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quite happy to never see again. Hearing another buzz, I looked down, wiping my sweating hands on my jeans, and forced myself to control my breathing. I felt his presence immediately and then the shift of the benched table as he sat down opposite me. I counted to ten before I was able to control my heart rate and my features. I then looked up at him.
His eyes were wide, searching my face. Clearing his throat, he started, “Son—”
I cut him off immediately. “Don’t. My name’s Liam. Don’t ever call me that, David .”
He nodded in acknowledgment, his mouth in a hard line. I took the moment to study his face. The last seven years had not been kind to him, which I was so bloody pleased to see. Deep wrinkles framed his eyes and mouth, and a scar marred his cheek. His eyes, the same colour as my own, appeared duller, different. I assumed that it had been so long since sober eyes looked back at me, I no longer recognised them.
David was a meth addict. He hadn’t spent much time in mine or Mace’s lives growing up. At different times, he would show up, turning our lives momentarily into chaos, begging for money, usually stealing and causing as much trouble as he could muster. A fist to the face wasn’t something rare.
Many times growing up, I’d wondered what it would be like having a mum who gave a crap and a dad who wasn’t a meth-head. The first glimpse I had into such a life was when I met Jo. She introduced me to the world I wanted and one I didn’t think I truly deserved. But Jo, being her stubborn self, had soon brow-beaten me into submission, allowing me to see I deserved more and I deserved her. Even after what he had done to her, she never turned her back on me. When we had parted for that time, it was never about me, or our lack of love.
“Why’d you write?” I had no time for bullshit, just truth.
“It said in the letter. I wanted to make—”
“What? Amends? Things right? For shit’s sake,” I seethed. “Who the hell do you think you are? You are nothing. Nobody. You had no fucking right.” He remained silent as I strained to keep my voice low. “If you think for one second you will ever say a single word to Jo again, ever, you’re delusional. Either that or you’ll be fucking dead.” My anger rushed to the surface, driving my words forward. I took a calming breath, thinking of Jo, of Mace and his offer. A small part of me was tempted, especially as the monster before me simply sat, looking on with his face devoid of any expression.
“As far as I’m concerned, you can rot in here for the rest of your life. You deserve nothing more.” His gaze never faltered with every venomous word I spoke. “When you’re out of here, do not attempt to contact me, Jo, Mace, or anyone who’s mine. You got it?”
He nodded in understanding, his face remaining impassive. I stood up and turned to leave.
“S— Liam.”
I paused shortly, my back to the man whose very existence made me sick.
“I meant every word.”
“I don’t give a shit.” There was so much more I wanted to say, but I stopped myself. I just needed to get out of there. Heading to the exit, I signalled to be released, restraining myself from banging on the bars.
Racing through the formalities, as soon as I stepped outside of the prison walls I took a gulp of fresh air, needing the oxygen to calm me. It was then I noticed my hands were shaking. I hadn’t been looking forward to seeing him again, but I had no idea just how shaken-up I’d be. My heart was at the point of bursting, my stomach recoiling at the onslaught of emotions. I needed to get home. I needed to see Jo.
Before I opened my car door, I pulled the letter out of my pocket for the last time. Unfolding the paper, I read its contents.
Joanna,
How do you start a letter that has been 7 years in the making, and should never have needed to be written in the first place?
There’s no excuse, no reasoning. I need to say I am sorry. I was sick, am sick. I want to
His eyes were wide, searching my face. Clearing his throat, he started, “Son—”
I cut him off immediately. “Don’t. My name’s Liam. Don’t ever call me that, David .”
He nodded in acknowledgment, his mouth in a hard line. I took the moment to study his face. The last seven years had not been kind to him, which I was so bloody pleased to see. Deep wrinkles framed his eyes and mouth, and a scar marred his cheek. His eyes, the same colour as my own, appeared duller, different. I assumed that it had been so long since sober eyes looked back at me, I no longer recognised them.
David was a meth addict. He hadn’t spent much time in mine or Mace’s lives growing up. At different times, he would show up, turning our lives momentarily into chaos, begging for money, usually stealing and causing as much trouble as he could muster. A fist to the face wasn’t something rare.
Many times growing up, I’d wondered what it would be like having a mum who gave a crap and a dad who wasn’t a meth-head. The first glimpse I had into such a life was when I met Jo. She introduced me to the world I wanted and one I didn’t think I truly deserved. But Jo, being her stubborn self, had soon brow-beaten me into submission, allowing me to see I deserved more and I deserved her. Even after what he had done to her, she never turned her back on me. When we had parted for that time, it was never about me, or our lack of love.
“Why’d you write?” I had no time for bullshit, just truth.
“It said in the letter. I wanted to make—”
“What? Amends? Things right? For shit’s sake,” I seethed. “Who the hell do you think you are? You are nothing. Nobody. You had no fucking right.” He remained silent as I strained to keep my voice low. “If you think for one second you will ever say a single word to Jo again, ever, you’re delusional. Either that or you’ll be fucking dead.” My anger rushed to the surface, driving my words forward. I took a calming breath, thinking of Jo, of Mace and his offer. A small part of me was tempted, especially as the monster before me simply sat, looking on with his face devoid of any expression.
“As far as I’m concerned, you can rot in here for the rest of your life. You deserve nothing more.” His gaze never faltered with every venomous word I spoke. “When you’re out of here, do not attempt to contact me, Jo, Mace, or anyone who’s mine. You got it?”
He nodded in understanding, his face remaining impassive. I stood up and turned to leave.
“S— Liam.”
I paused shortly, my back to the man whose very existence made me sick.
“I meant every word.”
“I don’t give a shit.” There was so much more I wanted to say, but I stopped myself. I just needed to get out of there. Heading to the exit, I signalled to be released, restraining myself from banging on the bars.
Racing through the formalities, as soon as I stepped outside of the prison walls I took a gulp of fresh air, needing the oxygen to calm me. It was then I noticed my hands were shaking. I hadn’t been looking forward to seeing him again, but I had no idea just how shaken-up I’d be. My heart was at the point of bursting, my stomach recoiling at the onslaught of emotions. I needed to get home. I needed to see Jo.
Before I opened my car door, I pulled the letter out of my pocket for the last time. Unfolding the paper, I read its contents.
Joanna,
How do you start a letter that has been 7 years in the making, and should never have needed to be written in the first place?
There’s no excuse, no reasoning. I need to say I am sorry. I was sick, am sick. I want to
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