by Simone Elise
I had no idea how this story of Layla pole dancing related to mine and Dad’s situation.
“Anyway, Layla and I were fighting out front; we still can’t remember what it was over. End result was I backhanded her.” His eyes were locked on Layla. “A few weeks later, the cops rock up on our door. I was used to them always putting their nose into our lives. I thought it was related to the club. Though Layla being on the pole didn’t look great in my case.”
I glanced at Layla; she seemed uncomfortable all of a sudden.
“The neighbors next door reported me for abusing Layla. Department of Human Resources were on the case and Layla’s body was covered in bruises cause she had been back at practicing. That didn’t look good for me. But it was the X-ray and report of Layla’s unhealed and not set broken bones that got the charges to stick.” Cyrus sighed. “The case didn’t even go to court. It was a slam dunk for the defense.”
Wait. Cyrus went to prison? Why had Layla never mentioned this? My eyes went to Layla; how could she not mention this?
“How long did you get?” Eve broke the silence, and asked the question we were all thinking. Child abuse was a lengthy sentence.
“Not meant to be out for another eleven years,” Cyrus answered Eve’s question. “I gave up fighting the sentence. I was already over a year into my sentence. It was what it was.” Cyrus’s eyes went to Layla. “Same couldn’t be said for my daughter who did a five-hour re-enactment of how she got every broken bone. The defense said it wasn’t possible. She was lying to protect her father.”
Is that the angle the lawyers went with? If so, then how was Cyrus out?
“But,” Cyrus continued the story, “Layla went extra length and re-broke every bone while in the re-enactment in front of them all and didn’t even let onto the jury or the defense lawyers that she had done it. In fact, it was only confirmed when she insisted them doing another body X-ray.”
I looked at Layla, how the hell did she have the pain tolerance for that?
“Got released immediately. It got wiped off my record, and also a lot of shit I had done and was guilty of was also wiped off my record at the same time. End of the day,” Cyrus’s eyes went to Dad, “I know what it is like for someone to get the wrong impression of you. And how some things can be misleading to a stranger’s eye.”
Now I saw the connection that story had with mine and Dad’s situation.
“How about I tell my VP to stay the fuck out of your house?” Cyrus extended a hand to Dad. And with one handshake, peace was restored and the tension in the air was gone. I think I wasn’t the only one who took a deep breath.
The carefree grin that Cyrus always had was back on his face.
“Yeah, and you can tell him she’s out of his league, too.” Dad was serious but had a smile on his face. “You ready to drop that shit about not drinking?”
Cyrus laughed, “Was I that easy to read?”
“Come on, we all know you don’t drink on enemy territory.” Dad mentioned a rule I wasn’t familiar with, though it did seem like common sense.
“Alright, let’s get this dinner actually going.” Meg walked toward Mum. “I hope tea isn’t cold.”
“No, no, all in the oven, just waiting to be served.” Mum headed into the kitchen with Meg following.
I guessed Eve and I should help—after all, it was meant to be our pre-birthday dinner. I gestured for Eve to head with me into the kitchen.
***
So dinner was a success, the men relaxed and, as soon as beers and cigarettes got involved, everyone calmed down. Conversation flowed and everyone was relaxed, apart from Brad who didn’t say one word during dinner, with only an occasional shared smile at whatever the boys were laughing at.
Layla had somehow convinced all of us to watch a football game. Something about having an agreement with Dad. Anyway, that’s how all of us ended up in the lounge around the television. Dad and Cyrus, as well as Tyson, spent what they called the first quarter groaning while Eve and I questioned Layla on every rule and who was who.
I really wished I didn’t have this habit but I did; I always knew where Brad was when he was nearby, so right now I knew he was standing directly behind the couch.
Layla was trying to light up another cigarette. It turned out Dad’s team was actually playing tonight and it just so happened that Cyrus and Dad went for the same team, which made for a lot of noise when they got behind or ahead.
They went from cursing at the television and saying how crap the coach was to guessing the next kick and then celebrating.
All of a sudden, Tyson was leaning between Layla and I who were on the floor in front of him. He was handing Layla a cigarette which was lit. She rolled her eyes and gave up trying to light hers and took the one he was offering.
Layla didn’t know it but that was my brother making a move.
I noticed that my brother pulled her between his legs, trapping her in. It wasn’t obvious but it was obvious enough for me. I picked up my empty soda glass and got up. From what I could tell, it was coming to an end and it was tie or something, so I knew everyone’s attention was on the game. Hell, even Eve’s attention was on the game now.
I walked into the kitchen and went to the medication drawer. I had gone over a week with no pain and now the pain was getting to the point of being unbearable.
“Is it too soon?”
I froze then slowly turned around, my eyes landing on Dad. He was keeping a fair amount of distance between himself and me. In fact, a lot of distance. He was in the opening of the door to the kitchen and the kitchen island was between us.
Was it too soon?
To be honest I didn’t know how I was ever going to speak to him again. Not because of what he’d done but because of what I’d made him do. I’d forced that reaction out of him. How could I look him in the eyes knowing what I’d have done? Guilt had been eating at me all week. All Dad did was love me and I was the one to use his love for me against him.
I looked up, meeting his eyes. I saw the nerves and I saw the slight panic. It was the type of panic that covered his eyes when he was in over his head. Never really happened much—Dad was always hands-on with us kids. Especially me, because I was the troubled one. I was the one who was positive a monster lived under my bed and in my closet.
I was the one who had carried on needing Dad to check under the bed and in the closet. I was the one that had him up nearly every night and I didn’t want Mum because I was positive Dad was the only one able to scare them off. I fell asleep in his arms at least six out of seven nights a week.
And come morning when I woke up, he would still be there even though I was sure sleeping in a six-year-old’s bed wasn’t the most comfortable way to spend a night. He never complained. And I made it worse by not letting him get me a bigger bed, because the more room I had the less safe I felt.
Yep, I think out of all us kids, I was the one testing Dad’s patience. Guess it has always been this way.
“I’ll go.” Dad started to back out of the room, accepting my silence as a yes, it was too soon. Finally, he turned around and started to walk away.
I didn’t want that. I didn’t want him to go. I didn’t need more space. I didn’t need more time. He always gave me strength, he always was reassuring me that I’d be okay, that everything would be okay.
“Dad...” One word came out and I was slightly surprised because the tears were falling fast at the thought of him leaving. Suddenly I really needed my dad. But I thought I had missed my chance tonight. My words had barely been above a whisper and clearly it wasn’t loud enough.
I was surprised when I saw him freeze.
Had he heard me?
Then again, did I want him to see me this upset? I turned just as he turned back around. It was better he didn’t see me this upset. I held a closed fist to my chest, clenching the pills which I thought would give me some pain relief. But the pain I was feeling couldn’t be numbed by medicatio
n.
“Hannah, are you okay?”
I opened my eyes; he had come back. Did I turn back and face him? Could I do it? Just when I was sure I couldn’t do it, I did; I turned around and was straight into my dad’s arms.
“I’m so sorry, Dad,” I spoke into his chest; a feeling of safety filled me as his arms wrapped around me. I couldn’t form another sentence.
I had buried my face into his chest and was sobbing. I don’t know how long we stood there. It was long enough for me to go from silently shaking and crying to my tears slowly drying. Finally, when it seemed like I didn’t have another tear in me, I took my head off his chest.
Then I realized something was missing. I looked up at him. “Where is your vest?” I couldn’t remember a time he hadn’t been in it. Nope. Mum rarely was allowed to wash it.
“Doesn’t matter.” He brushed off my comment while unclenching my fist. He frowned, seeing the pills. “Come on, let’s get you something that will actually take the edge off.”
I was still concerned about where his vest was. I couldn’t think of one reason why he wouldn’t be wearing it. I followed him to his study. It was when he turned the study light on that I actually took a better look at Dad.
He looked sick. Dad was never sick. His face was pale and his eyes dark. He looked like he belonged in Emergency. How had I not noticed how sick he looked before now? I guess I had been too frightened to look in his direction and when I did get a chance it was in the lounge and it was dark.
“I tried to get these to you nearly every day, but your mum had a radar on me.” Dad pulled something out of his draw, looking back at me. “You okay, Hannah?”
I guessed I was staring with wide eyes at him, but I felt like for once someone should be asking him that question.
“Dad, you look…”How did I word this nicely?
“Like shit.” He finished my sentence for me.
“Pretty much, yeah.” I watched him walk to his liquor cabinet. I couldn’t understand how no one had noticed Dad was sick. “Is it the club?” I took a stab in the dark, because surely he wasn’t like this all because of me.
He could take the weight of being the figurehead of an outlaw motorcycle club. He took everything that came with that in his stride. So I desperately hoped I hadn’t been the one to do this to him.
He remained quiet and I knew then what the answer was. It was me. I had caused this.
He turned around, walking toward me with a shot and pills. How the hell did I say sorry for this? God, look at what I had put him through.
I took the shot and the pills and as soon as the bite of the vodka was gone, my main focus went back onto him.
“You haven’t been sleeping, have you?” I could tell by the darkness that surrounded his eyes and the whiteness to his normally tanned skin.
He just shrugged. Was it possible to break Dad? Because I think I had broken him. God, why didn’t I stop for a second and think of what my actions could do to him! God, I was so selfish. I was so fucking selfish!
I wished Mum would walk in right now, because she always knew what to say when it came to Dad.
What he said to Cyrus rang through my head. He said he hadn’t slept; he had waited in the lounge in case I went to leave. He hadn’t been serious when he’d said that, had he? Had he really stayed up every night? Reality was a cold and harsh slap across my face.
“You’ve stayed up every night since it happened, haven’t you?” I couldn’t believe it. “How the hell is that even physically possible?”
Our bodies needed sleep. Sleep was when our bodies healed. Sleep was highly important for our brain to function.
“It’s called drugs, Hannah.” He threw down his whiskey and answered my question.
“You don’t do drugs.” It was the one thing he was always firm on. “You said as soon as you had us, you stopped.” Well, at the very least he’d stopped the hard drugs.
He just shrugged his shoulders. “Drugs are a weak man’s excuse. Still, if it meant I stayed awake and didn’t miss you leaving, then I was going to do it.”
My mood switched automatically. “How long have you been using?” I dropped to the ground in front of his armchair, pushing up the sleeves of his long black t-shirt, looking for tracks. One arm was clean and then I was furious when I saw his other.
“I thought Mum was looking after your bullet wound?” I looked at the untreated wound and it was really badly infected. “Shit, Dad, this must hurt.” I gingerly touched around it; it was basically oozing.
My eyes were pulled from his wound as he gently lifted my head and turned it to the side. I remained silent as I let him look at the damage. It had healed a bit—okay, maybe it did look worse than when he last saw it cause it was bruising badly.
I stayed still for a few moments and then slowly turned my head to look him in the eye.
“It’s not that bad,” I started. Again, I couldn’t help but think, maybe I had broken Dad? “It was my fault, Dad, not yours.” He had to know that. “I caused this broken jaw, not you, and look at what else I caused.” I looked at his infected wound. “I’ve caused you so much pain, Dad.”
I wished I could go back and do it all differently. I wished I had just gone back to the table and eaten a bloody steak to shut them up. Instead, I was a stubborn teenager and look at all the damage I had caused.
“You haven’t been injecting, so I’m assuming you’ve been snorting it.” I went back to dealing with his sudden drug habit. “Does Mum know?”
“As far as she knows, I’ve been sleeping on the couch.”
My eyes narrowed on him. So he had been lying to Mum. “And who does she think is cleaning your wound?” He couldn’t use his normal excuse of blowing her off, which was by saying I was taking care of it.
“Said I was taking care of it.”
I scoffed. “Seriously, Dad, if us kids weren’t living proof that you could keep something alive, I would doubt you could look after a pet goldfish.”
He laughed but I think it was out of complete exhaustion, because I wasn’t known for being funny.
“Well, your life of a junkie is over.” I stood up. “Where is it?” I crossed my arms, waiting for him to cough up where he was keeping the drugs.
He just smiled up at me. “You look like your mother. Spitting image.”
“Well, I am her daughter.” I looked at him stubbornly; he wasn’t getting out of the question. “Cough up where you are keeping them, or I’ll turn this place upside down.” I meant it, too.
“You know when your mum went into labor with you and Eve, I was locked up.” Dad reached around me, grabbing a cigarette packet and a lighter off his desk.
“Funny, I haven’t heard that version before.” I watched him light up and I was thankful it was a cigarette.
“It was on a speeding charge. They held me as soon as they saw my record.” He exhaled slowly. “The reason I was speeding in the first place was to get to the hospital.”
“Mum’s never mentioned this speeding charge.” In fact, as far as I’d heard, Dad was by her side during our whole labor.
“She never knew.” He inhaled on the cigarette again. “Cost me a mil to get out of custody that day.” He then butted the cigarette out on the desk. “I would have paid a hell of a lot more to make sure I was there for your birth.” He looked up at me. “So, if the price I pay is a drug withdrawal and a sore arm to make sure I’m in your future, I don’t really see that as a heavy price.”
And that summed up what my Dad was like. He always put me—his family—first. And I was selfish to ever accuse him of anything different.
I didn’t realize how much damage I was doing by staying in my room. I was so consumed with guilt I didn’t think for a second about what I was putting the family through. I wasn’t sure how to get Dad back to his normal self, and I wasn’t sure how to start the healing of our relationship—or how to put Dad back together.
Then I realized. Tomor
row was my birthday and I suddenly knew something I wanted.
“I know what I want for my birthday present.” I remained standing in front of him. “You said I can have anything, right?”
“If it’s a Mustang like your sister’s, then it’s already in the garage.” He reached for the cigarette packet but I took it off him, shaking my head at him.
I was never into material things and he should know that.
“I want to see you in the morning. With a cleaned arm, bandage on, antibiotics, and to see that you’ve had a solid night’s sleep. Real sleep, too, forced by sleepers.” I saw his expression at that. “And,” I had another condition, “wearing your vest.”
He stared up at me like I was a dream or something—not saying anything.
“You can get a refund on the Mustang,” I smiled at him, trying to get him to fulfill my birthday wish. “I’ll even go back on the whole not wanting to be alone thing.”
His eyes held mine for a bit longer and then he sighed, “Top drawer, the pin is your initials.” He saw me frown. “That’s where I’m keeping my drugs. You declared earlier you would turn this place upside down if I didn’t hand them over.” He looked at me smugly, like I had forgotten my own words.
“I wouldn’t have left before I got them off you anyway.” I walked around his desk, going to his top drawer. All his drawers had digital touchscreen keypads. Dad knew when they were opened too—it sent an alert to his phone. But he also had this sixth sense for it as well.
I got out the drugs and turned to the open fire behind the desk which was still slightly burning and I poured the powder onto it before throwing the plastic bag on it.
“I guess I should get your mum to drive me to the hospital.”
I turned around, seeing Dad getting up. “I can do your arm.” I knew I would do a better job than half the nurses. “You still got your contacts with the pharmacy?” I asked, walking back to him.
He nodded his head, still looking at me like I was about to disappear.
“Good, they can fill whatever prescription I write for you.” I wasn’t just getting him on antibiotics either. He was having his first dose of a sleeper and I was going to make sure he got a strength that really knocked him out.