My Little Girl

Chapter 35

Dad returned about an hour later, but realized he forgot to get beer, so he sent Uncle Sam back out, telling him to get more pie because you can never have enough pie. Now, I'm sitting on the roof outside my room, right leg stretched out in front of me and left leg pulled to my chest. I stare out over the trees as I try to ignore the pounding in my head that won't go away no matter how many painkillers I took. I'm so caught up in my thoughts about what Uncle Sam said earlier that I don't even hear someone in my room.

"Hey peanut." I jump and look to my left, seeing dad's head sticking out my window.

"Hey daddy." I reply, looking back to the trees as he climbs out the window. I scoot over some so he can sit next to me without falling back through the window. He leans back against the house and looks at me.

"What are you doing up here?" He asks. I shrug.

"Nothing." I say after a moment. "Just enjoying the sun."

"How's your leg?"

"Still hurts." I tell him. "Do you remember it?"

"Remember what?" He asks.

"Hell." I say simply. "Do you remember what happened down there?" He shakes his head but I don't miss the dark, haunted look in his eyes.

"No." He says. "I remember dying and then waking up six feet under." I can tell just from his eyes that he's lying but I decide not to push it, opting instead to nod along, turning back to the trees. "So you got out?" I turn back to him, brow furrowed slightly in confusion. "When I died, you went to Texas and just stopped hunting?"

"Well, I hunted a little bit for the first few weeks, just doing simple salt and burns in the towns surrounding where I was. I did hunt a nest of vampires, performed a few exorcisms." I admit. "Then I realized that with each hunt, I started to get this itch for another, like I was bloodthirsty or something. I almost packed everything up and hit the road to hunt but then I remembered I told you I would get out so I stopped, decided to do what I said I would and started focusing on my music."

"You were just able to stop just like that?" He asks. I nod.

"Yeah. I knew you wanted me to get out so I made myself stop. I guess I wanted to feel like I did something to make you proud." I say. He wraps his arm around my shoulders and gently pulls me to him.

"I'm always proud of you, peanut." He tells me. "When did you start drinking?"

"The day after." I answer honestly. "Mostly just a few beers at first. But then I left and had all this alcohol right there so I started to get into the other stuff, mostly vodka."

"That's another thing I wanted to talk to you about." He says. "Why did you leave?"

"After you died, I didn't say a word. To anyone. I wouldn't talk, I hardly even came out of my room, and when I did it was to get something to eat, which wasn't much." I begin. "Sam left the day after you died. I stayed around for three more days. I barely slept, I stayed in my room some of the time but most of the time I was in your room. Then the third day I couldn't look at any more reminders of you everywhere I went in the house. I couldn't even look out my own window without remembering the times we sat out here like we are now. So I waited till Bobby went to sleep on the third night and snuck out the window and left."

"You just left without telling him where you were going?"

"I left a note saying I had to get away and I'd let him know when I found somewhere to live." I say with a shrug. "I did. I called him from a payphone in town and let him know I was safe."

"You're too much like me for your own good." He says with a slight chuckle.

"That's what mom always told me." I tell him. "You know I visited both of you on weekends."