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Oakleigh
I tighten the straps of my teal duffel bag, mentally preparing for my long night.
The only reason I bought it was because of the bright and happy color, but these days I don’t feel so bright or happy.
I bought it after I was shot as a way to cheer me up, but the only thing it does is remind me of what I went through.
The pain, fear, and anger that have plagued me for months.
I lick my lips and debate taking this fucking bag and tossing it out through my window.
But, I don’t get the opportunity.
My father stands in the doorway of my room.
I glance up, and with an annoyed tone, I grumble at him, “Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?”
He snickers, his frame filling up the doorway. “I would, but you had your door open.”
His dark chocolate eyes, the same as mine, scan over my features. There’s concern in his eyes, and I’m really not in the mood for a loving father-daughter chat.
His voice is gruff but not unkind. “Heading out?”
I avoid his gaze and plop my bag on my bed. “Yeah, headed to work.”
My dad doesn’t know what I do. All he knows is that I work really late hours.
I walk around my bed and grab my phone charger, meeting his eyes for a split second.
He licks his lips and stares at my bag. “What’s with the extra clothes?”
I shrug as my heart pounds in my chest. “I like to have clothes with me. I work in a hot ass bar, usually sweat through whatever I have on.” I lie through my teeth, but he doesn’t need to know I’m a stripper.
Dad keeps his eyes trained on me, and the longer he stares, the more unsettled I become. “Look, Oak, I’ve noticed a change in you lately. You’ve been really distant, angry, and not acting like yourself. Are you okay?”
I bite my bottom lip and try not to let my anger get the best of me.
How dare he ask me if I’m okay.
No, I’m not okay.
I’m furious.
I’m hurt.
In a way, I’m still in shock that I was actually shot, and now I’ll never have the ability to birth my own child.
I didn’t even know if I wanted kids then, but now it’s all I can seem to think about.
Or rather, all I can think about is how I don’t have the option to have one myself.
I bite back a harsh retort and look at him. “Look, I love you, but I can’t do this right now. Okay?”
He shakes his head slightly. “You avoiding this isn’t gonna help, Oak. Something isn’t right, and I’m trying to be here for you. I’m trying to help.”
Rage boils in my blood. “Did I ever ask for your help, huh?!” I snap, unable to hold myself back any longer.
Sadness coats my father’s eyes. “I can see you’re struggling, and I’m not about to let you struggle alone.”
