Deranged [n.h]

Chapter Three

Coming home late at night to a father who loses his temper easily is never a good thing. Especially when the father who loses his temper easily just slapped you a few hours ago.

But, I was surprised when I came home to find a complete different story. Here he was, looking pathetic as ever. My favorite dinner was cooked and steaming over the counter, while my dad came rushing to the door when he heard me creep in.

"Margaret, I'm so -"

"Save it, Dad." I cut him off. It felt good to do that.

"No, I'm so sorry, Marge. It was stupid of me, I can't believe I even had the guts to do it."

"Then why did you do it?"

"I thought before I did. And I feel like a complete monster. I can't look at myself in the mirror without feeling so horrible." He seemed like he was about to cry. "Please, Margret, I'm so, so sorry."

I had thoughts of leaving him. I had thought to completely barge out of the house, without any words said. I could definitely do that, and I almost did, but then I heard her stop me.

I heard her call my name, begging me to stay. So I did, for her. I put my stuff down as a gesture of an apology and he sighed in relief.

But, all the while, I had completely forgot about why I was so angry in the first place. It wasn't because he freak-slapped me across the face, but because he had never told me what was right for me to hear.

He had never told my diagnosis.

I decided for now I'd let it go. But there was no way I was going to go for long. You know what they say, 'Curiosity Killed the Cat', and this cat was not about to sit around for much longer.

I etched to the table and began to eat the food my dad prepared with sorrow and tears most likely, but I didn't feel one pang of guilt for him... Okay maybe an ounce.

"Would you like something to drink?" My dad asked, breaking the silence.

"Sure." He poured me a glass and sat in the chair across from me

. He always sat there and she would sit in the end, between the two of us. I keep finding it harder and harder to say her name. It's almost like it's poison in my mouth, burning my throat everytime she's mentioned.

"Do you think it's different between us now?" My father spoke.

"What do you mean."

"We used to be pals. True pals." He picked at his nails. "That is until she past."

"Dad are you really bringing her into this? Now?" I dropped my fork on my plate.

"I can bring her up anytime I want." He took a pause.

"She's my wife."

"Can I be excused, please?" He nodded and I dodged for the door.

I was going out again, whether he cared or not. He probably got used to this by now, me leaving randomly. I just needed fresh air again.

I needed to breath.