She was his POISON, He drank anyway

Rebecca’s father.

Rebecca’s POV

I am a teenager again, putting on a tank top and shorts. standing at the edge of a cliff enjoying the view feeling blissful, I close my eyes and inhale. Taking in a whiff of the summer air. Enjoying the feel of cool breeze on my skin. Suddenly I feel a presence behind me the air in my body rises. I turn slightly. Just then I feel a jolt. I am falling, slowly.

Someone is at the edge now looking at me. He’s smiling. I recognize him.

Father.

I jerk awake and sit up on my bed. I wipe away beads of perspiration from my face.

That dream again.

I study my surroundings and inhale.

I reach for the alarm clock beside my bed.

It’s three in the morning.

I walk to the bathroom and splash water on my face looking at my reflection in the mirror.

Sharp jawline, blue eyes, blond hair. I smile and put on my robe. God really took his time.

I head to the kitchen and make myself a cup of coffee. And relax on my couch.

My thought drifts to dad. I remember how happy I felt when mum called me that night and told me she was ready to file for a divorce, at the same time I also felt guilt. Why because mum had finally come to terms with the fact that my father would always be cold and conceited, towards us. I had left the house a long time ago, to pursue a career in law. I was going to fight for what was right and make my own money. I made sure to graduate with a first class.There had never been a proud mother daughter moment like the one I had on my graduation day. Tears in my mother’s eyes as she ran to hug me, Of course my father didn’t show up.

The money. That’s is why my mother still stayed, despite the disrespect, the nightly punches. She would hide her dark eyes under glasses when they went for functions. But never for one day did he raise his hands on me. I didn’t understand it . Did he love us or hate us.

I had always wanted to be counted worthy by him. All I got were dear replies. Don’t hate your father please, he is the reason we are where we are today. I would remember my mum say.

The last time I saw him was to hand him the divorce papers.

He looked at me with that stare that always sent shivers down my spine. “You people want to make me bankrupt huh, I am not signing a damn thing. If she wants out she should fight for it” and laughed

I remember walking away feeling embarrassed and angry. I also remember my mother’s shaky voice after I had apologized and told her he didn’t sign. “It’s fine”.

I was going to try again today.

An image of Donald sweeps through my mind. I can’t help but smile. I wonder what he’s up to.

I think of the kiss in the car. The build up of tension between my thighs. The way he caressed me. The way looks at me. I close my eyes and relive the moment. I wonder what he is up too. I reach for my phone and I see a text from him.

Hey beautiful.

Hello handsome. I reply.

~~

It’s eight PM. I am a bit tired from work. The case was adjourned again. The judge claimed to need more time to review some evidence, but to me it felt like a waste of suits and time.

I pull up at our family house and horn. Looking from the outisde one would think it was a royal family living up there. I had always been the richest kid in the block, the richest kid at school or the most lucky, if only they knew how I would have traded places with them to have a father that dropped me off at school like the other kids.

Few minutes later, the gates slides open. I park and step out.

I walk in through the front door. The house is quiet. Too quiet. The floors are polished clean, the silver ware still new as ever. I notice the paintings have been moved. One thing dad never joked about was the cleaning of the house. “I don’t want to see a speck of dirt” he would tell the house keeper.

“Hello” I call out “anyone home?”

Nothing.

I find my way up the stairs, dad has to be around by this time, he normally is, in his little office either with a business associate or just staring into space.

I walk over to his office and it’s open.

“Dad?”

No response. I walk in.

The room smells like his cologne, rich, masculine and too sharp for my liking.

His chair is turned to the window and for a moment I think he is in it. I step closer

Empty.

There is a half empty glass of whiskey on his table. Then I notice pictures scattered on the floor beside his table.

Curious I bend to pick one up. These are pictures alright, but the heads of the people on the pictures have been removed. Cut out with a scissors. I reach for another, then another. Then I stumble on a picture. My mother is on it. She’s smiling, standing in front of a horse. She’s holding someone. I can’t make him out because his own head is cut off as well.

It’s most definitely not dad that’s for sure. But why would anyone have pictures where people’s faces are not showing. I reach for another.

“How may I help you, young lady?”