My Fallen Angel | on hold

chapter 2

I paused before the oak door, my hand halting in the air before I was about to knock.

I hadn't spoken to my dad in weeks. He was always 'too busy.' I suppose I should be used to it by now, him having been missing largely from my childhood.

The door opened before my knuckles even made contact with the wood.

A woman with a pinched nose and blonde hair pulled back far too tightly in a low ponytail, opened the door. She motioned me in with her head like I was a nameless nobody. I restrained saying something and simply gritted my teeth.

"You may leave now, Darlene."

I couldn't find myself feeling almost triumphant as she strode out of the door, firmly shutting it behind her. Instead, my entire attention was focused on the flooring at my feet. I knew if I looked at the one that had spoken, I'd probably cry. He couldn't- I wouldn't let him see that side of me. He most definitely didn't deserve it.

"Sit." It wasn't a question.

I did as I was told and teetered on the edge of the leather seat on the other side of his desk to him. I could feel him watching me, likely a stern look on his face. It's not like I was called in here so he could ask about my day.

"Get on with it," I finally said, feeling not only awkward but uncomfortable as silence settled around us.

I tried to remember a time when it wasn't like this- when we would talk for hours on end about the stupidest things and he'd take a genuine interest in my life, in my future. There hadn't been a time like that since my mother had been alive. I chased the memories away. It had been over ten years and I could still feel my eyes welling up at the thought of her.

He gave a heavy sigh into his hands and rubbed his face.

"What were you thinking?"

I knew what he was talking about, so when he turned his computer screen to show me and the rest of the others breaking into the museum, it was no surprise. I kept my face impassive as I watched myself guiding the others.

"You don't know that's me."

He used his fingers to zoom in on the screen, onto the paused image of my wrist, my silver bracelet on show. The charms my mother had left me glittering in the moonlight.

"Don't start that shit with me," he said, dropping a bag filled with spray paint on the desk between us, having been anticipating my next words. I should have been terrified at the prospect of my dad, leader of a gang notorious for its violence, having caught me, but I felt more like laughing. "Found under your bed."

"You went in my room?"

He avoided the question, preferring to say, "How many times have I told you? I can't keep protecting you."

Anger flared inside me.

Protect me?

All he'd ever done was cast me aside, put everything he possibly could ahead of me. Yes, neglecting his only child for a decade was definitely protecting them.

"I didn't ask you to protect me."

My nails dug into the seat, likely leaving vicious marks, but like most things in life, I didn't care.