"Olivia!" My dad shouts from downstairs.
I groan and throw my laptop to the side of my bed and I make my way out of my room.
I run downstairs to see what my dad wants.
My dad is seen cooking in the kitchen while holding a frying pan and placing the food on the plate, with a spatula.
"Yes, Dad?" I ask him.
"Come and eat dinner." He says, while he focuses on placing the food on the plate, carefully.
I take a seat and start eating my food.
He finishes and puts everything in the sink before making his way to a seat in front of me.
Dinner is quiet and avoid any conversations with him. My mind is running everywhere and I'm thinking about school, about friends, about everything in general.
I hate the relationship that I have between my father and I. Everything is just so dull and not much happens between the two of us.
Sometimes, I even dream of having a happy family at a dinner table, eating and conversing. Just enjoying each other's company.
I wish my mother and father didn't have to divorce. I can't blame them, though. They were never on good terms.
My mother got pregnant with me at the age of 18, before she got married to my father. They struggled to raise me, they just weren't ready yet.
They fought and fought on endless nights.
They really tried to keep it all together but, they figured that they needed time from each other to just figure out things and hopefully they'll come back, all refreshed.
So, my Mother took a trip to Paris for two months and my Father and I, stayed back in Houston, Texas.
But, I was wrong, things just got worse after she came back.
She found another man who could love her more than my father could.
She left my father and I, when I was twelve years of age, without any remorse or hesitation.
I was confused and I was upset that she could just leave me. I genuinely thought that she loved me, honestly.
My father was devastated and heartbroken. He would drown himself in alcohol, while I stayed at my Aunty's for awhile. He'd come back the next day, pick me up in his arms and his breath would smell like alcohol.
He just couldn't handle the pain, it was too much for him.
And It was too much for me to watch him struggle.
Some people ask me, "Why are you sad because of your parents' divorce?", "You're not the one who is getting hurt."
It does hurt. It hurts a lot.
And I feel genuinely sorry for people who don't know what it feels like.
Being in an only child, in a scary household, is difficult.
The silence is eating my alive. The sound that could only be heard is our spoons and forks banging against the plate.
I glance at my father whose attention is focused on his food.
He catches my glare.
He stops and looks at me. "What?" He asks, intimidatingly.
"N-nothing." I shook my head.
"How was school?" He asks.
When my father asks that, I'm not really sure how to respond. He's a serious man and never takes anything as a joke. I wish I could just have a casual conversation with him but, it's always the same routine, "how's school?", "How are your grades?", ugh.
"It's alright." I mumble, trying to avoid eye contact with him.
"Sorry..?" He asks, while he has a mouthful of food.
It scares me when he says that, I don't know if he didn't actually hear me or he wants me to quit being so timid in front of him because, apparently, it's 'rude'.
"It's alright." I reply.
"That's not a good enough answer." He says, seriously. "You should be enjoying school. I'm paying for your school and it's ridiculous that you don't appreciate it!"
"I didn't say that!" I reply, slightly raising my voice.
I don't appreciate it? Do I have to show my appreciation for his payments that are being directed to my school for my own education? Do I have to bow down to him like a God and kiss his feet, to show my appreciation for my school?
"Well, it sure seemed like you meant it like that!" He responds and stops eating.
He's pissing me off. I release my grip from the spoon and fork.
"Well, maybe, you should stop assuming things!" I half yell. "Stop acting like you know everything! I may be your daughter and your only child, but I can assure that you don't know a single shit about me! You don't know-"
"Go to your room!" He yells over me. "I don't feel talking to you, right now."
My father gets up, walks to the kitchen with his plate and smashes it into the sink, leaving little pieces scattered along our kitchen floor.
My father sighs in exasperation and grips the kitchen counter, to support his weight while he stares out the window. His facial expression tells me that he could shoot someone right now.
Before anything starts to get worse, I run up to my room.
I forcefully push my bedroom door open and slam the door shut behind me.
I throw myself on my bed and feel like the weight on my shoulders have dissipated into thin air. I can breathe more easily and my lungs are free from restraint. My sight starts to get blurry and moist, my throat begins to dry as the events of tonight, repeat in my mind. over and over again.
I can't deal with sight of my father being stressed out. It's not his fault that he's turned into something he never expected to turn into.
He used to be that guy who would make jokes and someone who you could laugh all day long. He wasn't as serious as he was before.
Warms tears run down my cheeks as moments of his laughter and his goofy smiles, flashes back in my mind.
He's detached and more reserved, sometimes I can't even recognise him.
Whenever I try to make him remember who he was, by bringing back memories of my childhood and how he'd always make me laugh, he would always say, "Past is the past, it doesn't really matter anymore. Moving on in life, is something I suggest you doing. It doesn't matter what happened yesterday, last year or the year before that. What matters, is right now. The present."
He would just avoid it. He won't even think for a split second about his past.
He wants me to see anger but, all I see in him is hurt.
Five years without my Mother. It felt like a thousand years ago but, for my father...
It only felt like yesterday.