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“I know. I’m sorry.”
I had no reason to defend myself. Anything I said would be taken out of context and twisted up so much until I started to believe it myself. So…I stayed quiet.
Dad looked outside, watching the heavy rain fall. “I would drive you to the store, but I think this is a good way to teach you a lesson.”
Cruel.
Heartless.
My dad wasn’t a father to me.
Only to Sly and Wavel.
“Okay.”
I stood there and took it all without a fight, and I waited for him to finally let me leave.
He eyed me up and down, then he finally turned to leave. “Be safe,” was all he said.
Not that he really cared. If something were to happen to me while I walked along the winding road all the way to town with this heavy rain falling, nobody would care. Not just Dad.
“Fuck you,” I muttered as I grabbed my wallet from the side table. There wasn’t much inside. Just the ten dollars that Mom gave me to buy the cheese. I pushed the wallet into the coats pocket, then headed outside to leave.
The first few minutes that I was walking felt good. The cool air surrounding me somehow made me feel calm, and the sound of the rain between the trees had a soothing effect on me.
But the further I walked, the colder I got. The splashes from the passing cars didn’t help either, and when a car slowed next to me, I imagined it being a worried citizen, wondering why I was walking here alone.
I didn’t expect it to be Sly.
But there he was, sitting in Dad’s large SUV, with the window rolled down. “Get in.”
“Why?” I asked, wondering why he came after me.
“Because you can’t walk to town in this weather. It’s cold and dangerous. You’ll either get sick or get run over, and we both don’t want that, now do we? Come on now.”
Both of those scenarios sounded fine to me.
If I got sick, or better yet, run over and hurt, maybe then he would actually care about me.
“Do you mean that?” I opened the door and got in, not caring about the seat getting wet. “You don’t want me to get run over?”
Sly frowned as he looked onto the road ahead. “Why the fuck would I want you to get run over, Caia? Jesus, sometimes I feel like you’re seeking attention.”
I am.
I want your attention.
Only yours.
God, why don’t you love me?!
“I’m not. It’s just not usual for you to say nice things like that to me.”
“Fair enough.” At least he acknowledged it. He didn’t have to sugar-coat it.
“Why did you come?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Because I needed to get away from that house.”
