I couldn't believe it was him.
The man I was in fear of my life from was my father.
He was hard to recognize, especially with being left with a clouded memory of his appearance. His head was still completely shaven with a cleanly trimmed beard. The olive skin that covered his body appeared weary and it showed that he had gained more weight since the last I saw him. His eyes, however, were the feature that allowed to me to remember him. His once piercing green eyes now were surrounded by darkness.
They look exactly like mine.
"Leave." my father ordered to the men.
"Yes, sir" they responded in sync and hurried to another room.
Once the men were gone, I immediately knocked my head away from his grip. I kept my stare away from him as I couldn't bare to look any longer. The majority of my life had been filled with questions of my father's absence, and the answer placed in front of me filled my heart with confusion and disgust. Nothing felt real. The room was quiet, yet my thoughts were loud.
"Did they hurt you?" he asked, breaking the silence.
I took a moment before answering. "Yes." I choked out.
Following my answer, my dad walked away from me and into the room where the two men had went. Two loud gun shots rang. I scream erupted from my body as he simply walked back into the room. Light marks of blood were splattered across his suit. He pulled a white cloth from his pocket to clean himself.
"What did you do?" I shouted at him while tears streamed down my face.
"That doesn't matter. Let me look at you." he answered.
While I've always believed I looked like my mom, others have said I am a reflection of my father as I was growing up. My mother was an African-American woman, and with him being a Caucasian man, I was born with light brown skin. My long, curly brown hair covered my face as I looked at back at him. Our green eyes met, one pair filled with fear and the other with pain.
"You look just like her." he whispered to himself. For a moment, it almost seemed like he was reminiscing. Quickly, he transitioned into his original demeanor with a slight cough. "I'm sure you have questions-"
"Fuck you." I spat, cutting him off.
"Lauren, I-"
"Don't." I said loudly, stopping his response again. "Please, let me go. I just want to go home."
Tears stung in my eyes. A small part of me wanted to receive the answers to my questions. Why did he leave? Who has he become? Does he kill for a living? I didn't know. The majority of me wanted to protect my heart. I wanted to be out of this situation as quick as possible and forget it ever happened. Although, with the circumstances, the probability of forgetting seems unrealistic. I hated him. There is nothing that can be said to change that. I heard my father let out a sigh.
"You can't leave." he stated simply. Before getting the chance to respond, he continued. "You just witnessed an off-the-record murder. Even if I wanted to let you go, you would be killed the second you stepped on the street. You're staying under my protection."
"What the hell is this?" I questioned in disgust. "Actually, I don't want to know. Whatever this is, I don't want any part of it. You're not making choices for me."
"I just did. Let's go." my father demanded.
Roughly, my dad pulled me up from the seat and began to walk. I fought to release from his grip to no avail. Feeling my struggles, he turned around and grabbed me by my shirt.
