Page 190 of Darling Venom
He knows.
The same way I knew there was something else keeping him from helping me.
I cleared my throat and read:
What’s there to say about a man with a shadow bigger than his body? My father chased attention and realized quick that the only way he got it was through books.
It worked out fine for a while until reality hit him like Miley Cyrus’ wrecking ball. Turns out, when you chase attention, it bites you in the ass.
This time, in the form of a heavily mustached paparazzo.
Which brought me to today.
“Enough,” Terry barked.
I persisted.
I cut class when I knew That Asshole had a C-section scheduled for the morning and wouldn’t be there to field calls from St. Puke’s administration.
Dad seemed hell-bent on drinking himself to death these days, bringing a whole new twist to Bruce Lee’s ‘be water.’
The dive bar down the street from his place sold drinks for a buck-fifty on Titty Tuesdays. Since Dad began to show signs of coming to terms with the fact that he was David in this battle with the IRS, it became his new go-to place.
Terry clutched his knees, turning a shade of purple I didn’t think was humanly possible.
Once I arrived, I selected a seat in the back. Somewhere with a view of the entire room. My hoodie hid the important parts of my face.
Dad stumbled past the rickety door, looking like he’d spent the past three days pre-gaming for this moment. Even if he could see me, he wouldn’t recognize me.
Not in this state.
Terry collapsed against the sofa, staring at the ceiling.
He looked like he’d checked out. Like he knew what came next and thought he deserved the pain of hearing it.
The bartender watered down a shot of cheap vodka and slid it his way. He downed it like it was God’s nectar.
I came from this man. Shared DNA with him.
Maybe that was how my life had spiraled into this raging fuck-fest.
I almost didn’t confront him. Almost let it slide, he was that pathetic.
You know the saying. Pathetic lives create pathetic lies. Well, he made a big, fat lie. So, what did that make him?
A choking sound croaked out of Terry’s mouth.
I learned the truth from a reporter Dad paid off. He thought he was doing me a favor by shattering the life I’d barely managed to stitch together with duct tape and Venom.
This is the truth in all its ugly, fucked-up, life-shattering glory:
Dad gave Mom the drugs that killed her. He found her dead first. He left, knowing I would be the next to discover her. Knowing if I did, he wouldn’t have to deal with paparazzi camped outside while the M.E. wheeled Mom out in a body bag.
Here’s the thing about disappointment. It means you expected something.
My bad. Lesson learned. Mistake, never to be repeated again.
“Stop.”
