Pained

75

"eat your food," he commands. "you already waste my time, so don't waste my money too."

so i sit at the lone table that has not seen guests in a long time. i sit there, running my fingers around the puddles from the storm my eyes have created.

when he walks by, i move my head over the bowl of salad so he may not see me like this. why would i let him see me in pain because of him? it would only make him angry. he would only see me as weak and make me feel worse.

sometimes, it hits me that i'm his biggest burden. i'm the offspring of the toxic, always intoxicated woman he couldn't not love. i'm throwing her memory right in front of his face, and right back at mine when i see my reflection in his cold eyes.

so as he passes the dining room, i eat the money. and in the morning before i leave, i cover myself in more of his money. when i come home, i take shelter in the money. when i am cold, i hide under the money.

that's the thing: it's all his.

and i am the reason he's losing his happiness.

i think he keeps me to stay busy at times. because before i became so expensive, he loved me and gave me his heart, feeding my hungry, young belly with everything he could possibly provide to his daughter.

i want to make it easier sometimes.

i want to leave.