Page 70 of Unruly Obsession
It still terrifies me that he could cut me from the family, but I can’t live like this anymore. I’ve crumbled down to nothing, having nothing else to give. I’ll try to do everything I can to remain by her side, but I justcan’troll over, allow him to steal my choices and dictate my life anymore. This constant abuse and control will never end.
My father is eerily quiet as he shakes his head manically, then refills his glass. My strength slowly starts to drain because I know nothing good comes when he’s drinking this much. But I think of Lorenzo, the courage and strength he would command in a situation like this.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve cost this family? Who raised you to be so selfish?”
My brow furrows as he verbally assaults me with all of his hatred. I always wanted to convince myself that somewhere deep down, my father cared about me, but as I see him now, the same way I’ve seen him my whole life—with a bottle in his hand—I realize he's not much of a man or father at all. He might be able to function around others, careful to never reveal his true colors to them, but for someone like me, who's been conditioned to answer his every command and whim, only poison remains. Unfortunately, my father is no longer capable of love—if he ever was.
That saddens me for my mother, considering how she must feel in this loveless marriage.
But for once, I want to put myself first, acknowledging that at no point has this ever been okay.
“Come here,” my father demands, pointing to the spot in front of him.
My chest rises as I’m emboldened to say the one word I haven’t been daring enough to use until I met Lorenzo. “No.”
The glass halts at my father’s lips, and his scathing glare cuts to me. A chill runs through me, and my body freezes in place. I try to shake myself, to remind myself that I need to stand up to this man. There’s no going back now. No matter how scared I am of being discarded, I might have to leave behind my mother because of it but I can’t let that guilt rule me anymore. If only she’d listen to me. If only she’d follow me. But I can no longer allow this man terrorize me as he does her.
I’m the child, am I not? I can’t keep treating her like she isn't an adult who can make her own choices. It’s her decision to stay, but it doesn’t take the hurt away as I not only let go of my father but also parts of her, knowing that after tonight, things will never be the same.
My father points toward the door. “What, you think because you bring in a caveman that you’re tough now?” He takes a step toward me. “Did you really think I’d ever allow you to parade around with someone like him?” he seethes in my face, spittle flying. My jaw grinds as I fight against a lifetime of conditioning to remain quiet and take it.
“Who I do or don’t choose has nothing to do with you,” I say, rolling back my shoulders. “The choice is mine, as is the choice for me to leave.”
A dark bubble of laughter rises from him. “You think you can just leave this family?” He gulps down his drink, and my face twists in disgust, for the first time showing him what I really think of this unmasked version of him.
Repulsive.
Abusive.
Demeaning.
Cruel.
A sad man.
A pathetic man.
Rage rolls through him, as if he can hear all of these unsaid things. He grabs my elbow and shakes me.
“You stupid, ungrateful girl. Do you know how much trouble we’re in because you won’t simply do as you’re told?”
Trouble?
I try to tear my arm out of his grip. “Let me go,” I grit. “You don’t get to treat me like this anymore!” I yank myself free, realizing for the first time that I might be stronger than him.
I’m not that scared little girl anymore.
“You think you’re not my daughter anymore?” He steps back into my space. I push him away, and with twice as much force, his open palm strikes me across the face, and I fall to the floor. I’m so stunned and disoriented, it takes me a moment to realize he just struck me.
I’m forced back into memories of being a small child, being beaten or forced to watch my mother step in in my place.
Scissors being thrown at me and slicing down my back one night he went berserk. My mother pulled me into another room, and we hid as she whispered to me that it would be okay. My brother was at a friend’s that night, but it didn’t excuse him from the many episodes my father often had. And the next day, pretending like nothing had ever happened.
He comes for me again, but this time I kick at his stomach, daring to push the monster away. He’s in a fit of rage as I stand, wobbling slightly as I check my ear. When I pull my shaking hand back, it's smeared with blood.
For the first time, it’s not fear that makes me tremble but anger. He’s nothing but a violent, angry man, a victim to his own demons and hatred that’s rotted him from the inside out.
A deep-rooted pain bubbles from my core to the surface, in mourning for the father I wanted him to be and the potential I hoped he was capable of. Because this is all that’s left of him. And if it costs me the rest of my family to dig this toxicity out of my life, I’m finally willing to do it, no matter how terrifying.
