflected the emotions whirling within me at that very moment. The only brightness beyond my window came from the street lights and the moon that seemed to shy further away as every second passed. I hated being up so early; waking up before the sun came out was one of my biggest pet peeves. I liked going to sleep to one setting and waking up to another, the darkness that I was seeing made me feel like I had only slept for a minute. And I probably did. The phone call I got last night kept me up for hours. I completely surpassed my normal curfew and that resulted in me only getting about four hours of sleep. And with those four hours I was supposed to be at work by 7:30 a.m- leave at 7:00 p.m, go to my night school at 8:00 p.m, and complete an essay and company analysis. All that probably wasn't going to get done successfully but the thought of completing it all was exhausting.

I finally dragged myself from the window next to my bed and made my way to my bathroom. As I showered, did my hair, got dressed, and even walked to my car all I could think about was that dumb phone call. I told them not to call me. Ever. I told them they would receive an email every day stating that I am okay and once those emails stopped for them to contact me. If those emails stopped that meant something was wrong, and those emails never stopped- so nothing was wrong. Then why the hell did they call me.

I never forgot their numbers. As soon as I changed my phone number and got a new phone I made sure I saved their contacts. I didn't know if I saved it in case I ever wanted to call or I saved it so I knew to avoid their call but it was saved. And for the past three years I never got a phone call, no text, nothing. And it was great, it helped me forget. And I promised to never answer if they did contact me and I would've kept with that promise if I knew. I didn't even look at my phone before I answered it yesterday. I just answered. And once I heard his voice, the way he pronounced my name- I knew who it was. Francisco Capone. My father.

I knew if I hung up he would just call back, and I knew if I just stayed silent he wouldn't hang up- he would wait. So I was forced to speak.

"Wh-why are you calling me?" Shock. Astonishment Bewilderment. Everything in the mix. This couldn't be happening. It was unreal. My father was really calling me. I was speaking to my father.

"Now, is that any way to speak to the man that helped create you and put a roof over your head for a good 19 years?" He sounded so comfortable, so at ease. How?
"Dad." That was the first time in a long time that I said that word to the actual person it represented. I had to admit that I missed it, that I missed him- all of them. But they came with bad memories as they came with good- and I still wasn't ready to face them.

"I know you're wondering why I'm calling. And I wouldn't be calling if it wasn't important." He paused, I assumed he expected me to speak- I wasn't going to. "Your mother is worried sick- " he started," for all she knows you can be dead.-"

"I sent the email this morning. I never missed a day."

"What is a fucking email suppose to do Alonza!" I gasped at the aggression in his voice and hoped he didn't hear it. I wasn't scared; I was never scared of my father. But knowing how the aggression in his voice could match the aggression in his actions and what he did to people, what he does to people- had fear settling in me. I was being reminded of things I trained myself to forget and I hated it. The phone call needed to end and it needed to end soon. "An email does not soothe the worry and pain we feel with you gone Alonza. That email could be automated for all we know. You could have had someone sending the emails after you fucking killed yourself. An email through a fucking computer doesn't let us know you're safe and well Alonza. It just doesn't."