Seeking Smiles//Slow Updates

six

"You're still an asshole." I speak clearly and loudly, not bringing my eyes up to look at my father's face boiling with anger.

Sharply, he strikes his hand across my face, the whole of it covering down from my cheekbone to my jawline. I feel the sting in the shape of a handprint still pulsing on my cheek when contact is separated.

"I am the owner of this household, the one who provides you with food and clothes, and you're base of existence. Yet, you come to me, disproving my decisions, those of an adult, and call me disrespectful names not to be stated by a child." A blue vein bulges in a thick line down the center of his forehead.

I pinch my eyebrows together angrily and purse my lips to match the width of a pencil.

"Maybe if you got a damn job you'd finally put some worth under your name." My father snickers and paces toward the other side of the room, planting a flat palm down hard on the gray painted drywall. It makes a loud noise and the band of his wedding ring makes it louder, piercing my ears with something almost close to guilt. It astounds me that he still wears that ring after all these years and after the true cause my mother isn't with us anymore. Also the never ending count of one night stands and club outings he's participated in don't seem fit for a widowed man to flaunt his old, pointless ring.

"I can't get a damn job when I have to constantly be here to care for my brother and sisters." I nearly spit my words out with anger. "God knows what you'd do to them if I wasn't here to take the blow of a temperamental forty year old that acts like he's two when he's throwing his fits."

My father moves toward me quickly and his wide fingers are gripping around me neck, the ring now molding into my skin.

"You little son of a bit—" I don't let him finish his insult.

"Oh, so you call your wife a bitch now." I glare into his bulging brown eyes, plainly to say, not giving a shit to what he does next. "Guess that makes sense, you fucking murderer."

The breath is blown from my lungs when my back hits the wall behind me. I don't have time to regain any oxygen before knuckles are connecting against my cheekbone.

"How dare you." My father's breathing is raspy, every intake of air is heard as a high-pitched whistle. "If it wasn't for you kids—" Once again, my mouth speaks before I can stop myself.

"What? What the hell did we do to cause our mother to leave us forever?" I barely notice the light sting from the blow to my face. "From what I remember, it was all your doing. And now all of us have to deal with your bullshit when only I actually knew what had happened when it did. You are taking everything out on us just as a coward would. And apparently it has got you far; you still have a nice house, a brand new shiny car to drive to work in, a suit worth more than the food in our fridge. Yeah, you think I don't notice our wealth, but I do. It's there and it's not hard to see. If you're making an effort to hide it, you're doing a pretty pathetic job. But, you know, I'm just a kid. So what the fuck do I know?" I shrug my shoulders with a sneer on my face and my father releases his grip.

"Get the fuck out." My father demands, his eyes still locked on me.

I shrug my shoulders again, "If that's what you want." I say and brush past him, lightly bouncing up the stairs and shutting the door behind me. "That fucker," I whisper under my breath before I gingerly touch my cheek with soft fingertips.

I'm going to need the makeup for the bruise.

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Locked in a bathroom stall, I stand with my calves centimeters away from the dirty toilets and gaze into the camera of my phone screen while I delicately re-apply makeup onto my ugly blue and gray bruise just below my eye. It's a special kind ordered off the internet; said to cover up any "mistakes" on your skin. It matches my pale skin tone almost perfectly and it's not hard to blend it in if there are any shades darker.