Whoahmygosh! How long has it been! Ages, I know. I'm sooo sorry. xx; You forgive me, right? RIGHT? Right.
Disclaimer: ...-le sigh- I don't own it, okay?
"I'm sorry about your mother, Keith." My dad said. He was tall and on the lean side, looking a little like me, which is why I recognized him, though I'd die rather than admit that out loud.
"Don't call me Keith." I cried out bitterly. Only my mom ever called my Keith...
"You've grown up. I remember when your hand was the size of my thumb."
I couldn't think of anything to say to that, so I didn't say anything. A first in my life. I looked behind me, but Ria was still in her room, thank God. It wasn't like she'd recognize him or anything, she was too little. He'd left when I was seven, she'd only been two.
"How's she doing?" It was like he was interrupting my thoughts, like now nothing was ever going to be safe and sacred again.
I shrugged, "About as well as expected. Her mother just died." I said, knowing exactly who he was talking about.
He nodded, and I waited for him to say something about the weather. So, I've been gone eleven years, nice weather, huh?
"How you've been?"
"Well, I was fine, but now I'm a little worried."
"About what, Keith?"
"About just why the fuck you've decided to show up."
There was a strange pause where I strongly debated punching him in the face.
"I want what's mine." He said.
"We don't really have anything." I said slowly.
"No. Keith. Think about it. Do you really think that you can take care of a thirteen-year-old girl when you can hardly take care of yourself?"
That stung and I stood there dumbfounded. What did that have to do with anything?
"What?" I blurted stupidly.
He grinned at me in almost a mocking way, shining every last creepily white tooth at me, "I did my research. You're an idiot. Still a Jr. at eighteen and a half. And you're a drunk. Plus, you've got a record. Maybe only for a few stupid things, nothing serious, but still, a record all the same. Even mentioning a little violence. No judge is going to favor you over me for custody of Maria." He said it carefully and cruelly, as if trying to erase his earlier "kindness."
I still hadn't quite grasped what he was saying. Custody of Maria? What?
He rolled his eyes at me and said, "I'm taking Maria." He said each word slowly as if I were a retarded five-year-old which, at the moment, I kind of felt like.
It then hit me. He was trying to take Maria home with him. "Go back to your own damn bastard kids." I muttered to him through clenched teeth.
He laughed. It was a creepy laugh. One that makes you dig your nails into your palms and sets your nerves on edge and reminds you of someone scratching a chalkboard.
"You're funny, but I'll have the last laugh." He said villainously. He then winked and walked back down to a cherry red mustang and drove off.
He'd gotten what I'd always envied by leaving us. By abandoning us. I'd be damned if I was gonna let him take anymore.