Avoiding The Bad Boy

Part 19

Part 19

I didn't want to accept this fact, but I had no choice. I was scared.

Talking to my father was never a comfortable experience for me. There was too much friction between us, too much tension. He only talked to me when he wanted to know something of importance and he had no choice but to talk to me; other than that, he never really acknowledged my existence. This was one reason why I didn't celebrate my brithday or Christmas—I had no one to celebrate it with really.

So my father calling all of a sudden had my hands shaking and my heart trying to push against my ribcage, demanding freedom. Why was he calling me? Why didn't he call when Janice was murdered and all the parents were worried about their children? What did he want now?

There was no one present in the Administrator's office. It was strange how irresponsible teachers could be that they didn't even bother locking their office. Well whatever, I was here to talk to my father, it would have created problems if the office was locked.

As soon as I entered the office, I made my way straight to the door that was present on the right and pushed it open. This was where all the phones were present and students could talk to their parents. There were twenty phones in this room, and one of them had the receiver sitting separately from the rest of the phone's body. My father was on hold, he hated being put on hold.

Taking a deep breath while trying to control my hand from shaking, I picked up the receiver and placed it over my ear. Here goes nothing...

"Hello?" I said.

"Brielle, what took you so long to come to the phone? Does this school not teach you the value of time, since you are always wasting mine?" He replied. Well, good to hear from you, too, father.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to waste your time. I'll try to come to the phone quickly next time," I responded, my voice soft. I would not cry. I would not cry. He always spoke like this. But the burning in my eyes told me I would not be able to control my emotions as much as I wanted to.

"Make sure you don't. I have people who need to see and meet me, I do not have time to wait around," he chided.

"I understand, father. I'll be more considerate next time," I muttered, holding the phone tightly with my hand.

"Good. Now, as for the reason why I'm calling. I heard there was a murder in your school. Is that correct?" He asked me.

"Yes, it is. A girl was murdered—"

"I didn't ask about who was murdered. I just asked if the news I heard is correct or not?" My father cut in.

I swallowed hard, trying to fight the tears. "Yes, it is correct, father."

"I see. This must've disrupted the flow of your term, correct?" He questioned.

"Yes." I wouldn't make the same mistake again.

"Well, Brielle, that doesn't mean you start slacking off on your studies. I pay a lot of money every term for your education, so do not make my money go to waste. If you do not get straight As this term then I will have to change your school, is that understood? You will not let anything get in the way of your grades; I told you before that perfect grades are your top priority, which means you will not indulge in any such activity that will result in your grades slipping. You will focus only on your studies, am I clear?" My father responded.

A tear fell, then another and another. I shouldn't be crying, he wasn't telling me anything new. This was all he called to say and it always resulted in me crying. It's not that I didn't want to study and he was forcing me to get an education; no. I loved learning, but was it so hard for him to tell me he loved me? Was it so wrong of me to wish for affection from my father? Every single time he told me about how much money he was spending on my education. Why couldn't he just call to ask how I was doing? Was that so hard for him?