The moment we stepped out of the office, the loud shrieking from Mrs. Dormer became muffled against the heavy oak door which closed shut. With that, my dad released me from his grasp without saying a word. I watched as he proceeded to make his way towards the exit without a backwards glance in my direction. For a moment, I considered charging back into the room to finish what I had started. However, now free, I found myself able to think clearly once again, a large part of my rage having dissipated from being manhandled so easily. Realising that nothing good would come from going back into the office, I instead shuffled forward, catching up to my dad, who continued on his brisk pace.
Not a word was spoken the entire walk out of the school, nor during the walk to the car or even the drive home. All of it happening in complete and awkward silence. Throughout it all, I held on to the lingering embers of anger and annoyance I still felt, more than happy for the two of us to stay in complete silence. It was only after we walked into our house and the front door shut behind us that dad turned around and finally recognised my presence, his face a dark shade of red I had never seen before. The veins that ran along his neck and forehead pulsed wildly, protruding from his skin as if they were about to burst.
"Why? Tell me why." He asked in an attempted calm tone, betrayed by his heavy breathing and gritted teeth. A question I had no chance of answering before he quickly continued.
"What on god's green earth were you fucking thinking! Not only do you decide to get into a fight, you then actually try to fucking attack a parent?" His voice slowly rose in volume as he spoke until it turned into an explosive shout. Unfortunately, if he felt I would be quelled by his volume and anger, he had another thing coming.
"Did you not hear them? The way they mocked and humiliated you? You might have lost all your pride and dignity, but I haven't! I'm not going to let those smug pricks act like they're better than us." I shouted back, staring up into his eyes unflinchingly. "Besides, it wasn't even my fault! Matthew was the one who came to me first. Why am I constantly being blamed? Would you prefer I was the one who got the shit kicked out of me!"
"You didn't just win, you brutalised him! Was there no point when he was bleeding heavily that you thought maybe you should stop?" He replied incredulously, pointing to my still bloodied knuckles.
"Why? It's not like he would have done that for me. He would have done the exact same thing. The only difference is that for once I was the one in the position of power!" As we yelled at one another, I could feel my blood rushing to my face, no doubt painting it a deep red just like my father's was.
"Listen to yourself! Acting like a thug. Is this what you want?" His arms flung out to the side as he spoke. "Don't you want to be able to live a better life than this? You can't afford to get into fights. Your future is at stake!"
"I don't fucking care!" It was then, before I could react, that my father did something he had never done before. He marched towards me without saying a word before sending his palm towards me.
In the face of the clear smack that resounded across the otherwise silent house, as I forced myself to remain standing and not fall to the floor, I froze, unable to process what had happened. Despite the rocky relationship I had with my dad, regardless of the occasional argument or shouting match that took place between the two of us, never had he hit me before.
As I was still trying to process what had happened, my father spoke again with a deep and guttural timbre that sent shivers up my spine. "Don't you dare say that again. Do you know how much I have sacrificed? The amount of blood and sweat I have spent in order to give you a stable life. Before your mother passed, I swore to her that I would do everything in my power to let you succeed, to let you strive for something more."
As I looked at him, still in shock, I saw his eyes become misty with unshed tears. Something I had never seen before and, if calm, would have left me concerned. Unfortunately, as I was, I was anything but calm, feeling my inner rage growing with every second as I realised what he had done and heard what he said.
"I didn't ask for that! I didn't ask for you to work fourteen hours every day and to focus only on work! I didn't need you to act like a fucking sponsor growing up. What I needed was a fucking dad!." I screamed, in my growing anger finally speaking my biggest grievance that I had kept buried in my heart for so many years.
"What I needed." I continued, not giving myself room to breathe. "Was someone to ask me how my day was. If I needed any help with my homework or if I wanted to watch TV together. To just ask whether I was fucking happy!"
A heavy silence soon descended over the room in the wake of my outburst as my throat burned in pain, feeling both strained and raw. I quickly rubbed my hand over my eyes, not wanting my dad to see any of the tears that were threatening to fall as I became overcome with emotion.
"...Son." I heard my dad eventually whisper in the following silence of my outburst, the rage suddenly gone from his voice, sounding more heartbroken and guilty than I had ever heard him. "I'm sorry that I wasn't always there for you. That I wasn't able to be the kind of dad you needed. But everything I did, I did for you. To give you the best future I could."
Deep down, I knew such a statement was the truth. I knew that he only wanted what was best for me, even if it wasn't what I personally wanted. Unfortunately, such a wish did little to take away the many years of hurt I had experienced. The years I had spent coming back home to a barren home as I nursed my injuries alone.
Unaware of my thoughts, my father spoke again in the face of my continued silence. "It's not too late. We can still be the kind of family that you imagined."
His voice was more earnest than I had ever heard him. Yet in the face of such a response, I was unsure whether I wanted to burst into tears or laughter. As the truth of it was, it was too late. Later than he could have possibly realised.
My mind was split. One part wanted to tell him the truth, to tell him I was dying. That I only had a little time left and to voice all the fears and uncertainties I was currently feeling. The ones I had been hiding behind my rage and fury. The other part, the much larger part, still did not want to let go of all the anger and indignation I felt. Knowing the moment it vanished, I would be left with nothing but a wave of sadness and bitterness that would leave me as a sobbing mess. So, to my later regret, I stamped down any traces of sorrow I felt and kept my fury fueled.
"Too little, too late! I'm not a kid anymore. I don't need you to pretend to be a father for me anymore. I am just fine on my own, just like I have been for the past eleven years." I said with as much contempt as possible, trying to ignore the heartbroken look my father wore and the rising sense of guilt within me.
The moment I finished speaking, not wanting my father to see any sign of the sadness I was starting to feel deep down, feelings that were now starting to come to the surface in lieu of my anger, I rushed past him towards my room, wanting to be alone. As I neared my room, I heard my father begin to speak up from behind. I couldn't decipher the words he whispered as I was still far too worked up, only able to hear the rushing of my blood and beating of my heart. I did, however, hear his pleading-like tone. A tone that sounded completely out of place coming from my usually cold father and almost made me falter in my steps. But I didn't. I carried on, crossing the last few steps of the hallway and finally entered my room, slamming the door behind me with enough force that it almost snapped in half. An eerie silence soon loomed over the rest of the house as the creaking of the door came to a still, bringing to an end the heat-filled confrontation.
The moment I closed my door, I came to a stop. My eyes were blank as I stared across my room with an unfocused gaze. Trying to process everything that had happened in the last couple of hours. An onset of emotions quickly rushed through me. The joy I felt hanging out with Helen and Sam. The hidden fear I felt when I had faced Matthew. The cruel delight that washed over me as Matthew lay motionless beneath me. The arrogance I held at the fear the other students possessed as they averted their gaze. The dismay I felt seeing the look of shock and horror on Helen's face. The worry as I contemplated my possible punishments. The hate that coursed through my veins at the contempt and mockery shown towards me. And lastly, the sadness that encompassed me as I looked at my father and saw the amount of grief and heartbreak I had caused from my anger.
Not knowing how to handle the avalanche of emotions, suddenly feeling both exhausted and mentally drained, I crumbled onto the ground with a small thump, my back resting against the old wooden door of my room. Unable to keep the floodgates closed any longer with my emotions in disarray, a few sparse tears began to slide down the sides of my face. Tears that came more and more frequent until, only a few moments later, I was silently weeping against the door with my face cradled in my hands to try and muffle the choked sobs and splutters that frequently escaped. Throughout it all, I prayed that my dad was unable to hear me, far too tired for another conversation, wanting only to lie on the floor and be left alone.
Eventually, after who knows how long, the endless stream of tears that ran unabashedly down my face began to peter in intensity, becoming nothing more than the occasional droplet. I was unsure how long it had been; the sky outside no longer the crisp blue of daytime. I went to check my phone, ignoring the missed calls and messages that were waiting to be opened and saw that it was past four o'clock. Meaning I had been crying for what must have been over an hour.
My eyes felt sore and puffy, my cheeks were stiff with tear stain markings, and my nose was a bright red from the constant sniffling. I looked down to see my shirt had not fared much better, drenched being an apt word for its state. The wet fabric clung to my skin, making me shake and shiver from its cold touch. Not helped by the light breeze that flew through my cracked window on the other side of my room.
Not feeling hungry or in the mood to reply to the few messages on my phone, and definitely not wanting to leave my room, I slowly stood up and stumbled my way over to my bed before collapsing on top of it. I lay there unmoving, too tired to even change out of my tear-soaked shirt or wash my blood-covered hands. Quickly, my eyelids grew in weight. Unable to keep them open anymore and feeling my consciousness slowly drift away, I had one last thought, that being just how crazy of a day it had been. And with that, I fell asleep.