Narrative, Friday night.
Angela was working late and her back hurt. She was very tired and wanted nothing more to go home and sleep.
So when her cellphone rang on the way out of the store and to her car, she had a very sinking feeling that she knew what it was.
It was. Angela cursed in the car all the way to the ATM machine, then proceeded to curse all the way to the police station to bail out her father. Handing over the money, even if it wasn't hers, was like cutting an arm off, that money that was supposed to be used for heating the house, the money that he'd sweated over in Iraq for, being wasted on bail.
He'd begun using a cane again, since he'd stopped going to physical therapy a few months ago, and he followed her like a wounded dog to the car. And promptly fell asleep.
She looked at him for a few moments, anger at him contorting her features. And she knew--it was time. She wanted him out of her car, she wanted him out of her life.
Once she pulled into the driveway, she left her purse in the car, just taking her keys. Most of her fragile things were already in the car. She needed to pack her sewing things. Call Mark. Or...perhaps sleep in a parking lot or just drive around till morning.
Her father shuffled into the house, collapsing on the couch. Angela was infuriated. She'd never been so angry in her life. She stood there in front of him, her fists clenched.
"Why are you doing this?!" she yelled at him. She pushed at him with her closed fist. "Why do you make me crazy? Why are you drinking? Why the fuck can't you take care of me!?"
He tried to roll over and go back to sleep. Furious, Angela hit him. "No! No, I'm your daughter, you're supposed to take care of me, why can't you just..."
She never saw it coming. Her father hit her out of the way like an annoying insect, and she bit her own tongue, tasting blood. She stayed on the floor, staying very still.
"Stupid bitch," her father muttered, and fell asleep again.
Angela waited quietly until he was well and truly asleep, and then she stole upstairs to pack the rest of her things, quickly and quietly moving them into the car. She drove away leisurely. She didn't leave a note. She'd call him whenever and leave a message. At this point, she really didn't care anymore.
So when her cellphone rang on the way out of the store and to her car, she had a very sinking feeling that she knew what it was.
It was. Angela cursed in the car all the way to the ATM machine, then proceeded to curse all the way to the police station to bail out her father. Handing over the money, even if it wasn't hers, was like cutting an arm off, that money that was supposed to be used for heating the house, the money that he'd sweated over in Iraq for, being wasted on bail.
He'd begun using a cane again, since he'd stopped going to physical therapy a few months ago, and he followed her like a wounded dog to the car. And promptly fell asleep.
She looked at him for a few moments, anger at him contorting her features. And she knew--it was time. She wanted him out of her car, she wanted him out of her life.
Once she pulled into the driveway, she left her purse in the car, just taking her keys. Most of her fragile things were already in the car. She needed to pack her sewing things. Call Mark. Or...perhaps sleep in a parking lot or just drive around till morning.
Her father shuffled into the house, collapsing on the couch. Angela was infuriated. She'd never been so angry in her life. She stood there in front of him, her fists clenched.
"Why are you doing this?!" she yelled at him. She pushed at him with her closed fist. "Why do you make me crazy? Why are you drinking? Why the fuck can't you take care of me!?"
He tried to roll over and go back to sleep. Furious, Angela hit him. "No! No, I'm your daughter, you're supposed to take care of me, why can't you just..."
She never saw it coming. Her father hit her out of the way like an annoying insect, and she bit her own tongue, tasting blood. She stayed on the floor, staying very still.
"Stupid bitch," her father muttered, and fell asleep again.
Angela waited quietly until he was well and truly asleep, and then she stole upstairs to pack the rest of her things, quickly and quietly moving them into the car. She drove away leisurely. She didn't leave a note. She'd call him whenever and leave a message. At this point, she really didn't care anymore.