CHAPTER TWO - Not everything is about you
Dad is pissed. Not drunk pissed, angry pissed. What a surprise. I've been in his house for all of, what, ten minutes, fifteen if I'm lucky, and already he's yelling at me.
"When the hell did you get that...thing done?" he yells.
I raise my right eyebrow at me, the eyebrow, which, at the moment, is the soruce of this arguement.
"You mean, when did I get my eyebrow pierced?"
Yup, dad going red faced and tyrant like all caused by a small bar going thorugh the end of my right eyebrow. Wait 'til he finds out I have my belly button done too.
"Yes. When did you get it done?"
"'Bout three weeks ago."
"Where?"
"The piercing pagodo in the mall."
"What did your mother say?"
"She took my to have it done." I smile at him.
"Why do you do this to yourself?"
"Do what?"
"Put all those holes in yourself? I could handle the first two in your ears, but now each one done three times? One at the top? Your eyebrow? What's next...your bellybutton?"
I sigh, stand up, and pull up the bottom of my shirt.
"Of course. Did your mother take you to have that done too?"
"No it was a birthday present from Dave. Mum said it was fine though."
Best he doesn't find out I'm geting a tattoo in the holidays.
He sighs and sit opposite me. "Is this to make some kind of point? Are you rebelling somehow?"
Of course, he thinks everything has something to do wirh him. "This has nothing to do with you, or anyone, and it's not me rebelling or trying to get you to notice me because I feel left out as I don't see you as much as I'd apparantly like and I don't feel I'm second best to the brat child or anything other physcological babble your about to come out with." I do pay attention when people talk all medical around me. Luka lets me look at his charts when he brings them home. "It's just...something I like."
"Ever since you've been living with...with him-"
I hate when dad does this. Refers to Luka as 'him' or as 'your mother's husband'. "You can say his name dad. It won't kill you. And it's got nothing to do with Luka. Or mum. Or you. Or Lucy. Or Anja. Or the brat. Or anyone. It's all me."
"I'd so much rather you didn't refer to my son as a brat."
Like I said, Johnny, that's what they all call him, looks so angelic that anyone refuses to believe he can to any wrong. Except Lucy, she sees right through him. But he really is a brat. The biggest there is.
"I'd so much rather you didn't refer to Luka as 'that commie wife stealer' but we can't all get what we want."
"Don't take that tone with me."
"Oh just shut up dad. You don't know me."
"Of course I know you. You're my daughter."
"Okay. What's my favourite color."
"Pink."
"Purple. What's my favourite band?"
"N*Sync?"
"Yea, right. Linkin Park. Who's my best friend?"
"Sara."
"I havn't spoken to her in five years. Matty." I try the ultimate test of how much he knows about me. I shut my eyes. "What color are my eyes?"
"Bluey-grey, like mine."
I sigh, sadly. "Wrong, hazel, like mum's." I pull on my jacket and pick up my bag. "Screw this, I'm going home."
Dad is pissed. Not drunk pissed, angry pissed. What a surprise. I've been in his house for all of, what, ten minutes, fifteen if I'm lucky, and already he's yelling at me.
"When the hell did you get that...thing done?" he yells.
I raise my right eyebrow at me, the eyebrow, which, at the moment, is the soruce of this arguement.
"You mean, when did I get my eyebrow pierced?"
Yup, dad going red faced and tyrant like all caused by a small bar going thorugh the end of my right eyebrow. Wait 'til he finds out I have my belly button done too.
"Yes. When did you get it done?"
"'Bout three weeks ago."
"Where?"
"The piercing pagodo in the mall."
"What did your mother say?"
"She took my to have it done." I smile at him.
"Why do you do this to yourself?"
"Do what?"
"Put all those holes in yourself? I could handle the first two in your ears, but now each one done three times? One at the top? Your eyebrow? What's next...your bellybutton?"
I sigh, stand up, and pull up the bottom of my shirt.
"Of course. Did your mother take you to have that done too?"
"No it was a birthday present from Dave. Mum said it was fine though."
Best he doesn't find out I'm geting a tattoo in the holidays.
He sighs and sit opposite me. "Is this to make some kind of point? Are you rebelling somehow?"
Of course, he thinks everything has something to do wirh him. "This has nothing to do with you, or anyone, and it's not me rebelling or trying to get you to notice me because I feel left out as I don't see you as much as I'd apparantly like and I don't feel I'm second best to the brat child or anything other physcological babble your about to come out with." I do pay attention when people talk all medical around me. Luka lets me look at his charts when he brings them home. "It's just...something I like."
"Ever since you've been living with...with him-"
I hate when dad does this. Refers to Luka as 'him' or as 'your mother's husband'. "You can say his name dad. It won't kill you. And it's got nothing to do with Luka. Or mum. Or you. Or Lucy. Or Anja. Or the brat. Or anyone. It's all me."
"I'd so much rather you didn't refer to my son as a brat."
Like I said, Johnny, that's what they all call him, looks so angelic that anyone refuses to believe he can to any wrong. Except Lucy, she sees right through him. But he really is a brat. The biggest there is.
"I'd so much rather you didn't refer to Luka as 'that commie wife stealer' but we can't all get what we want."
"Don't take that tone with me."
"Oh just shut up dad. You don't know me."
"Of course I know you. You're my daughter."
"Okay. What's my favourite color."
"Pink."
"Purple. What's my favourite band?"
"N*Sync?"
"Yea, right. Linkin Park. Who's my best friend?"
"Sara."
"I havn't spoken to her in five years. Matty." I try the ultimate test of how much he knows about me. I shut my eyes. "What color are my eyes?"
"Bluey-grey, like mine."
I sigh, sadly. "Wrong, hazel, like mum's." I pull on my jacket and pick up my bag. "Screw this, I'm going home."