27
ST. ANNABEL
I seem to be frozen in my chair, ears ringing either from the heavy round of applause or just the sheer presence of my father.
Everything about him seems to set me off, I could barely listen during his speech.
He more or less ordered me to be here and being the good daughter I was of course I listened.
If that had been Harley she would've told him to “piss the fuck off” then called him “a fucking melt” as she gave him the middle finger for good measure, but considering the man in question hadn't even made the effort to speak to his other child, other than the piss poor excuse of a letter, we’d never know.
The crowd clears out one by one but my friends remain next to me, I can feel their presence clouding over me and the buzzing silence that comes with it. I know the only thing left to do is put on a smile and pretend everything is okay even though we all know it isn’t.
Devon’s soft voice rings out before I can say a word, “She’s not a matryshoka that can be broken, let her wallow in peace.
I actually have other shit to do than to sit here in silence, my rehearsals can’t wait.
” She gets up and packs her bags in one swift move.
Her light footsteps still echoing in the silence of the hall.
Before she closes the door a smirk lands on her face and she gives me a wink then leaves.
A small smile creeps up on me. Devon and I had our differences, and after our talk in Spain things were not automatically the same as before but still she knows what I need better than most. She is wrong about one thing though, I am definitely broken.
Afterwards, they all start getting up one by one; a kiss on the cheek from Dan and a hug from MJ. Though the latter staggers awaiting her boyfriend who is the last to stand.
“I’ll meet you in a second,” Arden says as he kisses MJ on the forehead without taking his eyes off me. She nods, her face the picture of confusion and there is nothing I can do to ease and clear things up. I mouth a talk to you later to which she responds with another nod.
Once she is gone, I speak.
“She’s going to catch on. She’s not stupid.” I say with a grumble and visceral tiredness that seeps from every part of my bones. We are the only two people left standing in this hall, it is quiet and I can hear the sound of my heartbeat in my ears.
“I never thought she was.” He steps closer to me, his familiar scent tugging at my nostrils like a warm hug. I want to close the distance but I am too far in my own head of self pity to even care enough to do so.
We have spent time together in the last few weeks whenever we could.
No penetrative sex still, but trying to find our footing with one another, like before.
I watch him play tennis, either alone or with Gaz, he watches me dance.
We pick out a book to read together and argue about it until the sun goes down.
He’s also taken me to his family’s equestrian centre to see his horse.
“What do you want, Arden?” I sigh, exasperated.
“You,” he says plainly. “To talk.”
“Talk about what? How my prick of a father has such a strong hold over me or how I let him ?” My voice raises as I speak. “How I’ve been avoiding him because it's easier to pretend I don't hate him when I do? I hate myself because of him.”
“The qualms of emotionally abusive fathers, I’m sure I couldn’t possibly know a thing or two about that.” he teases, an attempt at lightening the mood. Once he sees that my face is still brittling with sadness and anger, he puts his hand on my shoulders and leans down to look into my watery eyes.
“It’s okay to hate him. Realising the foundation of the world you built with someone you trusted and admired had always been fractured isn’t easy.
However, it's also okay to still love him,” he counters, saying the words that I refuse to say.
“He’s your father. The complexities in dealing with the fallout of that kind of relationship doesn't end in a day. You figure it out when you can, at your own pace.” He pauses for a moment, letting his words sink in.
“I’ll be there every step of the way, Saint. It’s you and me, remember?”
I don't respond but simply close the remaining distance between us, his arms wrap around me and chin rests on my head as I burrow into his neck. I feel safe even if it is just for a moment. As though everything in the world will be just alright, even when I know it can’t be farther from the truth.
After parting ways, my next destination is a conversation with my father. Posy cornered me before the seminar, telling me that he wants to speak to me and it is unavoidable.
My boots crunch on the wet and leafy ground, my fur coat keeps me warm but I regret not bringing my gloves.
I spot the car sitting just outside the campus area, nearly ripping the handle off from opening its door, the temperature drop hits me as soon as I step inside.
My father continues typing on his phone without acknowledging me (incredibly rude, might I had), whatever he is busy tapping about seemingly more important.
The car is extremely spacious so we don’t have to sit too close to one another and yet it still feels cramped.
“Proserpina, Henry. I'd like to speak to my daughter alone,” my father says, they both nod and step outside without another word. He scans my face quickly, I wonder if he could see it, how tired I am.
“How is she?” he asks.
“Perhaps if you attempted a conversation with her you’d know,” I mutter, to which he just raises an eyebrow and I concede almost immediately. “She’s fine.”
He nods mostly to himself, like he’s heard all he needed to. “Your grandparents are visiting next weekend, you must be there. Neglecting family is unacceptable.”
The audacity of things to speak about what is or isn't acceptable, it is laughable.
I scoff, “Similar to breaking your marriage vows and spawning a child with some whore, I suppose.” The words tumble out of my mouth sharply.
“The world isn't so black and white, Annabel.”
“Isn’t it?” I ask, “Because that isn't what people will say when this inevitably gets out.”
He rolled his eyes, “The situation is being handled, don’t worry about it.”
I scoff, again. This time I truly look at him, he has aged since the last time I saw him two months ago. The wrinkles on his face seem deeper now, the shadows under his eyes heavier, and there isn’t even the faintest tug of a smile left on his typically laughing lips.
When I was younger, I used to be so proud of how much I looked like him– the same blonde hair, the same button nose, high cheekbones, and that single dimple we both shared: his on the left, mine on the right. But not the green eyes, those I’m aware he’d given to his other daughter.
I turn away from him and stare out the window, “You can’t just pretend she doesn’t exist nor is she something to ‘handle’. She has been there for me even when I didn’t deserve any grace or kindness from her. You always told me a Bass takes responsibility for their actions no matter what.”
He starts to speak but I raise my hand to stop him and this shocks him more, “The echoes of your past will always ripple through, especially since there’s living proof of your indiscretions to show for it.
Be the person you always told me to be.” There is something so intricate about the relationship between a father and daughter.
You can do everything in the world to please them; when it comes to matters about school or life, you go to them because you respect their way of handling challenges, never scream at them the way you would your mother.
But in the end it’ll never be enough. In the end you’re sitting in front of them not recognising the person they are and realising they are just as flawed as the rest of us and not the god you made up in your head.
You notice the wrinkles on the face, the greying on the hair and how it is slightly thinning.
You notice that they step out on their marriage and expect forgiveness without working for it.
Understanding, at the end of the day, that becoming an adult is the worst thing in the world because your hero is no longer your hero.
The tension that sits with us in the car vibrates so viscerally it makes it uncomfortable to withstand. This is the second time I have yelled at him and in a way I am proud of myself for speaking up when I maybe won’t have before.
I open the door and just as I’m about to leave, he speaks.
“Annabel?”
I halt, wondering if he will apologise for the pain he has caused not just in the last few months but for my entire life. “Bring the girl this weekend.”
Of course not.
Sitting on a bench, I pull out an emergency cigarette that I stashed in my purse, located in the unanimously coined smoking area of Thorne.
That conversation with my father left me so rattled, I am smoking.
I don't smoke, at least not anymore, it's disgusting. And yet, I light the stick and inhale deeply, hoping it’ll solve all my problems.
The cig has almost run out when I see the duo of two girls with swinging hands held and talking energetically to one another. They don’t take their eyes off each other the whole time, those two are so in love it is mindblowing that they are yet to realise it.
Harley and Scarlett near, the former noticing me as I dropped my cigarette butt to the ground. Her brow furrowing which leads to the latter finally taking in my presence. “You don’t smoke.”
I do just about everything else, so what is one more thing to add.
Without even gracing me with pleasantries, Scarlett tells Harley that she’ll see her later, easily putting the pieces together that this is a discussion that I won’t want an audience for. This is the first time Harley is speaking to me in weeks and I have her to thank it seems.
“I see the two of you have worked things out,” I say, sidestepping her observation, my hands stuffed into my coat pocket.
A small smile teases her lips as she looks in the direction that Scarlett’s silhouette fades off into, but it's short lived as her smile leaves her as she turns her attention back to me.
“What’s wrong?”
“What do you mean?” My eyes wander everywhere but in her direction, I knew the second I did, the tears would start and be uncontrollable.
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“Father,” I confess, blowing out a heavy cold breath. “He wanted to talk after the seminar, we have both been summoned to Bass Mansion for the weekend.”
Confusion is written on her face, “What do you mean by we ?” Then I break down the conversation in the car and her face changes from confusion to thinly veiled anger.
“I’m not sure who he thinks he is but I’m not a servant that comes to him at his beck and call when it suits him.”
“That’s what I said!” Well, I thought it , but it's all the same. “So…will you go?”
“No.” Though I’m not sure if her eyes and mouth agree with what she is saying. Harley has been adamant about not wanting anything to do with our father but I can tell a part of her is curious. “Are you?”
“I don’t have much of a choice.” I finally look at her and smile, a wonky broken half smile but one nonetheless. Her eyes zoom in on me, taking me in.
“There is always a choice, Bel. ”
A short depreciating laugh escapes me, staring at the fur boots that match my coat. My eyes flicker about before answering, “If only it were that easy.”
Harley doesn’t say anything back, the sound of the wind wheezing by filled the silence. Both of us lost in our respective thoughts, then she says, “I’ll go. Next Friday, I’ll come with you.”
My first real smile breaks out, “Really?”
“As long as you promise not to leave me alone in a room with any of those people, sure.”
“Anything you want, I promise.”
I stretch out my hands so she’ll give me a hug, mostly to mess with her, she shakes her head vehemently and glares. Once I start to pout she starts to walk away, in the direction of the library. “Absolutely not.”
“Come on, just one hug.” I chase after her, in the hopes I don’t slip off the ice. I catch up with her and whisper a thank you. Harley doesn’t need to acknowledge it but I need her to hear it.