Page 14 of Revenge At Raleigh High
My father’s head drops. His eyes are cast down into his coffee mug but I can read the devastation on him. These are things he never thought he’d hear me say, and it’s killing him to hear me admit the hard truth.
“But when I wake up like that, Dad…that feeling doesn’t last long. It takes less than a minute for me to remember how to breathe again, and then…” I duck down so that I’m in his field of vision, so he can see that I’m smiling and that it’s genuine. “Then, I remember that it’s all over and done with, and it’s in the past. Yes, it’s hard to be at school a lot of the time. And yes, there are moments when I’m so fucking angry that I feel like I’m going to explode. But there are far more moments, when I’m with you or I’m with Alex, when nothing affects me whatsoever. I feel invincible half the time now, and that? That feels great. I’m not saying that I’ll ever be able to forget what was done to me, or that I’ll just get past it and there’ll come a day when I don’t even think about it anymore. That’d be a lie.
“What happened to me…itisan injury. My body healed from it, but I think the scar of it will always remain inside me. But a scar is proof of healing. A scar is a testimony to strength. I’m not ashamed of it anymore. It’s a part of me, and I’m slowly figuring out how to accept all of those different, separate parts of myself, no matter how ugly or twisted they might be, because they make me who I am, right? I am okay, Dad. I promise. When you hear me laugh, when you see me smile, itisreal. Itisthe truth. Always. Okay?”
Dad leans back in his seat, resting the coffee cup against his chest, propping it up against his solar plexus. His hair’s much darker than mine. His eyes are dark, too. It used to hurt me so fucking much that I didn’t look more like him. It never seemed right to me that I ended up looking so much like Mom, with her hair color and the same blue-grey eyes, the same shaped face even, with the same slightly upturned nose. I always felt as though, if I looked more like him, then I wouldbelongto him more, somehow. I don’t feel that way anymore. I know I belong to him, like I know the sun is going to rise in the east and set in the west. I don’t need to see his eyes staring back at me whenever I look in the mirror, because I’ve realized I want to be like him in other, more important ways.
He's kind, and he’s strong. The man can do basically anything he sets his mind to. He’s relentless when he decides he’s going to accomplish something. He’d do anything to help someone if they needed him. He knows how to really listen when someone is speaking, and not just wait for his turn to speak. I wasn’t born with any of these qualities coded into my genetics, but my father shows me every day that there are choices I can make that will result in me being a better fucking human being because of it.
I already know it, have already felt it for years now, but I’m proud as fuck that he’s my old man. I think, from time to time, that he might be proud to have me as a daughter, too. This sneaking suspicion is confirmed when he speaks again. “You are one remarkable young woman, Silver Parisi. You know that?” he tells me.
“Of course,” I reply primly, giving him a little seated bow. “I’m one in a million.”
“You should never have had to deal with any of that shit on your own. I can’t tell you how sorry I am that you thought you couldn’t come to me. I’m seriously disgusted that neither your mom nor I noticed things had changed with you. Neither of us will be winning a ‘parent of the year’ award anytime soon. That was just fucking disgraceful.”
“It’s okay, Dad. I get it. I might tease you about being old, but I know you’re still young. You want a life for yourself outside of just being someone’s Dad. You’re entitled to that. You were working on your book. Mom was—”
Mom was busy having an affair and fucking the shit out of her boss.
I shudder, closing my eyes. “It doesn’t matter what Mom was doing. I am okay now, and that’s all that matters, right?”
Dad shifts in his seat, watching me for a moment. He drains what’s left of his coffee and sets his mug down on the table between us. “It’s because of him, isn’t it? Moretti?He’sthe reason why you’re okay.”
“Oh, lord.”
He smirks. “What?”
“I really don’t want to talk about Alex with you.”
“Why not?”
“When a girl has a conversation with her father about the guy she’s seeing, things inevitably jack knife and take a turn for the worse. I can’t think of anything more disturbing than you trying to give me a safe sex talk right now.”
He laughs—one single, solitary bark of laughter—and I realize it’s the first time I’ve heard that sound in what seems like months. It’s a relief to know he’s still capable. “Silver, I was seventeen not that long ago. Feels like it was last week, for Christ’s sake. I’m not going to give you the safe sex talk. I’m gonna trust that you’re being smart, and we’re gonna pretend like neither of us actually even said the word ‘sex’ out loud. I only want to know if he’s made things better for you, Sil. ’Cause if he has…then I can only be grateful to the guy.”
I sit very still, staring down at my hands, thinking.
Thinking about Alex Moretti.
How can I explain to my father that Alex hasn’t just made things better for me? That’s he’schangedthem entirely? How can I tell him that I know I’ve found a missing piece of my soul and I never want to be apart from him without sounding like an infatuated, simpering teenaged idiot? Do I even know the words to describe the swelling, rising, euphoric sensation in my chest whenever Alex simplylooksat me, or the way I feel deeply, fundamentally, intrinsicallysafewhenever I find myself wrapped up in his arms?
There’s just too much to say on the topic of Alex Moretti…so I keep things simple. “Yes. It is,” I answer. “In a way, it’s because of Alex that things are better for me. He’s…mine,” I say quietly.
“He’syours?”
I can’t decide if Dad looks like he’s about to laugh at my stupid claim, or if he’s about to yell at me for being moronic enough to think the world begins and end with a boy from high school. Bracing, I wait to see which version of him I’ll end up with, flinching a little, but Dad neither laughs nor ridicules. “Okay, kiddo,” he says simply. “I know how that feels.”
God. The poor guy. That’s how he felt about Mom. I sigh, turning to watch the snowflakes streak past the diner’s window, cringing at the sight of the bundled-up figures hunched against the cold, hurrying down the street toward the hardware store.
“You looking for him?” Dad asks quietly. “You think he’s going to show up?”
Slowly, kind of sadly, I shake my head. “He doesn’t know Raleigh well enough. And Raleigh doesn’t know him well enough, either. Not everyone’s as badass as you, Dad. People are judgmental assholes sometimes. I don’t think he feels welcome.”
“You should invite him,” Dad says over the top of his coffee mug.
“Oh, I already have.” I smile ruefully. “I think it would take five personal invitations from five other members of Raleigh to convince my boyfriend he was wanted here. And even then hestillprobably wouldn’t come.”
5
