FALLING FOR THE FAMILY’S BAD BOY

I've seen my father try to escape himself and certain situations many times, but I've never seen even the slightest hint of torment in his eyes. In fact, he always grabbed someone's arm when things didn't go according to plan.

I've seen a captivating smile light up his face on dark days, and more than once I've caught the hint of an apology hanging from his lips, but all too often he simply let it fall into the void and then, impetuously, snatched away the power it held. Trivially, I might say that it's the word that makes my father most nervous.

They say apologizing is difficult because it makes us identify with a mistake. And I know how much my father hates feeling imperfect in the eyes of others.

He has never been able to apologize, and I've never accepted his silence or the indifference he showed toward pain that was not his own.

On the contrary, my mother's words had the power to stop the frustration I felt when he dared to look at me.

Her blind love for him was perhaps her biggest mistake.

For my father, loving my mother meant cursing the day he met her.

For my mother, however, loving meant finding solutions to problems for which she was not responsible.

And if there's one thing I learned from them, it's that sometimes certain loves blossom suddenly, when you least expect it, and often their essence is deadly; they completely turn your life upside down, fill your world with vibrant hues, and then, in the end, lead everyone in the same direction, along those rusty tracks where the train of loneliness travels. It only happens once, and then you never see it again.

It fades with the wind. That feeling, as beautiful as it's poignant, explodes in a cloud of sparks in a sky that refuses to welcome new stars. It takes everything from you except the thoughts that begin to clog your head with every inch of distance that comes between you. That darkness that grows in your chest with every tear and every memory that licks at your mind.

And I experienced this love in such an overwhelming way that now I feel as if I've lost it and can never get it back. I guess I've my dad to thank for that.

I was dumped because of him. In fact, many bad things have happened in my life because of him, and I remind him of it every chance I get. My hatred comes in vehement waves and I pour it out on him with indifference.

You can't hate your parents, they tell me. You can't cherish a stranger and despise a parent. But I did. Masterfully, I dare say. And I'll continue to do so every day to ensure my anger is both fed and soothed.

They tried to make me feel guilty for something I didn't do. I'm still too young to understand an adult's decisions. It doesn't matter if in a few months I'll be at university and embarking on a new path...

Completely new, out of my father's sight. It doesn't matter, because I'm not his age and I haven't made decisions of titanic importance like his, decisions that contributed to ruining half my life. So who am I to answer, when half the world tries to shut me up with a handful of words soaked in viper's blood?

Exactly, none. And my father uses this to his advantage.

In his opinion, I'm the ungrateful daughter who did not appreciate his endless and disastrous efforts to make things turn out well.

But perhaps it's easier to point the finger at me than at the charming man who, with his charm, manages to attract the attention of every woman who passes by. All he needs is a smile, a silly joke, a wink as he pulls his Ray-Bans down to the tip of his nose, and presto! The world is at his feet.

This is the same man who betrayed my mother while she was fighting for her life, and this is the same man who's now forcing me to accept his new life, his new partner, my new half-brother, and his pet.

"Come on, darling, you don't want to arrive at your destination with that face! That pout makes you look ugly. Give me a nice smile, come on!"He turns to look at me, and my heart stops beating as soon as I notice that his attention is now focused on me and not on the road we've been traveling for hours.

When he focuses his gaze on the traffic, I glance at him in the rearview mirror. Our eyes almost meet, and he looks away, clearing his throat.

"I was just kidding. Save those precious smiles of yours for decidedly more important moments,"her lips rise in a mesmerizing curve and I puff out my chest, barely holding back the scream that's about to burst from my throat.

"I'm your daughter and that damn smile has no effect on me,"I snap, then lean my head against the window and watch the landscape flow before my eyes like an oil painting dripping onto a canvas.

"Well, no! With all the old books you've read, I expected a little more... Refined language from you,"he warns me, but in response I put the headphones on my ears and turn the volume up to the maximum.

Dad opens the glove compartment and takes out a paper bag, which he throws bored onto my lap.

I don't say anything, but I continue opening it carefully. My fingers caress the book's glossy cover and I look inside the bag.

"Another classic. Thanks, Father,"I say with such thick sarcasm that I could cut it with a knife. Apparently, he doesn't understand the sarcasm in my words.

It's my fault. I've made everyone believe I'm a classics fanatic, when in reality my brain is in the mood to read obscenities until three in the morning.

Now, when people don't know what to get me for my birthday, they all focus on Emily Dickinson, Jane Austen, and Charlotte Brontë. They're among the most popular names on my bookshelf, waiting to gather dust.

In my junior year, Colin Williams, my ex's best friend, publicly humiliated me in front of the whole school, mocking my taste in books. Since then, I always carry a classic in my bag and proudly flip through its pages when I'm feeling down: on public transport, at the bus stop surrounded by strangers, when I go out to eat. I even pretended to read once while standing in line at the checkout.

The looks I received were anything but pleasant. In their eyes, I didn't appear as an intellectual, but simply as an idiot who could have done without. After all, I only had to pay for some damn sanitary napkins and get out of the way.

"Dad, I need to go to the bathroom,"I say, patting the headrest of his seat.

"Are you telling the truth?"he raises an eyebrow and I feel guilty for a moment.

"Do you want to know?"I reply irritably.

"There's no need to get so worked up,"he says with an odd smile. He doesn't trust me, and I know exactly why. He's starting to anticipate my every move, and that's not a good sign.

He stops the car and I jump out almost at the speed of light, stretching my legs and throwing my arms up in the air. My white T-shirt rides up below my breasts, revealing a patch of tanned skin. Dad shakes his head, disappointed.

"Why do young people love to walk around so exposed?"she murmurs, leaning against the car and crossing her arms over her chest."Come on, I'll wait for you here."

I roll my eyes and cross the half-empty parking lot, heading toward the snack bar. The hushed conversation catches my attention for a few seconds, but I ignore it. I walk up to the counter and order the first thing I see: a chicken sandwich with roasted vegetables smothered in yogurt sauce and cheese. I also grab a bottle of water and then ask the cashier if I can use the restroom.

I stuff everything into my backpack, sling it over my shoulder, and head into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. The stale air nearly fills my lungs, but I try to resist. I glance around, and a grimace of disgust spreads across my tired face. Ugh! I try not to think about the urine stains around the toilet or the soiled toilet paper outside the trash can as I stand on the toilet and reach for the small window at the back.

"Sayonara, Father!"I sing, getting up and putting my foot on the trash can. I try to leave making as little of a mess as possible.

The backpack slides forward along my back, stopping at the nape of my neck, and I curse.

"Were you going somewhere?"my father asks with a terrifying calmness.

I close my eyes, letting my dangling body be pulled down by his arms ready to grab me.

"I think I've lost my patience, Elara."I plant my feet on the ground and he unbuttons his shirt, letting out a long sigh.

"How did you know?"I murmur beside him as we walked back to the car.

"You do this every time something doesn't feel right. You've been doing this since you were a little girl, damn it! You try to run away from situations that throw you off balance. I'm sorry to disappoint you, honey, but you won't be able to escape this. You're going to meet the woman I love and her child, and before you ask, no, you can't move in with Grandma, and no, you can't set my car on fire. San Diego isn't so bad, I can assure you. Celeste was even kind enough to decorate your room to your liking."

The more he talks, the more my brain starts to wander about his own affairs.

"She doesn't even know my tastes! I only saw her once, for God's sake!"I shout indignantly.

"Okay, maybe I've sent you some pictures,"he replies and sits in the driver's seat.