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Her head spins around to look at me in complete and utter disbelief. I need to speak quickly before she takes it the wrong way. I hold my hands up. “Just hear me out, please.”
“I can’t believe you just asked me that.” She starts to get up.
I reach for her. “Julissa, please.” She slaps my hand away.
“No! Let me go!” she yells, startling both Calder and Axel, rousing them.
“Hey, hey! What’s going on?” Axel asks.
Julissa is circling the room and I can hear her breaths of exasperation. “You won’t believe what this man,” she gestures toward me, “just asked me!”
“Julissa, babe. Calm down. I didn’t mean it that way.” I try to de-escalate the situation.
She ignores me. “He just asked me if I’m sure that the man I saw is my father!” she gasps.
Calder and Axel turn away from the both of us, remaining silent, wanting to stay out of this one. Man, I get it. I begin to get myself off the floor feeling like my body is just dead weight.
“Julissa, just hear me out.” I make a move toward her.
“Mikhail, I swear if you come toward me right now and touch me, I’m going to fuck you up. Don’t touch me. You must be out of your goddamned mind!” she yells at me and I don’t test her patience because I know she means what she says and I’m not in the mood to be fucked up right now.
“You’re right, you’re right. I was wrong. That was not what I meant,” I begin.
She scoffs. “Don’t try that reverse psychology bullshit on me.”
“I’m not. I promise, I’m not. I’m just trying to understand. Can you help me understand? You haven’t seen your father in what, how long has it been?” I ask her.
“Oh, I don’t know, Mikhail. As long as I’d been sex trafficked. As long as that. Is that a good enough timeline for you?” her tone is biting and sarcastic.
“You have a right to be mad at me. It’s just, that’s like around twenty years ago now, right?” I ask.
“I didn’t know we were in fucking Math class. What the fuck is this? An interrogation?” She is at her wit's end with me.
“You know it’s not. I just want to help you,” I say.
“Fuck you,” she says in return.
I internally breathe a heavy exhale, externally remaining calm although I can’t help but scratch the back of my neck in agitation. “After twenty years, how can you be so sure that the man you saw is your father?”
She leans her back against the counter and lowers her head, shaking it in disbelief before she looks back at me. “Because try as I might, I can’t get that ugly, nasty, nauseating laugh outside of my fucking head. It still haunts me to this day and I’d know it anywhere. It’s a lot more hoarse and gravelly now but it’s the same fucking laugh. That’s how I fucking know. And his eyes…” She shudders. “Those eyes have given me nightmares. There’s something within them that isn’t quite right. Something that’s pure evil, cold and lifeless.”
I find it hard to believe that we’re talking about the same man. “You admit that the laugh’s a little different though, right?”
“When did I fucking say that?” She shoots bullets at me with her eyes.
“You said it’s hoarser now, more gravelly. So you admit that it’s changed, right?” I ask her.
She looks up at the ceiling as if she’s begging for mercy whispering to herself,I can’t believe this.“What’s your point?” she asks me in a breath.
“I’m just saying, isn’t it possible that this man has such a similar laugh that it triggered you? And then seeing him with the kids, sent you back to childhood? What are the chances that he’s even still alive with the way you remember him as a kid abusing drugs? Isn’t it more feasible that he’s dead?” I ask her.
Her eyes space out a bit and she pushes herself away from the counter, not looking at me, looking at the floor as she points at me. “No, you’re wrong.” But I can tell that I’m reaching her.
“Am I? Think about it. What are the odds of him leaving Las Vegas and the both of you end up in the same town at the same time?” I scratch my eyebrow. “Look Julissa, I’m not saying you didn’t experience everything you say you did. All I’m saying is that the past few months have been hard and I know you’ve been having trouble adapting. Hasn’t your therapist spoken to you about something like this, related to trauma?”
She stops walking, pausing to hold herself as though she is suddenly freezing. I walk up behind her, wanting to throw my arms around her body and give her my warmth but I don’t touch her because I’m not sure how she will react. Eventually, she speaks. “She has spoken about projection.”
“Okay. And what’s that?” I ask her.
