Loving You Differently

Twenty Two

Aria Adkins

With each step he takes, my throat grows tighter. My hands suddenly feel clammy and my heart feels like it might beat straight out of my chest. Seeing him with tamed hair and a clean-shaven face, nice unwrinkled clothes, and skin that was no longer pale and sunken in from years of constant drug abuse, was weird.

When I was a naive little girl I prayed daily to a God I no longer had the heart to believe in; I hoped and wished and dreamed that one day my dad would finally put the drugs to rest and focus on us instead.

He never did.

And now that he had.. but knowing that it wasn't because of the best interests of his children, was a hard pill to swallow. I take a deep breath and straighten my shoulders, mentally preparing myself and trying my best not to waver under his sharp, focused gaze. He looks like a man on a mission.

Dad stops a foot away from the counter, suddenly hesitating. I'm thankful for the distance and the way that the counter serves as a makeshift barrier between us.

He clears his throat, awkwardly shoving his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. "Hey, kid."

Unable to control it, I visibly flinch. I want to throw the napkin dispenser next to me at his face, but I refrain.

"Mark," I say through clenched teeth.

He sighs. "Don't do that," he starts.

"Don't do what?" I snap. "Call you by your name? It's the only one you've earned."

My throat tightens and my right hand, clenched in a fist next to my side, twitches with the urge to reach into my back pocket and call Austin. But now isn't the time, it's late and Vice is undoubtedly packed right now. And even if it was, I remind myself that this is my battle to fight.

"I'm sorry I haven't called," He continues. "I didn't know what to say."

I can't help it. I let out a mocking laugh. "You didn't know what to say? How about "Hey, guys, I haven't given a single fuck about either of you from the moment you were born, so I think my time here is done?"" I fume. "What kind of fucking coward runs from his family when he doesn't want to get his shit together? You're pathetic."

This time, Dad flinches. And I guess I'm not entirely like Maeve and Mark Adkins, because for a split moment, I feel guilty. Even though I shouldn't. He deserves far worse than what I'm dishing out.

Just like that, the guilt vanishes when his true colors begin to show. "I was sick," He grits out stiffly, "I needed help, and I couldn't get it when your mom was bitching at me all day and you and your sister were constantly hanging all over me. I needed space."

Dad's yelling now, and the few customers that are seated in the dining area glance between us warily, murmuring to themselves. I feel disgusted with myself for allowing another one of my family members into work space, ruining the feel-good vibe that it brings. It's a miracle RJ hasn't fired me yet with all the drama that I've unintentionally brought to his establishment.

I want to yell back, scream "I know you needed help, but you never wanted to get it," but I know that it's no use. He won't listen to me or allow me to be right. He'll do anything to justify his actions, because he wants to be the victim. He always has.