Unnamed

FOURTEEN – a few things that are unavoidable

There was more to it but I couldn't bring myself to read the rest. The cuttings slipped from my fingers along with the tears from my eyes. This couldn't be true. Like a darling daughter, I refused to believe. It was outrageous! He was just there at the night... and then he is not. I would have known if my dad was dead. Maybe Dylan was trying to fool me again. However he might be, Dad was my only family after mom left. I didn't want to be alone again. Not like this where I had no one to turn to. Where I couldn't pretend that I was safe. There must be something wrong with it, a misunderstanding.

Clearly not since you refuse to believe it now.

"Marcus?" I looked at him expectantly, hoping he would be not as cruel as Dylan and tell me that this was not the truth. He must have a family. What would he feel like if someone had done something like this to him? He'd probably beat them to a pulp with those muscles. I didn't have muscles. I could just ask them to not to do this to me. I was not ready to lose my dad even after all the unnamed things he had done. Call me crazy, or a psycho, or a masochist but how many of us leave the things that are bad for us? I might be not addicted to drinking or smoking but I was afraid of loneliness and my dad was an assurance that I didn't have to be afraid again, even though I paid prices for that.

Marcus just lowered his head. Oh! "I do not believe this."

"Denial would only bring pain to you later. Accept it and move on." Only Dylan could come with up best reassurance at worst moments.

If I were not constrained back because of a broken ankle, I would have killed him. "Move on? That's what am I gonna do now? But how? You might tell me that as well. You are always full of bright ideas to lighten up the atmosphere. Since the day I met you, I couldn't recall a day that had brought me any good," Okay, right now I was being downright mean to him. He might not have done any good but because of him, I had some happy memories to take back home. But I had so many reasons to take out my anger on him. He kidnapped me. He hid the fact that my dad was dead. He didn't let me leave, he was obnoxious, jerk, asshole. He had worst advice ever. His face irritated me to no end. He always bossed me about. He... he... because he tolerated all my bratty ways. Because he wouldn't take my mean words to his heart. He returned everything in his ways what he took from me. He was the perfect person to take out all my anger and frustration on. "Why did you even hide it from me so long?"

"I didn't want to hurt you, Fay!" His sudden outburst made me flinch. He clutched his hair between his fingers and tugged painfully. When he looked up his eyes were dark but from pain instead of anger. "It's not my fault that you can't see what I'm trying to do for you. I knew you'd break like this. You may like to think you can take on the world on your own but you are just a girl whose identity is lost in her own house. I tried to keep it away from you, but you had to go out of all ways to end yourself in the same s**t. You are too stubborn for your own good and too proud to admit this. Your dad is dead, Fay, no more. Do you understand that? What're you gonna do about it? Bring him back to life with your superpowers. If then, so go ahead. Don't let any of us stop you," his glared softened a bit and he exhaled sharply through his mouth. He turned his back to me so I couldn't see his expression when he said, "It hurts to see you like breaking down over a man who had obviously treated you wrong. All signs are there but I respect that you still love him enough to put yourself in danger.

"By moving on I didn't mean you forget about your dad," he faced me again but when his words were deep he had no emotions in them, neither on his face, He was same old Dylan I was used to. "I mean that you cry and be sad and gradually learn to live with it. Don't try to pent it up inside. It would end up changing you and by the time you realize that how bad it had turned, you wouldn't have me to put blame on."

I had never heard Dylan say so much at one time. I was sure it was equivalent to all of the conversation he had held with me through the months. Marcus was shocked. I was too but not for the same reason. I was shocked, freaked out too, at how precisely he understood everything while I was trying to live off a dream. I had hoped that if I'd escape from here, it'd gain me some respect and love from my dad. He would be proud that I never betrayed him. While I blamed Dylan for hurting me, he was trying to save me from the inevitable pain.

But why would he do so? What was I to him that he had to go as far as kidnapping me? There had to be a catch. There were so many questions that I couldn't keep a track of them as they bounced about my head.

How did my dad die?

Why Dylan kidnapped me?

Why was he hiding that my dad was dead before and played the bad guy here?

What was I to him?

Why did he care?

Why couldn't I still return?

Was there something still hidden from me?

What should I do now?

Weren't people looking for me?

What would happen now?

Who is exactly Dylan?

Can I fall asleep and never wake up again?

What happened to my life?

I'd never had this many questions before and for a moment it felt like my head would blast like someone had dropped a nuclear bomb on it. Maybe that would have been better. A bomb only for my brain.

"What happened to him?" I asked, resolving that it'd be the last question of tonight.

"A heart attack," Dylan answered sharply without missing a heartbeat. He stooped beside me to collect the papers I had dropped. I didn't even want to look at them anymore, so, I turned my head in other direction. "Marcus, can you please call a doctor for Fay-"

"I don't need one," I mumbled refusing to look at any of them. Instead, I rested my face on the backrest and closed my eyes.

"Then maybe you should take a round around and realize how stupid you are to think you don't need a doctor." He was back in his comfort zone. I wondered why even I bother to think nice things about him when I would be returning to: what an asshole! Couldn't he try and listen to me once when I was too down to hold up an argument? Marcus left with a slight hesitation but not before giving me an assuring pat on my head.

We sat in a silence that was often disturbed by my one of sobs that couldn't be held back when I tried my hardest. Did mom know about this? What did she think when she didn't find me? His death must have been all over the news. Did she come to his funeral? Did he even have a funeral? His fans, admirer, and friends must have arranged something for him. What was everyone thinking when they realized that his only daughter left him after or maybe before his death? Had anyone thought that I might have been kidnapped?

"Earlier tonight," this time Dylan disturbed the silence. He paused a bit, awkwardly clearing his throat as if he was readying for another round of speech. "I was not going to hit you. You may annoy me to the point where I'd want to throw you off a cliff but I would never consider hitting you or someone who’s weaker than me."

Thank god, my face was hidden from his excruciating gaze. I wouldn't have like the fear and embarrassment he simply would have picked off my face. He had already dug up something so there was no stopping him now. I clearly remembered him saying that he respected that I cared about my dad even when he was not the best. For that small gesture and the subtle way he tried to lighten up my mood by joking about throwing you off a cliff, I acknowledged his words with a little hum. What else was I supposed to say? I sure as hell was not going to elaborate a story for him.

Dylan had put a soft cushion under my broken ankle for some comfort.

"Thanks." Though it wasn't much much comfort but the thought mattered here. When he could have made me stand on that broken ankle, he cared enough to get me a doctor. "I didn't want to make you angry. I just wanted to go home, still do. I had planned it all. I had stolen a map, granola bars and a compass from you. It was in my purse," I gave a small pat to my body to check for it but I guess I lost it in our struggle, "I lost it, I think. I was going to escape but I wouldn't have told anyone that you kidnapped me-"

"I am not a kidnapper," Dylan repeated with a patient exasperation.

I ignored him instead of correcting him. I wanted to tell him this all before he found out himself and be mad at me later. It was better that he took out all of this anger right now. I thought that my pain would numb me enough to feel the fear. Rather he ran a hand softly through my hair.

I flinched at first, tensed later and relaxed after a long time when I was sure he wasn't going to pull any strands. "I overheard your conversation with Leo. You were telling him that you might not stay. I picked from there that you might do something stupid. I was mad but I am not anymore."

I inclined my head a little so that I could make sure he was not lying about being mad part by looking at his expression. I was blessed with the rare warmness in his eyes that I barely come across.

"Wouldn't you be mad if I try to do it again? Running away, I mean." I was not trying to rile him up. I was just asking.

"A lot actually," he said with a smile.

"What'll you do then?"

"I-"

He never got to finish and I never got an answer because Marcus was back with a doctor. Dylan sprung away from me as if being in close vicinity with me burned him; as if not a moment ago he couldn't keep his hand away from my hair.

The doctor was old enough to probably be someone's grandma. Marcus obediently carried her medical bag for her as they made their way beside me. She checked my ankle with gentle probing. It hurt nevertheless. After applying weird looking cream over it, she wrapped it in a warm bandage. With a few painkillers and a bottle of a clear pink liquid that I had to drink before I sleep, she left us. We were supposed to go to a clinic to get a cast on my ankle tomorrow. No later Marcus left too after wishing me that I get well soon.

"Thank you, Marcus." I said with a slight wave as he shut the door after him. Dylan went off into the kitchen. Taking from the clanking of utensil and opening and closing of the cupboard, I assumed that he was cooking something. I was not sure I'd want to eat anything before throwing up.

He had kept it simple by making me a veg sandwich but I still refused.

"I do not want to eat it."

"I know but you have to. You have meds to take."

After a little arguing, whining, glaring, I agreed to eat but only half. He let me. I finished the sandwich, ate the medicines and waited for the sleep to take over since I was so tired.

Even after Dylan put me in bed after giving me some privacy to change out of the dress and turned on the small lamps, I laid awake. He had dutifully taken his place on the couch.

The trees swayed gently outside and its shadow danced on the wall. Until tomorrow, it was easy to sleep knowing that out there someone might be trying to find me until he had me in his arms. Today when I knew that no one was there to look after me, I was scared than ever.

I turned on my back and glanced at Dylan. He was awake, already looking at me. In the delicate light, where half of the face was hidden in shadows, I let my eyes roam over the visible part.

What is happening?

I wish I could tell.

It was as if he listened to the silence in my eyes and answered with the heartbeats. Closing my eyes, I turned again.

It is always an exceptional day when dad is nice without being drunk out of his mind. Today is one of those special days. Dad is sitting on an office chair in his den while working on his new line for the autumn/fall collection.

"These are so pretty." I say full of admiration, cupping a handful of rubies that are going to be main gems in jewelry along with the rhinestones of shades of orange and brown. "I think you will do a great job, dad." I have already finished my homework after we ate our dinner and decide to sit with him for a while. He's been busy creating new designs and it's wonderful to watch how dedicated he is for the upcoming fashion week.

He peeks up from the paper and tucks the pencil behind his ears. "You think so?" He asks.

"Yes, of course. Don't you always do?" I say in an appreciative manner.

"Maybe. I am having trouble with this one," he confesses with a resigned sigh. It is hard for me to believe it. He always so effortlessly pulls off the designs and makes the world go 'aw.'

"Can I see them?" I ask extending my hand for the designs and he pushes them in my way. They are beautiful with an edge in them, no doubt. But he has already used some of the techniques. He needs something new.

I have no idea what comes over me when I decide to pick up a pencil from the holder and begin doing what I do behind closed doors. Dad doesn't stop me or asks what I am going. He watches me erase some details while adding some of mine. When I am satisfied, I meekly hand him over the design. He analyzes with a critical approach. His face is so unreadable that I can't even guess what he is thinking. He must be disappointed. I am not any good at this. I probably wasted his time and work.

"I didn't know you have this in you," he says in a wondrous tone.

"I- I just... It's nothing. I only see you and try..." I trail off awkwardly.

It is true that my interest in designing has budded from always watching dad and trying to be like him. But telling him in words how much I admire his work is very... scary. What If he thinks that I am not any good? It's better he thinks nothing of me than to think that I am useless.

"Do you wanna work on this with me?" He asks. His tone is professional like he is not asking his daughter for a favor but a colleague for assistance. That is his way of giving me respect and rank.

"Are you sure?" I hesitantly ask just to make sure he isn't joking.

"Not at all."

"Sure! I'd love to."

I will remember this night and all the nights that come along after that where dad and I tried making up for all the lost moments between us. Designs after designs are scattered on the floor while we work on that one show-stopping masterpiece. I have never seen this side of dad since the night before mom had left. That's where the hope rises that dad could change. He is not bad, just lost.

"You are very special, Fay," he says just before the name of the Paul Madison's Xevariya fall collection is announced.

"Please put your hands together in a round of applause for Paul Madison's fall collection 2016, Fay, dedicated to his lovely daughter."

That night I cried myself to sleep for all the chances that we could have and we lost.