Page 21 of Deeper

When I’d gone to leave, I tried to hug him, tried to feel him somehow.

“I love you,” I’d said.

He’d stopped me, in an almost nonchalant way. He held me at arm’s length, taking a silent moment to stare at me, and then the floor. “You look so much like her, Bianka. So much like her.” His voice was far away, even though he was right there with me.

My father didn’t hug me goodbye. He patted my arm and let me go. Dismissing me from his presence, and his heart.

I’d come home, too sick to eat, too numb to focus on the TV.

Instead, I found myself crawling into bed.

Not even Victoria’s supportive text message had been enough to save me from the oblivion of my father’s rejection.

Hope it went well. I’m here if you need me

When I couldn’t sleep, I took to cleaning my apartment, anything to distract myself. I scrubbed my fridge, mopped my floor, vacuumed my living room, actually dusted all surfaces, and when everything was spotless, and I felt those memories slipping back over me like a black cloud, I gathered all my trash and made the run out to the dumpster in the parking lot. The cool night air against my sweaty skin was welcome, the goose bumps alighting my flesh bringing me back here in Hemingway Park, lifting me out of Lindenwood.

In my bedroom, I sorted all my dirty clothes to do laundry in the basement laundry room. Usually, I hated doing laundry on-site. The Lakeside Manor apartment complex was only six stories high, but the building was a good eighty years old—and incredibly ancient otherwise. I never felt safe doing laundry all the way at the bottom of the building. I barely felt safe living on the first floor after the first week I’d initially moved in.

As I rode the elevator to the laundry room with my first two loads, I let my fear distract me.

It worked for all of my first load, until I was back at square one. It was late in the evening, no one was around, and being in the cold basement by myself made me feel smaller than usual. My mind betrayed me, drifting back to my father and our biweekly visit once more. He’d said Pryor was doing real good. I hadn’t spoken to my older brother in years, but I still loved him. How could I not? He was my blood, family, or, part of what remained of it.

I sat on the folding table, clutching my phone and debating internally if I should reach out or not. My fingers shook and my breathing became shallow as my stomach threatened to bubble over.

Worst case, he won’t pick up.

I found Pryor’s number, wondering if it had changed, and pressed the Call button.

The sound of it ringing caused me to close my eyes and hold my breath.

Only, the phone rang and rang, but he didn’t pick up. The voicemail prompted me to leave a message, but he hadn’t set up his own personal greeting, making this whole endeavor even more cold.

Not even a minute after I gave up calling, a text came through on my cell from Pryor himself.

what do you want?

Sweat prickled my palms and I chewed on my cheek, unable to process his way of approaching me.

He didn’t want to talk to me?

Still, with our father loving me in his own way, Pryor was my only lifeline left.

I know it’s late, but it’s been a while

So?

How are you?

I’m good. Why do you ask?

Because we haven’t seen or spoken to each other in years

I liked it that way. You were always the favorite, best to stay at odds

Come on, Pry, we’re all we’ve got

Sorry…but no thanks. I’d rather keep our distance. Don’t call or text me again. I’m blocking you

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