Kings College (Philidosia/Phildosia Fan Fiction)

Chapter 14

The nights passed longer than days, I find myself constantly standing to my father's side. When he stares into the distance, blanking out, or when he can't stop the tears flowing freely down his chocolate colored cheeks. I was always there to gently rub his back and assure him life was going to be okay. It was the 22nd and my eyes had just peered from under my lashes. The sun was peaking through my curtains, and I used my hands to block the bad view. Standing, I got myself ready for the day. As I fixed my curly locks into a braided ponytail, I felt a stir in the pit of my stomach. Almost like a feeling of utter dread and horror. Then I heard the words, ringing of terror,

"Please! No!"

"Papa," the word came like I whisper and I ran into his room. I don't know what caused me to fear whatever I am as big as I am, but I have a feeling something not right. As I step into my father's room, I instantly know my suspicions were correct.

Lying in the middle of his bed, my father sat. Sweat dripped off him and from the looks of it dampened his bed. His eyes were clamped close and he had he hands protectively over his head.

"No, please, Father... no!" He whimpered, the words were barely audible. Suddenly he sank into an even smaller circle. "Please! I don't know what I did... no please!"

"Papa!" I scream, shaking his shoulders violently. He awakes with a jolt, tears streaming down his cheeks worse than the nights of crying over my mother. Fear is so prominent in his eyes, the look itself terrifying. "What's wrong, Papa?"

Papa looks to me with wild, alarmed eyes. He stares for a second, gasping and covering his face. Within a few minutes he regains his composure. "I-I was screaming, wasn't I?" He asks.

"Yes, are you okay?"

"And was I sweating- well I know that. Um, I was crying in a ball wasn't I?"

"Yes. What happened?"

"I.." he swallows. "You know how I grew up, correct?"

"I know your grandfather was a preacher." I answer, whispering the next line. "And your father was abusive."

"Very." Papa answers instantly. "Occasionally, I get PTSD. Which stands for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, about his..."

His jaw shakes, staring at the ground unable to say the word without fear running through his veins like electricity. The sight alone makes me want to cry, and to know what my grandfather did is horrific.

"It's okay, Papa, don't worry. While I've worried about that myself, I can understand your pain."

We spent the entire day reading and talking. As the 24th rolled around, the day before Christmas, Papa woke with a loud stir.

I heard shuffling, and he quickly cursed under his breath. This causes me to get from my room, afraid it might be PTSD again. Opening his door to find him staring at a letter sadly. His tears didn't seem of sadness, more of annoyance.

"What's wrong?" I ask gently, and he looks up with a frown.

"They've requested me in Washington D. C." Papa says, and this brings a smile to my face.

"Well? That's great Papa, you are becoming a man of great importance!" I rub his shoulder supportly, "what could be wrong with that?"

"I have to leave at one p. m. today. It means I'll be missing Christmas." He mutters angrily.

"When will you be back?"

"New Years Eve. That's almost a week!" He complains, clearly saddened. "I could say no, however I've been asking for this opportunity."