The Secret's Out

Chapter Eleven: Reunion

It was quiet. There was no one but us in the visiting room, and I refused to talk to him at the moment.

The room itself was big enough to be considered a cafeteria, with bland white walls and a cracking tiled floor. Most of the room was taken up with wooden, circular tables, each table crowded by at least four plastic chairs, and a couple vending machines tucked in the corner.

It was quite depressing, to be honest.

Apparently, unbeknownst to me, Mason had decided to make an appointment, which is needed in order to visit an inmate, when he first got here.

You know what that means?

The jerk was planning on doing this the entire time.

"Don't look so scary," he said lightly, smirking. "You might scare your dad."

"I hope so," I growled. "Wouldn't compare to what he's done to me, now would it?"

The smirk was wiped instantly from his face. "Deserae, it's important you talk to him."

"Yeah, okay. I get that you're trying to help, but honestly, Mason, I could leave the country without him ever knowing."

"If you don't put this behind you, love, it'll eat away at you. You need to look him in the eyes and have a conversation." His hand cupped my cheek, thumb brushing my skin. "Even if all you do is cuss at him and tell him how much you hate him, it could help."

I looked down. I could feel my pulse in my temples, feel my stomach churning. I felt sick, but it wasn't because I was going to talk to my father for the first time in three years. What I was really worried about came out. "What if… What if he says… something to you? What if… What if he tells you something that… something that you didn't want to know? What if he makes you hate me?"

His thumb paused, frozen from surprise, before he takes my face between both of his hands and pulls me in for a small peck.

"If something your father said could influence my feelings for you, then my feelings weren't real enough in the first place," he murmured. "And trust me, Deserae, I never would've proposed to you with half-hearted feelings."

I let out a breath, finally looking him the eyes. "I guess."

He was going to say something, but the metal door on the other end of the room opened.

I think there were many things I thought I would say when I met my father again. I would ask him why. I would look him square in the eyes and demand he give me an explanation for the drinking, for the violence. If he could give me a reason, I would listen. I would listen with every ounce of understanding I could. I'd ask him why he thought he was the only one who was hurting, why he felt like my world hadn't been ripped from me when I saw mom lying in that casket, young, pale, frozen in time. I'd demand to know what thoughts he had during the funeral, during the weeks to come. I'd demand to know how he felt when he was hitting me, when he beat me close to collapse.

More than anything, though, I'd show him everything that had happened, everything that I was. I'd show him that I didn't need him to make a better life, to succeed. I didn't need him to coddle me when mom died and I sure as hell didn't need him now that I had Miranda and Valery and Mason.

But I should've known. I should've known.

A man I'd never seen before walked into the room. His hair was dark like mine, but it was brushed back, not unruly and chaotic. His stubble was taken care of, trimmed down to wear it was long enough to give him a mature air. His eyes were the same shade of brown as me, but they were sunken in, wide and alert, and had a fair shadow under them. The orange jumpsuit made his beer belly more pronounced, but that could be because it was so big on him, practically hanging off his limbs.