A/N - Thanks to FicSisters and also TLS for featuring Come Undone on their blogs in the past few days, and welcome to anyone who found their way here through them!

This is another short chapter, a longer one will follow later :)

Chapter 6

"Unbelievable!" My dad throws his hands in the air in a manner that's overly dramatic, even for him. "You really threw in your job for a girl?"

"No, I threw in my job because the chief of police is an asshole."

"You watch your mouth," he warns me. "I know Charlie Swan pretty well, he's a reasonable man-"

"He threatened to fire me if I saw his daughter again. How can you stand there and think that's an acceptable thing for a man in charge of a police department to do?"

"He's just looking out for his daughter."

"I think you'll find he's trying to close the barn door after the horse has bolted."

There's a look of incredulity on his face as he regards me.

"You're a seventeen year old boy who's known this girl for five minutes, and you're judging the chief of police's parenting skills?"

He pushes his hand through his hair, as much gray as it is blond these days, and laughs coldly. "You need to get a grip on reality, Edward. You're a kid. You know nothing about anything." His hand tightens around his whisky glass, as mine tightens into a fist, clenching and then releasing, as I urge the impulse to hit him to calm. I have more self-control than I used to have, I realize, as I stare at the flash of white scar tissue that cuts through my father's eyebrow.

I guess the therapy did have an effect after all. At least on my physical outbursts; my verbal ones not so much.

"I know nothing? I know you shouldn't leave your fucked up teenage daughter to try and raise herself, then bitch when she gets it wrong," I yell at him. "Just like I know you shouldn't let your step-daughter go to jail for something you ultimately had a hand in, and then act as though she doesn't even fucking exist!"

The accusation has been so long in coming, the words shoot out with a force that shocks me. I see them strike their target and he jolts, dropping his cut crystal glass onto the tiled floor where it shatters. He staggers back until he hits the counter.

I'm shaking as I hold onto the back of a chair, anchoring myself to the opposite side of the room, as my grip on my self-control begins to slip, and threatens to slide away altogether.

Looking over, I see a man as broken as the glass lying at his feet. He stares at me, and just for once there's no air of superiority, just the guilt of a man caught.

There's no triumphant feeling, seeing him like this. It's enough for me though, knowing that he feels the weight of his past decisions, even if he doesn't ever show it.

It's enough.

For now.