But Daddy I Love Him

"The MAFIA?!"

I shriek, my hands balled into fists at my sides, and stand up from where I'm sitting on the couch. Usually, I would have never used this tone of voice with my parents.

But then again, usually, we would not be seated in our living room—which now, come to think of it, is not what a lawyer and therapist can normally afford—talking about something I have always thought just an urban legend.

"Calm down, Kay. Yes, we agree that that was not the best decision on our part," dad says calmly...too calmly, and places his hand over mum's, who nods at me like she has been doing all night. There is no way she just agrees with all the bullshit he is spewing.

"But right now, they don't know about you, and we plan on keeping it that way."

I laugh, a hollow dry sound, and drag my fingers through my hair.

"Okay. They don't know about me, great. What's going to happen to me if—when they kill you guys? What are you going to do?" I choke out, my voice cracking at the very end.

"It will not come to that, Makayla. And for your own safety, we are sending you far away from here. You're growing up, and it's about time you learned to be respons—"

"Oh, bullshit! Growing up my ass. When it comes to what I want, it has always been you're not old enough yet, so what has suddenly changed?" I yell, and slap my palm against the sofa.

Their wide eyed, disbelieving expressions tell me that I have their attention, and I clench my jaw to try and level my breathing.

"This is not about me. You're just trying to protect yourselves. You know that by getting rid of me, you're making yourselves invincible right? Because then you'll have nothing to lose. They'll have nothing to blackmail you with, right?"

Mum shakes her head and stands up to come to me, but dad grabs her hand and stops her.

"Kay, you should know...we did not know—"

"So why the hell am I the one paying for your ignorant bad decisions then, huh? Why is it me who has to go and start over, like I am the one who made the mistakes?" I scream at him, and I watch as his face changes from sympathetic to annoyed.

I know I am acting out of line, but can they blame me? This information is too much to process all at once. Did he expect me to just smile and say it is all fine after finding out that they are criminals who now want me to just uproot my life because of their life choices?

They must think I'm really stupid if they believe I don't know that the only reason they're telling me all this now is because there is some kind of problem.

"It doesn't matter what you think we are doing here. You have tonight and the morning to pack a few bags. I'll give you three credit cards of clean money for the start. Everything else, we shall send over when you settle. Hugo will take you to the airport, and there will be a plane waiting for you there. You will leave Manhattan, and there will be no further discussion about this," he says with an authority to his voice that he has never used with me, one that says he means every word.

"You can't make me leave, dad." I grit out with way more confidence than I actually have, but he does not even acknowledge me.

"I hope I will not have to. And, the sooner you understand that everything we did—everything we are doing is for you, the easier this will be. I'm tired... I'll go and rest now," he says, turns on his heel and walks away.

Mum stands up and follows him, glancing at me over her shoulder with tears in her eyes.

"I never asked for any of this! Don't try to pin your shit on me. You can't make me leave. I hate you both. I fucking hate you," I scream into the empty living room, tears falling freely down my cheeks.

Great, now my makeup is ruined. I want this to be a bad dream, or for my normal, ordinary, boring parents to appear at the top of the staircase and yell April Fool's and then we can all laugh about this, but it's all too real, because a) I'm wide awake and b), we're in the middle of fucking May.

My knees buckle, and I fall to the floor and rest my head against the cool leather of the couch with resignation.

The mafia? What next...is someone going to tell me the illuminati is real too? Or werewolves?

And...they are just sending me away without any sort of explanation other than 'you would not understand'. What about my dreams? My goals? My friends?  My scholarship at Yale—the only thing I have that is really, truly mine, that nobody has just handed over to me, what about all that? And if something is wrong, how do they expect me to just leave and stay away knowing that they are probably not safe back here?

"Fuck!" I breathe out, and hug my legs to my chest.

And then it hits me. I don't have to leave. They cannot make me if they don't know where the hell I am. Manhattan is littered with hotels, and all I have to do is switch out every couple of days.

I go upstairs to my room, slam my door extra hard for good measure, and pull out the wad of allowance money I have stashed under my mattress since junior year. I count the bills and stuff them into a bag together with a couple of clothes.

If I run out, I could just place a random call or something, but they would have probably abandoned the whole sending me away idea when that happens. Anyways, I'll cross that bridge when I get there.

I climb out through my window, run across the backyard and duck out of the small gate that leads right into an alley behind the house. When I am a few blocks down the street, I order an Uber and then turn off my phone as soon as it arrives.

"The Silver Springs hotel, please," I tell the driver with a smile, and lean back on my seat.

Mum and dad are right about something. I am growing up, and I have to start acting like it. They need to stop controlling my life, and I need to stop fucking letting them.