Isolated (Ch 5)

That dinner felt like a blur…

Dear old dad must’ve slipped a perc in between dinner and our usual dry-blunt rotation. Sprawled out, inconsistent breath as he snored away. Dreaming of the days when he was young, handsome, and had no kids…

I kept checking him out every-so-often, narrowing my eyes to make sure he was still alive. Sighing at the sight of his pot belly extending up and stuttering down.

Perfect for my midnight Romeo to slip into the apartment, unbothered. Which he did so eagerly, surprising me as I was throwing a load of wash in. Grabbing my waist with one slender arm, gripping my mouth in the other.

Unwashed, middle-aged stained, briefs flew out of my hands. Socks with holes galore as I was ready to meet my fate. 

“Gotchu.” He moved his hand away from my mouth before I playfully tried to bite it. Smacking me on my ass as I glared at him steadily. 

“Oh hush, don’t be fresh now.” He sucked in his teeth, navigating his coarse hands to my hips. My skin crawled at the grainy and dry touch of his hardworking hands.

I noticed a new hicky on his neck, a place my lips hadn’t trailed up to in awhile. I guess he was working hard, just not at work. 

I couldn’t fathom navigating another argument tonight. 

Defense - Something that I wasn’t allowed to use, it at least directly. The last time I got defensive, it got me here. Jobless, depressed, and back living at my fathers again. 

He picked me up, placing me on the dryer before turning it on. I wasn’t in the mood, or at least for myself. I couldn’t stop staring at the spiders crawling up and down the unfinished wall. 

He kissed me wildly, as I closed my eyes. Feeling my heart flourish amongst the heartbreak. His fingers mulling at my clothes in a primal aggression. I tried to get into it, I really tried. But in the end, the passion is dry. 

I wonder if he kisses her like this too? 

I wonder if there’s passion or love to it? 

Because lately, it’s all just been for him. My insides are dull at his half-heartedly attempts at quick jabbing motion with his hips. The dryer only provides a façade of pleasure, but it still remains for him and him only. 

I fake it, once you learn to lie, you begin to do it all the time for anything and everything. 

What’s worse, a loving relationship but sexless? Or a sex-only relationship with an opaque feeling of love? 

I bitterly chose the latter, that’s why I’m here. I swore I could change him, but I can’t even change myself on a day to day basis. 

“Go ahead, babygirl.” He tosses a washcloth at me, before staggering to the bathroom across the hall. I didn’t notice the sharpened taste of Hennessy on his breath until now. 

Then again I didn’t notice the past 5 minutes. My head had been floating around like everything was happening to me and not for me. 

As he leaned into the wall as he relieved himself in the toilet. I stepped around the mounds of sweaty laundry, as the clothes beneath my feet felt like the piles were breathing. My eyelid twitched as I began to dig for a slightly-cleanish shirt. 

It was one of my band tees that was turned inside out. As I began to unravel it, he quickly snatched it out of my hand.

“What the fuck?” I jumped as I wasn’t aware he was out of the bathroom already. His voice picked up a couple of decibels, “I’ve been lookin’ all over for this. I thought Rj stole it!”

My heart sank, as I mindlessly clenched my hands together against my chest. My shoulders were raised past my ears, as I felt my upper body hunch with it. My eyes darted towards the right side of the door frame, squinting my eyes to see if dad was awake.

Still out cold, as I remained frozen myself.

He had his fist raised, with shirt in hand. Not to hit me, but to shame me… like an owner rubbing a puppy’s nose towards a pile of shit inside the house. 

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.” He was generous enough to lower his voice down to a hiss. “Don’t lie to me!”

Suddenly, I’m 9 again, Ms. Sharpe’s beat-red face is mine. I had an accident at my seat afterwards, I don’t remember why my teacher was even mad at me in the first place. 

My mom decided to keep me home for the rest of the day. 

I closed my eyes, and tried to relax my face. “I let you borrow it, I didn’t mean to give it to you.” I said in a near-whisper. “At least let me wash it.” I held out my hand, trying to smile slightly.

“What?” He scoffed, “you think it’s funny? You think I like it when you take back gifts? What if I took your ring back?” He pulled the nail-turned-ring off my hand, cracking my knuckle in the process. Not dislocated, but not exactly pleasant from how rough he pulled it. 

If I continued to defend myself, it would’ve been no different than the many times before. I couldn’t risk my dad being woken up to this bullshit, he would’ve yelled at me too. 

“I’m sorry, you’re right. I must’ve forgotten.” I had a slight frown, trying to maintain the optimism that’s left in my eyes. I finally found a robe my sibling left from their last visit a week ago and put it on. 

It smelt like a combination of all the different cigarettes she’d steal from the cracks of sidewalks on her way to school. I couldn’t handle any more humiliation. 

“Yeah?” He put the ring back on my wrong finger, using as much strength as before. “That’s what I thought.” 

My dad’s echoing snore startled me, I jumped again, covering my mouth. He’s still in front of me, face twisted with agitation. He looked at me directly in the eyes, shoving the shirt back into my hand.

He didn’t bother to turn it inside out or at least throw it in the wash. “I love you.” He tried to soften up, but the liquor on his breath was nearly intoxicating for me. 

“But sometimes you just piss me off. I already had a rough day.” He stormed off before lightening his steps around the living room. The bare, thin, walls amplified his gentle opening and closing of my bedroom door. 

I threw the damn shirt into the wash before shoving it into the washer. I threw a few loads mindlessly, barely any of my clothes.

After starting the wash, I tip-toed over to the bathroom to finally relieve myself and give myself a whore’s bath. I looked into my reflection on the cracked, warped mirror.

I noticed my left eye started to tear up, while the other eye still maintained braver than the other. 

I’ve heard that one side of your face is your mom’s, the other, your dad’s. 

I always wonder which side that damned tear is on.

I remembered what my mom said last to me before kicking me out to my dad’s, “You made your bed when you chose him over yourself, now you can stay in it.” 

Back then, mom took me out for ice cream after I got changed that day. I could still smell the mint chocolate chip, and the taste of the Reese’s on my tongue. She held my hand as I was crying on our way home, telling me how everything is going to be because I'm a brave girl. Nothing is impossible for a kid like me. 

So, I asked myself now:

Where’s the bravery in any of this