the part about having a non existing father figure that sucks, is that i don't even have my mother to make up for it. i'm alone, well besides aunt peggy. i appreciate, and love everything she does for me, but she's not my mother, and that stings. how can a woman who isn't my mother show more care than my actual mother has ever given to me?
i write letters to my father, but they never get responses, not until today. i wonder if he still blames me. i'm scared to open it, what if he hates me, that would leave me virtually parentless.
i gently tear the envelope, letting the scraps fall to the floor, here goes nothing.
dear madeline,
i'm sorry it's taken me this long to speak to you. i abandoned you, and ill never forgive myself for it. you were never at fault, i shouldn't have plagued your adolescent brain with bribes for your silence. i hope you consider a visit, i live in florida now, i've enclosed money for a plane ticket if you chose to see me, if not the money is yours for whatever you wish to spend it on.
xoxo,
dad
he wants me to see him. he wants to see me. he doesn't blame me. my heart races with excitement as i rush to tell aunt peggy.
"i'm going to visit my father!" i practically scream.
"he just called me dear, you can leave tomorrow morning."
i rushed to pack, and that night the seemingly regular visit didn't occur, i wondered what he was doing, who he was hurting, but he wouldn't be my problem, at least for another week.
YOU ARE READING
Picasso // h.s.
Fanfiction"you know what i do, it's an art form, i'm like the Picasso of killing," the man with green eyes said spinning the knife in his hand. "funny, because i'd say you're closer to Van gogh, considering he was insane as well."
