Page 57 of Vendetta

“Glad you’re home,” I lied, forcing a smile on my face while trying to keep my composure. His words were slurred, his movements sloppy. He was drunk.

Most people had fight or flight instincts, but not me. I just froze.

He didn’t respond, instead making his way further down the hall into his office. Maybe he would stay in there all night and I could go hang out in my room for the rest of the evening.

I hurriedly finished my meal, getting up from the couch and crossing the hallway to the kitchen to rinse off my plate before throwing it in the sink. I took a look around at all of the dirty dishes lining the counter that I had planned to put off untiltomorrow, quickly loading them into the dishwasher before my dad caught sight of them.

My father was not an abusive man. He had been a stand-up father up until my mom passed away a few months ago. But the alcohol had a tendency to get a hold of his temper, something that I attempted to avoid at all costs. He had become a loose cannon, and I didn’t want to give him any reason to start a fight tonight.

I finished loading the dishwasher, making sure to wipe down all of the counters before grabbing my phone and headphones and making my way out of the kitchen.

My heart caught in my throat as he entered the doorway, blocking my escape. I stood in place, willing myself not to back away out of instinct. My dad wasn’t a scary man in stature, but he had some height on me and loose morals with his current state. I just needed to find a way out of here before things escalated.

“Hey, dad,” I stammered, eyes darting around the room as I tried to find an exit without having to walk past him.

“Do you know what day it is today, Landry?”

My blood went cold, the pulsing in my ears drowning everything out around me. Of course, I knew what day it was. A year ago today, my mom and I got into a car accident. But the fact that my dad was bringing this up was unnerving to say the least. We hadn’t spoken about this in so many words, and the fist clenched around the whiskey bottle didn’t give me the impression that this would be a sentimental conversation.

“Dad…” I started, trying to find the words to let him know that I was sorry. There were so many things that I held guilt for in my life, the death of my mother ranking at the top of that list.

“Stop.”

My mouth shut, lips pressing together as I began shaking. I didn’t know where this was going, but I was scared to find out. He took a step towards me, looking blankly over my shoulder as if in deep thought, while a silent rage swirled in his eyes.

“She should have been here. We had just opened a bottle of champagne, the television on and ready for the countdown to begin, when she got your call. I told her not to go, to let you find your own ride home since you had been the one to get yourself into that mess. You were always such a problem.”

His eyes shone with tears, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he continued to stare vacantly at that spot on the wall behind me, lost in thought.

“I begged her to stay, to let you figure your own way out of your damn mess. But she just had to go and rescue you, and look how that ended up.” His eyes lowered to mine, the pain and hatred in them on full display. My lip quivered as I held my ground, willing the strength to come to me.

“You took her away from me,” he whispered, so low that I barely caught it.

All of this avoidance over this last year had been because I had known something like this would finally come. It was a time-bomb waiting to explode. It was no secret that he blamed me. My relationship with my father had ended the day my mom died. She was the glue that held us together, the only light in either of our lives, and I had taken that away from the both of us when I called her to come get me that night.

“Dad… I’m so sorry,” I whispered, my voice trembling as tears began to stream down my face. I tried to hold myself together, tried to stand strong, but I was so tired. So exhausted, mentally and emotionally.

“You took her away from me!” he screamed.

I flinched, dropping my gaze to the ground. I couldn’t do this, not right now. Not anymore. The weight of all of the burdens that I carried was becoming too much to bear, and I was drowning.

Keeping my head down, I raced around him and through the hallway, his drunken steps stomping behind me. I couldn’t breathe. Everything that had been building up was starting to overflow, my emotions running rampant as I hit my breaking point. I couldn’t do this.

“Landry!” my father yelled behind me, chasing me through the house. I picked up my pace, sprinting to the double doors before yanking one open and racing into the pouring rain. I needed to get out of here.

I stumbled on the first set of steps, my bare knees scraping the concrete as I forced myself to stand back up and make it down to the landing. The freezing December rain drenched me, soaking through my pajama set.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he screamed from the front door, taking a few steps out and stopping at the top of the steps. This wasn’t the calm anger that he had tried to contain earlier—This was pure rage, and I was terrified. My body shook, tears freely flowing down my face as I turned to face the man who had raised me, not recognizing him one bit.

“Get your ass back inside!” his voice pierced through the storm, and my body stayed frozen in place as I considered my options. I had nothing left in me, but I gave it everything I had as I begged him.

“Dad,” I yelled. “Please don’t do this,” I sniveled, my entire body shaking. “I’m so sorry about mom,” my voice cracked as the tears came down faster, blurring my vision. “I’m so, so sorry. I never meant for that to happen.” I was full-blown sobbing, my breathing erratic.

“You never meant for this to happen?!” He screamed, the veins in his neck bulging. “You’re the reason she’s dead!”

Those words hit me like a bullet to the chest, knocking the wind out of me. He lifted the bottle of booze in his right hand, taking a few swigs before rearing back and throwing it full force towards me. I ducked just in time, the bottle shattering against my car behind me as glass from the window exploded. I was close enough that a few slivers hit me in the face, sharp stings blooming across the side of my face.

“Why are you still alive instead of her! It should have been you, not her!”

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