Page 119 of Severed Heart
“Of course fucking not. Jesus Christ, Son, no.” He scrubs his face with his palm. “Is that what you think of me?”
“I don’t know,Carter.” I bend, palms on my knees, as I look him right in the eyes. “But wouldn’t you agree that the nature of this fucking conversation alone and the fact that these are the questionsyour only sonis asking you disqualifies you from parenting him or havingany current sayin his life or future?”
“The hell?” he grits out. “You don’t mean that.”
“Yeah, I absolutely fucking do. Imeantit a long time ago. I’m done, been done.” I glance around my childhood bedroom as resignation sets in. “And I think it’s past time I start living that decision.”
Stalking over to my closet, I grab a duffle and begin packing it.
“What?” Dad stands as I start to stuff what I can into the bag. “What the fuck does that mean? What the hell are you doing? Tyler, stop.”
“I’m leaving, exiting stage left because I’m done playing part of the doting, loyal, loving son in the fucking farce you and Mom are still calling a family. This ceased to be my home a long time ago.”
“Stop,” he snaps in a harsh whisper. “Tyler, I’m doing all I can to make things right.” He grips the bag in protest. “Talk to me, Son. Don’t do this.” He glances out of my open door to the closed door across the hall, where Mom still sleeps. Eyes filling with trepidation, he looks back at me. “She’ll never forgive me.”
“Guess it doesn’t matter that I won’t either.”
“Of course it fucking matters. I’m trying,” he releases in exasperation, keeping his hand on my packed bag. We enter a brief fucking idiotic tug of war before I release it, and he stumbles back with the bag at his chest.
“Jesus, fucking keep it,” I drawl with an ironic shake of my head. “I no longer want or need shit from you, and I can’t handle another second of the liability that comes with being your son.” I glare over at him. “Do you have any idea what it felt like looking at that kid and thinking that he might be . . .” The admission burns me, and I allow that burn to lace my resignation. “So yeah, I mean it. I’m fucking done with you.”
“Tyler,” he utters, tears shining in his eyes. “I swear to God, that’s not the truth.”
“Maybe, but here’s my truth. I can’t forgive you, Dad. I’ve tried so hard. But every time I start to, something like this happens, reminding me of how far you went and selfishly dragged us down with you.” Biting my lip, I dart my eyes outside my open door at the family photo hanging between our bedrooms and turn back to him, giving him brutal honesty. “You brought herhere,” I whisper for my mother’s sake, “into ourhome—”
“Son—” he starts, voice strangled as he drops the bag.
“Iheard you fucking her,” I admit hoarsely. “Iheard youdestroying our family. You didn’t protect me fromthat, and it’s probably the one and only time I’ve ever needed your protection in theyearsyouweren’there. Until you became the one I needed protection from.”
His eyes spill over as he lowers them. “I’m so—”
“Even if I can forgive that, you didn’t protecther.Purposely insisting you drive the fucking truck that day and endangering her life.”
He slowly lifts his shame-filled eyes back to mine.
“It’s true then . . .” I bite my lip and nod, “I suspected it, but you just confirmed it because I know you. I spent most of my life trying to become your replica, but I’ve spent the last year undoing that. I think I can forgive the way you tortured us day in and day out with your bullshit because of your pain. I can forgive you for a lot, but what I can’t make peace with or forgive you for is that you almost took my mother away when you already took my father ... so for that, I’m leaving. And for that, you’re going tolet mego.”
We stand for long seconds on opposite sides of his mistakes, the ache between us unbearable, before he finally bends and zips the duffle. Lifting it, he offers the handle to me as silent tears start to pour from his eyes.
“Okay, S-Son,” he croaks, “you take it and whatever else you n-need.” His whisper is guttural as I slowly lift my hand and take the duffle. “Do you n-need money?” His voice shakes as he scrambles to pull out his wallet before pinching the entirety of the stack of bills inside—the sight of his desperation gutting me.
“No, Dad,stop.” I grimace as the pain lancing through me becomes harder to manage. “You don’t get to make me feel guilty for this,” I declare to us both.
“I k-know.” His features pinch. “But I-I’ll b-be here.” He falters, his face crumbling as his voice continually cracks on every word. “I-if you decide that you can try to forgive me.” He swallows, his tears flowing with his apologies. “I’m sorry,” he expels. “I’m so sorry. I love you, and no matter what, y-you’re my son, and I’m s-sorry.” He falters again, and I watch the visible shatter in him as his worry for me surfaces.
“P-please be safe,” he begs, “p-please c-call us, ca-call your mother,” he bargains, his fear painfully evident. The sting in my throat increases, leaving me unable to do anything but nod as my eyes start to burn. Though I can feel the break I’m causing in the man standing feet away, I can’t heal my own, let alone his. It’s too deep. The finality of what’s happening shatters something inside. Something buried. As I stare at my father, I realize it’s most likely what hope I had remaining.
“Just tell Mom I’ll call her later,” I manage as I take a step for the door.
“Please don’t leave like this,” he sobs, dropping his wallet at his feet before covering his eyes with his fists. His face twists in devastation and I crack wide open at the sight of it, my eyes spilling over as I give him all I can—my truth.
“I can’t live under this roof with you any longer with the way I feel about you, but if you truly want my forgiveness,” I relay before he slowly lowers his fists and searches my face, eyes earnest. “Love and treat her the way she deserves.” I swallow as I harden my stare. “But if you can’t love her like that anymore, if you’re no longer capable, let her fucking go.”
He nods, drops his gaze, and steps back in defeat, openly crying as I grip the strap at my shoulder, letting out a pain-fueled exhale.
Turning, I take a few steps toward the door and force myself to stop at the threshold, knowing I won’t be able to live with myself if I leave without saying it. “I love you too, Dad.”
A harsh breath leaves him, his muffled cries following me as I stalk out of my room. I feel his eyes on my back as I slip out the front door and softly close it behind me. And with that act, I free myself from the slow suffocation of living under the same roof as the man who almost destroyed me. Heart seizing with every step, I’m reminded I’ve made another home inside the woman I love and begin the march toward my future.
