Afternoon Run

eighteen; ❝run for your safety❞

TW: Mention of violence

The next day, I finally find myself with some spare time. The increasing boredom only motivates me to listen in on the long voicemails that my father had left me yesterday.

So, I press 'start.'

The first one is, "Listen, apologize already or I'm completely cutting you off from my funds! You may not care but trust me, your mom can't pay for everything alone so without me, you'll be broke."

The second one goes, "I've been giving you warnings but this is the LAST one! You better listen to me or you'll suffer."

The third one goes, "Trust me on that. You'll suffer."

By the first one, I already feel uneasy.

After I listen to the third one, I feel like I'm going to collapse. I decide that it's for the best to not listening to the remaining 7 messages, if only to protect my sanity.

I recall the events from yesterday. Particularly, the moments that I had still deeply felt joy with Jesenia even after I saw his calls. It's possible to thrive, and it's likely that he's words will mean nothing.

That sudden thoughts fuels another one of my impulsive decisions.

With that, I send my father a short message.

Adelina | 12:47 pm
Sorry I didn't bother returning your calls yesterday. I was too busy spending time with my girlfriend to even care.

I click send before I even have the chance to hesitate.

Of course, I immediately regret it as soon as I deliver it. I hope for a way to take it back, but I know I can't.

So, I decide to own it anyway. My impulsive choices have gotten me into trouble before, and I hope that this won't be anything I can't handle. How bad can my father really be?

Father | 12: 55 pm
You'll regret it.

I feel a twinge of fear when I read his message, but I decide that he can't possible do anything to me. Not to his own daughter, not to the person he raised.

A few hours later, my thoughts are proven terribly wrong.

"WHERE IS SHE?!" I hear a rough voice yell form downstairs.

"NO TE QUIERO AQUÍ." (I do not want you here.)

I walk downstairs, with one hand on my beating heart and the other holding tightly onto the stair railings.

Sure enough, my father is standing there. His anger is controlling him, and he's not the same man that would tuck me into bed every night when I was 5 years old.

This person. . . Is strange. And, he's violent.

He sees me, and starts to direct his frustration toward my mom. I quickly make it to my mom, shoving her aside before he can slap her.

I'm absolutely terrified now, because my father has never done any physical harm. He's always opted for verbal abuse, which seemed to be his talent.

"Get out before I call the police!" I loudly yell at him.

"Like hell you will."

He's enraged, and gives the appearance of a devil looking for another innocent angel to capture. He then runs into the dining room, and picks up one of our wooden chairs.

Somehow, I can sense what he's about to do, but I feel frozen in place.

I watch as he carries it back to where my mom is, and I can tell she's also in shock. Neither of us know what to do, and before I can do anything, he breaks the chair on her.