(adj) to be done, or fed up, a feeling of despair
I'd decided to just head home after leaving Ella's apartment, and was now walking through the city streets. I knew I shouldn't have left Ella like I did, but at the same time, why should I've stayed? She could take care of herself, and other than that, I didn't want to take the short little romance that we'd had to a level where it could've looked like I'd taken advantage of her. I didn't need that in my life. She was drunk, and once again I'd had to be the responsible one, already fucking up when I'd kissed her. Usually I wouldn't have cared, and would've probably just went for it, but at some level I cared about this girl.
It didn't matter now, though. Any of it.
Suddenly I felt the first few raindrops on my face, making me sigh to myself as I shoved my hands in my pockets, and started to walk faster. I got a few blocks until I came to a sudden stop.
"You have got to be fucking kidding me", I mumbled, feeling my heart drop. I was standing in front of one of the local liquor stores, and my father was standing just a few feet away from me, a plastic bag filled with what I believed was bottles of liquor in each hand.
"Hey Calum", he said. His voice was croaky, and I could tell that he'd already been drinking before he went to get more. Damn, I was so fed up with this "bad habbit" as some people would call it. I called it "being selfish."
"Hey? Seriously?" I walked towards him, grabbed both of the bags, and took a quick look at how much he'd gotten. It definitely hadn't been cheap, that was for sure.
"Calum, don't, it's not what it looks like", my dad said, making me grunt.
"Oh, it's not what it looks like?" I started, feeling my patience run out, "Well, it looks like you're a fucking alcoholic!" At this point I was almost shouting, turning the heads of a few passbyers. My dad just kinda looked at me without saying anything, so I put both bags in one hand, and grabbed him by the shoulder with the other. Then we started walking.
It took us about ten minutes to get home. My dad continued to come up with different excuses and apologies, but I'd brushed every single one of them off. It was like this every single time. He'd promise to quit drinking just to relapse the second I wasn't there to keep an eye on him. It was pathetic.
"Calum, I'm so sorry", my father said as I unlocked the front door to our apartment.
"I know", I answered, and stepped inside. The place was poorly lit up, and my father had drawn the old, dusty blinds, just to make sure that nobody from the outside saw him drinking. The apartment itself was small. It only had one bedroom, which I'd gotten when we'd moved in when I was a kid, probably because my dad felt bad about everything I was going through. He slept on the couch. Other than that there was the livingroom, the small kitchen and the bathroom. Nothing special.
I made my way to my bedroom where I stuffed the bags with the bottles in my closet, so that he wouldn't find them. It was kind of a childish way to handle it, but I didn't know what else to do. I'd run out of ideas of how to make all of this end, it had been going on for too long.
Then I walked to the side of my bed, and grabbed my lighter and the pack of smokes that I'd left on the nightstand. I opened the window, lit one up, placed it between my lips, and then sat down on the bed. Smoking helped me relieve the stress. At least that's what I'd led myself to believe.
Suddenly my father walked in, and I could smell the alcohol from across the room, almost making me feel sick. I usually didn't care one bit about other people's alcohol consumption, but this whole situation had gotten out of control years ago.
"You shouldn't smoke inside", he said, his words kind of pissing me off even though he was right. It was just kind of ironic how those words came from him.
"And you shouldn't be getting drunk all day, every day, but here we are", I answered, rolling my eyes. I knew the way I was acting hurt him, but I barely cared anymore. He'd caused me so much pain and stress and other shit. I'd wanted to just leave him behind too many times to count, but he was still my father. Also, I didn't have any money, so where would I go?
"Calum, you know I'm trying to quit", he said. He was still standing in the doorway, probably not sure if he should come in, or just leave me alone. He looked so small. He was just the shadow of the man he was before the accident.
"You've said that for years, dad", I answered as I exhaled some smoke.
"But it's true, you know. I'm trying. For your sake... And for your mother's", he kept on. I couldn't help but tense up a bit when he mentioned my mom. We didn't talk much about her.
"Talking about mom, how did she die again?" I asked, even though it hurt to reminisce. It was a very sensitive topic for the both of us, but I had to get through to him somehow.
"A drunk driver", he mumbled, looking down, and I could almost see how guilty he felt. He'd gotten the point. Even though his wife was killed by a drunk driver, he turned to the same fucking thing that got her killed. It made no sense, and he knew that, but he barely ever did anything to make a change.
I let myself really look at him as he stood there in the doorway. His hair was graying, and he had dark cirkles around his eyes. He was dressed in an old t-shirt and a pair of jeans that needed to be washed. It was a saddening sight. A quiet sigh escaped my lips as I stubbed out the cigaret in the ashtray which I'd placed in the windowsill.
"Get out, dad. You have a hangover to sleep through", I mumbled as I stood up, and walked across the room towards him. I lightly pushed him out of the doorway, and closed the door in front of him, which left me alone in my room once again.