Chapter 7: The Ghost From the Past
Melody walked down the dank halls, an unpleasant smell wafting up into her nose that forced a grimace onto her face. She didn't come here often, she barely knew the man now. But sometimes she liked to pretend she did. She remembered the way things used to be. When he would throw her up in the air and catch her, Melody's giggles wild and infectious. She remembered when her mother would say no more sweets, and he would sneak her some anyways, whispering to her that it was their little secret.
She also remembered the not so good times.
Alcohol is like poison, Melody's mother would say. It could turn even the most decent man into a monster. Melody held onto these words, hiding each time until the beast became a prince once more. Shouts could be heard, demands and dishes crashing into walls. She hid from it all, locking herself into her room and not leaving her sanctuary until morning when the prince would be back and they could giggle together while she poured fake tea into plastic cups and nibbled off of stale bread like the most posh of socialites.
She loved her father, even if he didn't quite love her the way he used to.
Back then when they took him away she didn't understand why. All she knew was the police were dragging him away and her mother was crying like she would never see him again. Melody began to throw a fit, screaming as many hateful things at those people in there she could think of. Her vocabulary wasn't as good then, and she avidly remembered calling many of them "stupid heads" and "poop licker's."
Melody remembered that last look her father gave her as they dragged him away in that courtroom. He was apologizing, telling her sorry for all the years he would miss and memories that would not form. There were tears in his eyes, and that had quieted her because she had never seen her father cry before. Daddy was always strong. He was the one that comforted her and mommy when they were sad, not the other way around.
When they got home Melody asked her mother when daddy would come home and her mom began to cry again, telling Melody not for a long time. Not until Melody herself was an adult and maybe even had children of her own.
Melody couldn't picture that back then. It seemed like it would never happen, so Melody cried more because she knew then that her father would never come back home.
Things only got worse after that. It was almost as if her mother had given up. Her mother had loved her father very much, and he loved her mother too. Even with all the alcohol abuse and fighting, and mother's random bouts of depression, they always made things work.
Melody was only seven when her father was taken away. She didn't know how to make her mother feel better. If anything, Melody's attempts only aggravated her mother. Melody had always known that mother loved father more than her, even at that young age. But it didn't matter when daddy loved Melody so much, because she knew daddy loved her more than mommy. He had told her so.
Everything began to fall apart after he was gone.
A year later her mother tried to kill herself and failed. Melody didn't see it herself, a friend of her mother's had come to visit. The woman had found her mom on the bathroom floor with blood pooling around her and took her to the hospital immediately. When Melody did come home after sleeping over at Sarah's the first night Melody found the dark, almost black blood dried onto the bathroom floor. By then Melody knew she was on her own. Her mother could barely take care of herself, let alone Melody. She remembered scrubbing it, pouring any cleanser she could get her hands on in a desperate attempt to erase the evidence. The smell became worse, and dried flecks of it stuck to her skin while the rest turned the suds into a repulsive brown than never seemed to grow lighter despite the amount of soap she had added. It still stained the bathroom floor, and even now if one were to go in there its lopsided circle was clearly visible.
When her mother came back from the hospitals things changed even more. Before all of this happened she at least seemed to care. She would run a hand through Melody's hair in passing, and sometimes even tuck Melody in at night. It all stopped. Everything.
And then Melody had no one.
She remembered sitting in the bath at nine years old, staring at the light pink stain on the floor as the bubbles disappeared and wondering if she should add her own to it. Her mother would no longer make the hour drive to see her dad. Now her mother had her own men, and bars and odd noises when they came back and went to the back room. The only good thing in her life was Sarah. Sarah cared, and Melody had more fun with Sarah than she'd had in a long time.
Sarah laughed with her, and let her spend the night when Melody knew someone would come over with her mother. Sarah's mother was nicer than Melody's. She called Melody things like "love" and "sweetheart," and those words always made Melody smile. When Sarah lost her own father it was time to return the favor, and Melody did. She helped Sarah though it, although maybe not as well as Sarah had helped her.
The gates buzzed as they opened, the last door to her destination. Melody took a moment to search the room, looking for the familiar dark skin and hair she knew so well even after all this years. When she sat down her father didn't move, looking to the left and picking at his teeth with a tooth pick distractedly. His eyes finally cued onto hers, and a smile that was more of a smirk grew on his face.
"It's been a long time Mel. How long has it been since you last visited me, a year?" He stared at her expectantly, and she squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. The man that sat across from her barely looked like the same person. Her father was a thin man, with happy eyes. This man was bulky, his arm muscles as thick as her legs. His eyes were empty, and none of the old familiarity sat in them. In her mind she had a picture of her father, and this person did not match up at all.
The first year she visited with her mother he did not change much. He had added more muscle mass, but his was expression was the same. That had changed slowly every year until he turned into this. Uncaring. Cold. Indifferent. Calculative, measuring Melody based on how much she could give him in monetary value.
"You've gotten a new scar," she murmured, ignoring his question and staring down at the table.
He snorted, rolling his eyes. "I got another year added because of this." He held his hand up better for her to see, the scar still pink and slightly raised. "Almost killed the guy that did this. He attacked me and I'm still the one punished," he grumbled, flicking his hand back on the table.
Melody remained silent, unsure of what to say. As the years went by her visits had dwindled, her hope vanishing with each one. Every time she went she expected her father to be back to the way he used to be, but staring at him now she was finally starting to realize he never would be.
"What's wrong with you? Ya crying?" he asked, giving her an odd look. He hadn't seen her do that in a long time, not since the first few visits where Melody would always hope her father would be coming back with them. She blinked away the film of tears, shaking her head and forcing a smile.
"I'm just happy to see you."
His brows raised, but he went along with it. He glanced around the semi-packed room before scooching closer to her, the chair making grating noises on the floor as he did. She flinched, wanting to block the noise out by covering her ears, but refrained.
"Do you have any drugs?" he whispered, emotion finally showing up in his eyes. "I mean anything, I'll take it all."
The smile that had been growing on her face when he edged closer faded, along with the hope. This man would never change. He would never be who he used to be, and it was about time she accepted that.
"I told you last time I quit," she mumbled grabbing her purse to leave. "I'm gonna go now dad, I love you." Even if he couldn't be what she needed she still loved him.
His arm latched out, grabbing her wrist and making her pause. "Before you go, could you give me some money?"
She stared down at him, taking in his cheek bones that were hers too. The light brown eyes, even lighter than hers. "Yeah."
She opened her purse, handing him whatever money filled it before leaving. He smiled genuinely for the first time since she had sat down next to him. But he wasn't smiling for her, she knew, he was smiling at the money.
She walked out of the prison halls, her heels making clicking sounds on the cement floors and echoing loudly in her ears. Melody's hands trembled as she reached for her keys and attempted to open the car door before finally succeeding. Tossing her purse in the passenger seat she took a deep breath, placing both hands on the steering wheel. Melody stared at the bricked walls of the jail and rows of cars in front of her before bursting into tears. She laid her head on the horn and sobbed, her shoulder's heaving with each cry.
She couldn't understand how a person could change so much. There wasn't even a little of the person that she used to know inside that body. Not even a glimpse of him when she stared deeply into his eyes. That person in there was not her father, it was only someone who inhabited his body. She knew inside of that frame was darkness, black stickiness clinging to each wall. There was no light in there, no memories of her and the way it used to be. Everything was gone.
The past was a hateful thing. It teased her with memories of things that would never happen again. But she knew as much as the past hurt her she would never change it. Those times brought equal happiness along with sadness, and to vanish them would only cause more pain.
She decided for now to let the past live, pulling her head up and wiping her face. A glance in the mirror made her grimace. She was an ugly crier, her eyes always puffed up and her face blotched. At least she had on waterproof mascara, but it seemed like she forgot to put on waterproof eyeliner.
Even the most fool proof plans seem to have a weakness.
Here's more of an explanation on her dad. I'm really taking the time to go through everything with this story unlike most my stories where it's to the point. I'm starting to get writer's block and I'm unsure how to proceed. I'm on 15 anyways so you may not even be delayed by it in the end.
Comments:
Guest- Thank you! I usually update twice a week, and I try!
