I close my eyes in an attempt to center myself. My pulse quickens to a dangerous pace, my internal struggle all too real. This is what he does to me. What he will continue to do as long as I choose to come here to put up with this shit.
I deserve better, needing a father capable of loving his only child. He doesn’t even love himself. So, why would he love me? I can’t even recall how he used to be, what he was like when my mother was still alive.
I often remind myself of the little things like the scent of her perfume or the color of her lipstick. But not a single good thing about Jim registers in my brain. It’s as if all the good memories have been forever replaced with the bad. I wish she were still here. We need her. My mom was the invisible glue I didn’t know back then was holding us together.
After I compose myself, I put the groceries away and then head back into the living room. He’s still in the same place he was when I left. No surprise there. Still staring up at the ceiling, now with ash on his cheek, the cigarette burnt down to the filter.
Wow, this is my father. What a role model.
Hovering over him, I rip the cigarette from his mouth and drop it into the ashtray on the coffee table.
Where do I begin?
I have so many things to say and yet no idea where to start.
“You’re killing yourself, and by making me watch, you’re killing me, too. I can’t take much more of this, Jim. I’ll stop coming here on Saturdays, believe me I will.”
“Then don’t,” he grunts, with one eye open. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
I tilt my head back and laugh. And it’s a crazy laugh, an evil cackle that comes up from my stomach. “You need more than a babysitter. Someone needs to strap you to a hospital bed for a few weeks to dry you out.”
He frowns, his eyes shifting to the table where an empty beer rests on its side with a few drops of liquid spilling onto the scratched wood. “I can stop at any time.”
“Then do it! You’ve been saying this for years. Words mean nothing without actions. If that were true, you would have done it by now. You would have gotten yourself some help.”
He digs his elbows into his thighs, using them to support his weight. “I’m sorry, Sam.”
“Sorry is just a word,” I growl. “It means nothing to me. I’ve heard it more times than I can count. Make a change. Show me you care. Do something, anything. Just get off the damn couch and stay out of the bar and casino. Pay your bills on time. Go to work. Act like a normal human being. And when you can do all of those things, then we’ll have something to talk about, then your sorry will mean something to me.”
Only Eden knows about my father. She’s come here on occasion to keep me from having a nervous breakdown. I couldn’t wait to room with Eden when we met at freshman orientation. Even though I can commute to Strick U, I couldn’t live here and stay sane. Plus, living on campus has its perks. Like rolling out of bed in the morning for early classes. It’s also more convenient to get to work.
Pinching the bridge of my nose between my fingers, I sigh. “I have to go. There’s food in the fridge. It should last you another week.”
He tugs at the ends of his dark hair, fisting it between his fingers. His greasy hair stands at attention, even more of a hot mess than before.
“Get a shower,” I bark, pointing at the stairs. “At least pretend like you care about your appearance.”
Every week I find him in the same condition. My life is like the movie Groundhog Day without all the humor. No, this is just sad. He’s the reason I never let anyone new into my life. It’s hard enough being a scholarship kid at a school like Strickland University, let alone the one with a loser father.
Kids were brutal enough when I was younger. I was teased left and right because of him, sent to school in unwashed clothes with knotted hair and dirty skin. He could have cared less about me. Even when the teachers told him about the harassment, he didn’t bother to change. Because he didn’t love anyone or anything more than the bottle that kept him warm at night.
My cell phone buzzes in my pocket, sending a vibration down my right thigh. Another notification dings, followed by another. I remove the phone from my pocket and roll my thumb over the screen to read the messages. The Stick Net app opens, and I’m confronted with another man I don’t want to deal with. Tucker Kane.