A Thousand Lies

Chapter 2

Song: behind blue eyes

Chapter name: cigarette burns

**************************************************************************

Temperance

I used to think I would be okay if I acted like everything was ok. But the truth is, ‭it didn't ‬work‭. I tried it for seven years. Since I was barely ten.‬

It was a few months after my mother's death. I am always blamed for her death as I was in the car with her.

I tiptoe to my house. My shoes skim the sidewalk. I don't want to see what's going on in my own house. Even though I've always known what's going on in there.

I stand in front of the small house. ‭My house. ‬Our family had a large house. One that may belong to a ‭Millionaire‬. We ‭were‬ millionaires. I frown.

‭That ended long ago.‬

Everything was perfect until my mother's death. I got a few thousands. Unfortunately, I can't access it till I turn eighteen, which shouldn't be long as I'm past seventeen at present. Most of the funds went to charities. And another larger share, of course, went
to father.

He eventually blew all his money doing drugs and alcohol. At that time, we could not afford the bills for the house anymore. This is how we ended up in this small house in a bad neighborhood.

I carefully open the door to my house. The moment I peek in, my heart drops. Of course, he would be here. I was only hoping and wishing, in the back of my mind, that he wouldn't be here. And of course, it will never be the case. People like him just don't disappear.

There he is, my ‭father, ‬in his dirty attire, smoking a cigarette. His twisted expression makes my stomach clench in fear.

His gaze catches mine, forcing me to look away as I walk inside. I barely squeeze myself in through the half-opened door.

I gently closed the door behind me. His intense stare monitors my every move, just like a hunter, hunting for its prey. Silence fills the room.

Was a father-daughter relationship to be this way?

I set my backpack on the floor beside me, trying to be as quiet as I can.

The air is thick with the putrid smell of cigarettes and smoke spiraled around every corner. I can't breathe. Anything unpredictable can happen now.

I watch as he sways back and forth ever so slightly. He seems drunk. He's ‭always ‬either high or drunk.

He exhales a cloud of smoke, brows straightening, and seeks the cigarette in his hand for another drag.

Being ‭high‬ or ‭drunk‬ doesn't make a person violent. People are violent because of what their mind is filled with. They are violent because it's their nature. And violence starts abuse.

Drugs or alcohol don't dictate their behavior. It's who they naturally are. It can't be changed.

He's hated me for a long time. He still does. And he might hate me forever. To him, I'm the reason behind mother's death.