When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. Whoever thought of that is an idiot, I couldn't help but think as I watched the cops walk up to our house, as I had done a million times before. Even if it was true, you just end up with a ton of lemonade that is of no more use to anyone than the lemons were. Sighing, I followed the movements down on the street. Three police cars, I counted this time. More than the last time. He must have done something more serious this time, then. I stood up as the police approached the door and knocked on it, screaming for someone to open the door. I listened to the voice of my father, as drunk as usual, screaming at them to 'Leave him the fuck alone'. His words, not mine. Immediately after, my brother's calming words, trying to sooth his anger. It didn't work. It never did. I made my way to the hallway as well, looking down the stairs at my father and brother, the former hanging onto the railing of the staircase as if it was the only thing that kept him standing. It probably was. Oliver threw me an exasperated look, clearly out of his depth.
"Those fucking bastards." He slurred, his left hand bringing the bottle of wine to his lips again. More of the red substance was spilled, dripping down his chin and staining the once-good looking dressing shirt he was wearing. It hurt me to see him like this. So out of touch with the world. I recalled how he used to carry me around on his shoulders when I was younger, always smiling. There was nothing left of the man he used to be. "Nev-er... respect." My brother went to support his weight as dad let go of the staircase, instantly falling over. Another knock on the door.
"Open this door." They screamed.
"Thi-is.. my house." He was leaning heavily on my brother, who shushed him.
"They are here to help. They are doing their job, dad." Oliver spoke as I moved down the stairs without making a sound, trying not to attract dad's attention.
"I...I... did." Dad spoke. I moved past Oliver and dad, "No, Evelyn..." Dad cried out while my brother was trying to hold him back.
"It is alright, dad. It is fine." I tried to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall. They did this to him. They took away the loving dad I had and turned him into this. Not intentionally, of course, but they did nothing to prevent it either. He served his country, was sent to Afghanistan and came back a different person. Post-traumatic stress disorder. He was fired a month after receiving the diagnosis, was cut off from any support he should have received. And so were my brother and I. With a sigh, I opened the door for the police, trying my hardest not to glare at them as I did. It wasn't their fault, not personally anyway. They just represented another part of the government who failed my dad. Who failed us.
"Miss..." The police officer eyed me up and down, halting at the level of my breasts with something akin to appreciation in his eyes, before he was pulled backwards by his commander.
"Show some goddamn respect Jonathan." I smiled at the man before me, glad to see a familiar face. Blaise Williams had always been kind to us, from the moment of our dad's first arrest. If anyone were to take him again, I'd prefer it be him.
"Ressspect..." Dad slurred in the background, mumbling incoherently afterwards. Blaise looked at him with a frown on his face, nodding towards my brother before turning his attention to me again.
"Miss Evelyn, I'm terribly sorry this has to happen again." He looked at me with genuine sincerity in his eyes. I simply nodded.
"I understand." And I did. "You are just doing your job." Blaise sighed deeply before turning to Jonathan and nodding his head to the hallway as a sign to arrest him.
"What is it this time," I dared ask.
"Assault." He simply answered, giving me one last look that spoke of the pity he felt for me, before moving in to help restrain my dad.
"NO." He screamed, thrashing wildly with his arms. "You.. yo-.. you cannot." Oliver ducked out of the way. The wine that was left in the bottle was splattered across the room as the bottle hit the ground and broke into a thousand little pieces.
"Dad," I tried to reason with him, "Please don't resist." It was useless, I was almost certain he didn't even hear me. Oliver moved to stand beside me, watching as they struggled against our father, eventually forcing him to the ground, as he screamed and thrashed. Handcuffs were clicked around his wrists and within minutes, they had already led him to the police car. Blaise turned to us one last time, nodding his head as a goodbye and a silent apology. Oliver pulled me away from the door. I could just see the cars leaving, taking our father away for the millionth time, before the door closed.
"Let's get some dinner." Oliver said solemnly, leading me to the kitchen.