He gave me three beautiful children.
No matter how much of a monster he seems to be, I love him with all of my heart.
Resigning myself to the fate of another day, I carefully walk the glass back up to Daddy’s room and blink in surprise when I see him sitting up and glancing toward the window thoughtfully.
“Here you are, Daddy,” I tell him softly as I walk the glass over to him.
“Thanks, Darbs,” he says as he takes it without so much as a glance in my direction. He sips the water slowly, his eyes still on the world outside as he gets to his feet and walks over to the window that overlooks the oubliette.
“You know, sometimes I wonder what shit could have been like if your Momma was still alive,” he says, setting the glass on dresser and opening the window. “She was a damn fine piece of ass, that one.”
I cringe at his words.
He’s never seen any of us as anything other than a means of pleasure and it’s always made me wonder if something happened to him when he was younger that made him like this.
I never dared to ask.
Daddy has his secrets, and what he chooses to share with me is his prerogative.
I have none.
I’ve tried before to keep secrets from him, but he always finds out what I’m hiding, and I’ve given up hope that I would ever have a thought of my own that he isn’t able to pluck from my thoughts.
“You’ll be better than her in no time, kid. Keep practicing and we’ll keep getting on just fine,” he says, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I nod, clasping my hands in front of me as he finishes his water, then nods toward the bed.
“Let’s get some shut-eye. I’m fucking beat.”
“I’m sorry that we didn’t get to have our sleepover last night,” I tell Cleo when the kids arrive in the kitchen for breakfast. “Maybe your daddy will let us do it tonight instead?”
I cast him a meaningful glance as he quirks an eyebrow at me and scoffs. He shakes his head which almost sinks my heart down into my stomach, but when he waves a hand dismissively, I know that he’s letting me have one final chance with her.
“Okay, Momma,” she replies indifferently. Dad snorts and rolls his eyes at his newspaper, and I toss my dishrag at him. I know I’ll pay for that later, but he just doesn’t want to give her a chance and it pisses me off to no end.
I know she’s not above his reach and that he’ll do what he feels is necessary to her to keep me in line.
Over my dead body, I think as I return his level stare.
“That wasn’t very nice, Darbs,” he says conversationally.
“Shit happens,” I reply lightly, using one of his favorite little terms. It’s what he tells me when I ask about Mom and her brothers. This man will never admit his fault in anything, and that’s something I’ve come to terms with.
Dad is a stubborn old bastard, but I’m just as stubborn as he is, and I honestly think that’s why I’ve lasted as long as I have. I keep things interesting. When he thinks I’m ready to just roll over and take his shit, I throw a dishrag at his face. It goes both ways, though, because when I think he’s finally on his way out, he seems to have it in him for “one more fuck”.
This can’t all be his fault.
There’s no way that one day he decided to wake up and procreate with his own children, while abusing the others horribly. I’m not entirely sure I want to find out what made him into the man that he is, but I have to know if it’s something that might be stirring inside of me too, because if it is hereditary, I plan on killing it before it does harm to my babies.
I refuse to be sick like him too.
* * *
Richter and Skylar are outside where Dad told them to go and he’s sitting at the kitchen table with Cleo. I know it’s taking more patience than he’s capable of to color with her, but he’s trying best—and so is she.
Every line she comes close to crossing on the paper and with his temper, she retreats immediately and asks for his help.
He’s humoring her for now, and I guess that’s all I can really ask for.