Page 24 of Lessons in Desire

“Hey dad.”

“Look at you.” His eyes roll over my face. “How’s my college girl.?”

“I’m good.” I walk him over to the couch, helping him sit before I follow. He looks so frail, like he’s aged a decade since I last saw him. His skin is sagging, the fat melting off his bones, leaving him to look almost skeletal. His hair is greasy too, and the smell radiating off him tells me he hasn’t been showering often, if at all. “Have you eaten?” I ask, unsure of what else to say.

I’m fighting the urge to get his unemployment check, pay his bills, and ditch.

“No.”

“I’ll make you something.” I stand and walk to the fridge. It’s empty, so I head to the cupboards instead to find a pack of noodles nestled amongst half empty bottles of vodka.

“Such a sweetheart.” He mumbles, shifting on the couch to lie down.

“How have things been?” I say over my shoulder, stirring the bubbling pot of ramen. My stomach grumbles but I’ll just eat when I get back to my dorm tomorrow. When he doesn’t answer, I look over my shoulder and see his eyes are closed, his breaths deep and even. I sigh, leaving the ramen on the side with a note to EAT in big capital letters with a line carved under them. He can eat it cold, it’s not like he has high expectations.

Later, once I’ve paid his bills and stocked his shelves, I slide under the sheets of my childhood bed, still clothed, and sleep. But this time, instead of fluffy dreams of a life I can’t have, I fall into a dark, screaming, oblivion.

When I wake again, it’s to the sound of glass smashing against the thin walls of the trailer. A shout follows, a drunken stumble of words that hold no reason. I slip out of the comforter, grabbing my bag, ready to bolt if I need to, and exit to see what’s angered my dad this time.

“Dad?” I say cautiously, my hand held out like I’m approaching a rabid animal. As I walk, my shoes crunch over the broken shards of a beer bottle.

“You!” he points a yellowed finger at me, his eyes glazed over. “You took it.” He stumbles forward, his rancid breath fogging in front of me, and then he’s shoving me against a wall, his hand clutching my neck.

“Dad?!” I shout before the breath is stolen from me when he begins to squeeze.

“Where is it, you fucking whore.” He sneers the words against my cheek. “What have you done with it?”

I can’t answer, I can’t tell him that I don’t know what he’s talking about. My head swells, filling with fog as I fight for breath. He’s squeezing so hard. His fingers bruising. I grab at his hands, clawing, desperate for him to stop. My eyes blur. My heart races.

In the next second, I’m thrown to the floor, but I don’t register the pain in my side. I can only swallow down oxygen, feeling my hazy vision refocus. I look up at him, panting.

He’s holding his head, pacing like an animal. “You better tell me.” He stutters, “if you don’t, I’ll do something bad.”

“Dad, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Tears stream down my cheeks. He leans down, his eyes shifting like they can’t stay still, everything about him jittery. His hand lifts, and before I can say anything, do anything, he’s moved, hitting me so hard in the face that I see stars. The impact sears through me, scolding hot. I taste blood.

I don’t think, I just leave.

It’s still dark, the stars blanketing the sky.

He’s never hit me. Never.

I lick my lip, wincing at the tender hurt, the sting of metal, and walk, fall apart. The pain slices deep, razoring deep inside my stomach, raw like an open wound. I peel my phone from my pocket, dialling him before I can think twice. I’m frantic, but my panic is soothed by him. The strength of who he is holding me up.

I plead; he worries. The call ends.

Eventually, I find a bus, a driver who frowns, a ride that passes in a blur of tears and then I’m there and he’s there. And then I’m falling into him, his arms folding around me like a blanket, his love like a balms.

The stars wink.

Chapter Fourteen

Asher

I stole her art when she was in my office.

It might not be the best way to help me get her to trust in us, but I couldn’t resist. I haven’t seen new talent like this in all my years of expertise owning galleries. It’s my job to spot the next big thing, and she is it. I smile, my thumb following the curve of a flower that bends in on itself, the petals disappearing in a void of its orange centre, a world of its own.

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