The One For Me (Watty Awards 2012)

Chapter 8: The Proposal

Chapter 8

After work that evening, I felt both emotionally and physically drained.

Most of the lunch time that we'd had was spent on thinking of ways in which my Dad could gain from this marriage. Uptil now we hadn't been able to come up with anything concrete. Of course we could keep guessing but it was almost impossible to find anything without evidence.

My office work had been neglected as I couldn't take my mind off the case. Could it really be money that my Dad was after? Was it something else?

My head soon felt like someone was using it as a Congo. It seemed like it was pounding with a headache in a jungle beat. I reached my house and pulled my car into park.

I quickly glanced at my watch which showed that it was just about half past five. Rubbing my fingertips on my forehead to ease the pain spreading throughout my scalp, I sighed. Time to face the inevitable.

Suddenly, I had an idea. 

As quietly as I could, I opened the car door; glad that i had a silent car. Stealthily, I opened the front door and snuck into my own house.

I wanted to see how my mother was treated when I wasn't around. It was good that I was a little early; I usually came home after six. 

I could hear the sounds of the television, and I crept into the room, feeling like a thief. I could clearly see the TV on the opposite wall but the sofa in front of it faced away from the door. So, I could only see my father's grey head as he stared at the screen watching a cricket match. A fleetingly murderous thought passed my mind, as I considered looking for a bat or a long hard weapon, but then let it go. I had no wishes of spending the rest of my life in jail. 

It was then that I realized that he was fast asleep, his snores deep and loud, though drowned by the volume of the television. I almost sighed in relief. He couldn't have done anything to my mom if he had spent the day lazing before the TV, right? 

As I ventured further into the room, I learned my lesson: not to make judgments on first appearances. There on the floor, sitting Indian style, my mother was gently massaging his feet.

My shock transformed into vastly negative feelings like hate, animosity, thunderous rage. I forgot my pounding headache. I forgot that my parents didn't know I was home. My mom saw me and gave a small scream of shock and fear, waking my dad. 

"What the hell, woman?" my father bristled at my mother, still looking half-asleep, obviously not noticing me. My mother cowered, submissively as he raised his hand threateningly. 

That's when I saw red.

I growled, trying to push my mother away as gently as I could. I grabbed my dad by his collar and pushed him roughly against a wall, my face inches away from his. I was done being obedient. I couldn't do it. This just wasn't me. Vaguely, I could hear my mom's sobs, begging me to leave him alone. I shut her out.