Page 151 of The Loathing

Because I know what he wants to say.

“Keep the words to yourself,” tears fill my eyes and I have to look away. I slowly turn and look back to myself and just take a moment.

This is it.

The beginning of the end.

* * *

I’m sitting in my studio when Titus walks in and breaks me away from my painting. My creative flow is still not one hundred percent back, but I felt the tingles in my fingers today.

“Your mom is on the phone,” he gives me a lopsided smile and passes it to me and my brows furrow.

“Mum?”

“Hey darling, I just wanted to call and see if you were okay?”

I sigh.

“I wouldn’t say I was okay…” I look to Titus.

“I wish things didn’t have to be this way, but please be rest assured that I have made your father pay. I am so disappointed in him, and I am so sorry that we—and yes it is we because I am also your mother—but I am Amora, I’m sorry that we have put you through this. This is not the way I expected to watch my baby girl get married. I dreamt of the perfect day, the perfect dress and the perfect man…” she trails off.

“So did I Mum, but it seems neither of us are going to get that dream.” My tone is curt, and I feel the disappointment surge through me.

“Your friends have been calling for updates…” and I hear the light-heartedness in her voice.

“That’s nice of them,” I shake my head, “Mum... I know you think you’re helping but you’re not. At all. I’ve been dealt a shitty hand, I’ll get over it so stop trying to appease your guilt with all this bullshit.”

“Amora… I…”

“Mum, please. I love you, and dad…” I pause, “but just accept what is happening. The deal is done.”

“Daddy will fix it,” she whispers down the phone.

“And I’ve just been given a unicorn,” I shrug my shoulders up and I can feel the burn in my throat intensifying. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I cut the phone off before she even has a chance to respond and give it back to Titus. “Sorry about that,” I let my head fall forward and sigh.

“Nothing to apologize about, Little Red.” He smiles, tucking his phone inside his jacket.

“How’s your daughter?” I ask, turning back to face my canvas.

“Weird,” he admits, dragging a stool across and sitting down next to me, his eyes focused on the canvas.

“Why?” I ask, turning my attention to my painting.

“She is just being…”

“Distant?”

“Hm,” his voice rumbles in his throat, “I wouldn’t say distant.”

“No?”

“No,” he shakes his head from side to side, “it’s like…” he pauses for a moment and I turn to face him and I see the pained expression that’s slowly being painted onto his face. “She can’t wait to get me off the phone. It’s always been me and her, but now… it’s like she is proving that she doesn’t need me. Making me doubt everything I thought I knew about her.” He sighs heavily and it’s as if he has the weight of the world sitting on his shoulders.

I reach across, slipping my hand onto his thigh and give him a tight-lipped smile.

“I know she is busy with her internship; I get that… but it’s just like she knows how to cope without me.”

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