The Life Changing Trip

Chapter 11 - "Not until you tell me."

Chapter 11

"Um...what?" I stared at Richard like he was crazy. Even with the creepy smile, he had no hint of humour in his eyes. But he couldn't be serious. He couldn't be.

My father, who is my father? I unwillingly ask myself this question almost everyday. I ask mum too, even Tristan. But no one knows. No one answers me. It does hurt; not knowing who your father is. Everyone had someone to go back to for advice when they were growing up, but not me. I had no one. My mother did her best to be both our dad and mum. Sometimes, I could see the pain in her eyes even though she plastered a huge smile on her face. Sometimes, I'd come home and find her wiping her eyes. I never really understood why though. But I knew one thing: I hated who ever did this to her.

My memory of my dad was hazy, just little random things we used to do together. I couldn't remember much of my first five years of life, but I tried holding on to whatever good memory I could. My dad buying me ice-cream, taking me to the beach. I tried to blame the world for him leaving. He wouldn't have left if he could chose, would he? I told myself to believe that he left because he had to, because he was forced; and not because he wanted to.

My dad that had left when I was five. He never contacted it us after that. Or maybe he had, but my mum never told us. Every time I'd start to wonder where he was and why he left, I'd force myself to think of something else. 

Maybe I didn't need to know, maybe I'd never know.

So when Richard accused the man in front of me of being my father, it was only natural I'd never believe him.

"Your father," he repeated, slowly becoming impatient as I refused to acknowledge the man as my father.

"I heard you, but I don't believe you," I said, staring at him. My eyes flickered to the slim man next to him. I couldn't ignore how his eyes looked really like mine, and how he looked a bit like Tristan, but no. My father wouldn't work with someone like Richard. I didn't know what to think of my father but working with a killer was not one of them.

But as the man stared back at me, there was one expression on his face that over-rid anything else. It was so evident he could probably paint a picture.

It was guilt.

"And I'm not going to spend the day convincing you," he snapped bitterly at me, "So let's cut to the chase, shall we?" he smiled one of his eerie smiles that I was starting to learn were associated to something bad happening. I took a deep breath, preparing myself for whatever he was going to say.

I still didn't believe it was my father, but I was starting to get a bit unsure. Why would Richard lie to me about that?

"You're not going to be doing a lot, Eva," he started, walking towards me.

"Why do you want me then?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Because your dad isn't listening to me. Now, I don't like that very much do I?" he said tauntingly.

"Richard, please! We can talk about this - " My head instantly shot to my supposed father. He hadn't said anything at all till now. Something in my head was telling me that yes, this is your father, Eva. But no, my father wouldn't do this to me. After he left for more than ten years, he wouldn't greet me back like this.

I felt my eyes getting wet as it hit me that he could possibly be my father. In fact, he looked very like the picture I had of my father back at home. It was the only picture I had of my father. Sure, this man looked older, exhausted, unhappy, but he looked the same.

"Dad?" I whispered suddenly. He looked at me, something obviously shattering inside him by the way his face confronted into one mimicking severe physical pain.