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I roll over to face the other direction again.
I hear him sigh softly and then walk out of the room.
My father is alive.
My father is alive.
All this time. All these years. He never cared enough about me to message me. Not once.
I feel that he has been hiding. Perhaps in shame or perhaps in guilt. Maybe both.
Have I been angry at the wrong people for my entire life? I think I have. I think I have projected so much hate onto Antonio’s family, his father, just assuming they were responsible, I didn’t take the time to consider anything else.
The more I think, the angrier I become. Not only for what my father has done, murdering my mother, but for never reaching out to me as well. For being alive. For letting me fester in my thoughts of hate, revenge and misery all these years - alone.
I pull the duvet over my head. I don’t know how to deal with any of this. I wish I could just disappear, vanish into nothingness. Iwish I could not exist for a moment just to feel relief from this emotional torment.
When I pull the blanket off my head and glance at my phone, I'm shocked to see almost the entire day has drifted past. It's around two o'clock, and I have not bothered to get out of bed.
For a moment, I get angry at myself. Get up, Seraphina, get up and do something about this.
But I can’t. I just don’t have the will or motivation to do anything at all.
I hear the hotel door opening and footsteps as Antonio walks into the living room, past the kitchen, and then toward the bedroom.
“You are still in bed, little bird? Are you ok?”
He sits on the edge of the bed and pulls the duvet away from my face to look at me, but I can’t look at him. I'm so broken. I feel shattered and torn. I don’t want him to see me like this.
I grab the edge of the blanket and pull it back up over my face.
“You didn’t have any of your coffee? Have you eaten? Little bird, you can’t do this to yourself. I'll make some food.”
He disappears again and I feel tears roll down my cheeks. When he is near me, I feel weaker. When I'm alone, I have to holdit together for myself, but when he is here, and he acts like he cares, I feel myself needing him.
I can’t need him. It isn’t right. It's not how it's supposed to be.
I seethe with anger towards him, too. Why does he have to make me feel this way?
I never asked for this. I wanted no of this.He needs to leave me alone.
I sit up in bed, fueled by an anger that increases as each second ticks by.
I know somewhere in the subconscious reaches of my mind I'm being irrational in having this much anger toward Antonio. This anger is not for him - it's for my father. But when he walks into the room carrying a plate of food, I feel I lose control of myself.
He places the plate of crackers, cheese, and cold cuts on the bedside table.
In a rage, I swipe my hand across the small table, sending the food flying and the plate crashing against the wall. Antonio blinks in astonishment, then sits down on the bed near my feet. He places his hand on my leg.
“Little bird, I know you are upset, but you can’t do this to yourself.”
“Do what? I think I can do what I want. Who are you to tell me anything?”
“Excuse me?”
“Who the hell are you to me?”
“I'm someone who cares about you. But I'm warning you - watch your tone when you are speaking to me.”
