AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Tears soak my cheeks by the time I finish, but they’re not sad or weak tears. They’re angry tears. Injustice tears. Because I was finally able to tell him what I think, what I’ve always thought.
The reason I felt so guilty towards those victims was because, even though I hated him for what he did, I couldn’t stop considering him as my dad. The little girl in me still loved him. She still saw him as the father who picked her up, after her mother threw her away, and raised her as if his world revolved around her.
But he tarnished that world. He smashed it to pieces.
Maybe that’s why sixteen-year-old me thought I needed to take the jabs and the hits. She even thought being stabbed was karma for not being able to hate my father as much as I should. For secretly still loving him. For secretly missing him.
I needed to come to terms with the fact that it’s okay to consider your father a father, despite him being a monster. I just have to move on from those memories where I considered him my world.
He isn’t.
He’s just a monster who doesn’t deserve respect.
Dad remains motionless. His expression doesn’t change, but his jaw clenches. “You will not get anything from me unless you apologise, Claire.”
“I’ll never apologise for turning you in, Dad. That was the best decision I made in my life, even if it flipped it upside down.”
I stand up because it’s useless to try to extract information out of him. He’s right. We’re both too stubborn, and he won’t give me anything unless I comply with his condition.
“They’re only after you because you’re my muse now, Claire. They’re after me, not you.”
“Then I hope they get you.” A tear slides down my cheek as I stare him in the eyes that are identical to mine and, in a way, it feels like I’m bidding farewell to the little girl I always saw in those eyes. To the me from the past. “This is our official goodbye, Dad. I’ll never visit you again. If you still want to go on with the parole process, I’ll stand there again and tell them you deserve every second you spend in prison.”
I take one last look at his face, at the drawn brows and the golden beard and hair and I finally grieve my father.
When I get out of the building, I inhale a deep gulp of air.
Real air.
Actual air.
The feeling of being alive hits me straight in the chest and it’s so strong, I have to brace myself against the wall for a second.
I’m finally alive.
F
inally breathing.
I’m finally out of that grave. Literally and figuratively.
“Are you all right, Miss?” One of my security men clutches me by the elbow.
I straighten, clearing my throat. “I’m perfect. Thank you.”
“Mr King has been calling nonstop,” he says as he leads me to the awaiting car.
Of course he has.
Once I’m in the back seat, I check my phone, and sure enough, there are a dozen missed calls and emails.
From: Jonathan King
To: Aurora Harper
Subject: Answer The Fucking Phone
Refer to subject. Don’t make me come find you from fucking Oxford.
