Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 96586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Disbelief that my ears aren’t deceiving me leads to me gently rubbing.
“And it was not your fault that you were born as the scapegoat that we never stopped crucifying.”
A lump in the back of my throat appears.
Slowly swells.
Requests soothing assistance in the form of kush – green, purple, or even fucking Afghan.
I won’t give into my senses wordlessly imploring for substance pacification.
No.
Not this time.
Not ever fucking again.
My father lets out a heavy sigh and tosses the book he was reading across the way onto the chair I refused to occupy. “What kind of people do that shit?”
Shitty ones.
“What kind of parents do that to their own child?”
This time the answer is not only repeated but spoken, “Shitty ones.”
“I honestly don’t think we were ever meant to be parents, Ryder.”
Oh, look.
Something we can fucking agree on.
“It was simply what was expected of us at the time. It followed the formulaic routine of the generation we were brought up by and in. It was my job to meet a list of requirements just as much as it was your mother’s. At some point, – ideally – love should’ve factored into it. At some point…I like to think that it did. Now, whether or not that’s true or simply my own wishful thinking acting up again, I’m not sure. And given what I now know real loves feels like…,” an almost dopey smile is momentarily flashed, “it certainly seems to be the latter.”
Part of me hates that he found love.
And part of me is relieved because it may help him grasp the damage he caused a little fucking better.
“When your brother was born, he gave me something to have focus on other than the long hours I was putting into work and a drained bank account. And when your sister was born, she gave your mother a sense of duty and excitement to shape something into a miniature version of her – thank fuck she was only mildly successful. But you…you, Ryder, were the unforeseen embodiment of our mistakes as a whole as much as individuals. No one likes to stare their failures in the eyes, especially every night at bedtime.”
My jaw trembles in outrage.
Dejection.
Understanding.
“You reserve every right to hate me. Hell, I hate me for what I put you through. For rejecting you when it was obvious that all you wanted was approval. For ignoring you when all you wanted was a mere slice of attention. For disregarding your devotion to wanting a life led by something other than money. For never letting you know that you were good enough. That it was us who weren’t good enough for you.”
The toothpick almost tumbles out due to my now slightly cracked jaw.
“I wanted to see you one final time, not so that I could ask for forgiveness I know I don’t deserve, but to give you the opportunity to persecute me for my crimes against you, and to tell my youngest son…who I never gave a fair chance to be my son, that I’m sorry.”
Tears that don’t belong in this moment prick my eyes and tickle along the back of my throat.
No.
No!
Dying doesn’t automatically absolve him for all of that shit!
He gives his chest a small rub as if air is having a hard time coming in. “I am sorry, Ryder. I am so, so sorry for everything.”
The words tumble past my parted lips in an artic nature. “I. Hate. You.”
More nodding.
More inward shrinking.
More weight landing on him rather than remaining on me.
“You ruined my entire fucking life.” One step forward is executed. “You took away so fucking much from me. You cost me the one person who actually loved me. The one person who gave me all those things you just admitted to never doing for me. You nudged me down the path of becoming an addict and through the years kept me on it. And ultimately, yes. I am the reason I became an addict.”
His expression seems to sadden further.
“I. Made. That. Choice.” Pride at ownership like Doc talked to me about straightens my spine as I continue. “And that choice initially spawned from my own desperation for one moment…ONE! FUCKING! MOMENT! Of approval from you! Wanting that more than anything else is what made me walk away from Pres ten years ago. It was the hope that you would finally give me a smidgen of the same thought you gave to my two siblings that led me to follow the only advice you ever fucking gave me.”
The lingering tears in my eyes make their dramatic drop; however, I pretend that they didn’t.
That they don’t exist.
That I’m not shedding anything over a man who waited until he was on his deathbed to do right by me.
“Growing up all I really wanted was for you to look at me once like you did Noah. For mom to dote on me once like she did Liz. For the two of you to treat me like I was a member of a fucking family I never asked to be born into!”