Crushed and Created- Tangled series (Overprotective famous brothers)

Figuring things out

ALISHA

Two days. For two complete days I had acted in the brattiest, bitchiest way possible towards everyone. The worst part was that they handled it calmly and ignored all the wrong I did.

And tonight I was starring into the dark night of Atlantic city, re-thinking everything. Some things I had accepted and gotten over. My mother was dead. I realized that I always knew that, I had already mourned over her once in my life. Though it would always be a scar, I had to get over it. I already was. I was looking at the positive side, I was thinking about her first now. She was free from every pain this world had given her. No abusive ex, no baby girl to raise on her own. And as we had recently learnt, no family to ditch her at times of need.

She was a free soul now, living in paradise if it existed at all.

My dad. He was the one I was having a harder time over. He had destroyed our lives in ways unimaginable. In the age to be afraid of fictional monsters, I was afraid of my father. At the age of running around the house, I used to lock myself in the room to block all the yelling in the house, to block all the sobs and screaming. I had no other word for him other than bastard. He just used my mother and I was just the by product. No value, nothing but a piece of unwanted crap.

And that there hurt. Parents were supposed to love you for life. I knew my mother loved me, I still loved her. We were at peace because she was at peace. No conflict, no trouble between us. But my father? Dads and daughters were said to be the closest, but I was nowhere near that for him. What was wrong? Was I at fault for him hating me so much that he even refused to take my custody after my mom died? He handed me to my mom’s relatives, who abandoned me when they returned to Mumbai. That was how Salman found me in Mumbai from New Jersey.

My dad detested me, and I had no idea why. Maybe he wasn’t even worth giving a damn, but I still hated him. And it hurt somewhere in my heart that a place reserved for my dad would stay empty. Forever.

“Pixie? When did you get up?”Salman stood beside me and I didn’t reply. Salman didn’t push further, just stood beside me looking up at the night sky.

“Am I that pathetic? Am I so terrible that my own father didn’t give a damn about me?” I asked, taking a deep breath. Salman didn’t do anything cliché- he didn’t hug me and muttered cheesy lines. He stayed there and asked one question with a straight face.

“Tell me one thing- do you care about him?”

“No.” I replied instantly and he nodded.

“So how does it matter? That person is a sick asshole of a husband and father. His opinion about you matter the least in the world, even less that what a dog thinks of you. What if one person probably doesn’t care? You have an army of people who could do anything for you. Anything at all.” He emphasized on the latter.

“But he’s supposed to love me.” A tear spilled my eye, but Salman knew better than hugging me now. I didn’t need soothing, I needed answers. The jumble of fumbling thoughts were numbing my mind, paralyzing me slowly.

“Many things don’t happen the way they are supposed to turn out. But does life stop at that? Agreed, it must hurt. I know- I have a terrible father too.” He chuckled and I wiped my tear away. Yeah, his father and mine both needed some parental counseling.

“But then, I learned to care the least about him too. Now I care about the people most important in my life- you guys. I don’t give a fuck about him, but if anything happens to you or anyone else…” he gulped but looked back at me,

“The point is see what you have. Three brothers, friends and your entire life in front of you. You have your dreams to chase; you have your life to live; mistakes to make; guys to like; places to go. It’s your decision now. Do you want to waste your time thinking about one dickhead and his views, or think about the tomorrow?”