I know I've said it before, but I'll say it again because it's the truth. The person I feel worst for, in this whole scheme of lies and deception and murder, is my dad. Because, despite what people think and how I act and what I say, I do really love my dad. And I know he loves me. And sure, neither of us is the best at showing it; both of us are emotionally stunted and find it easier to lash out in anger and annoyance, quick to shout if we feel remotely backed into a corner or someone raises our hackles. If anything, we're just too similar. But I love him, I really do.
And I know this broke his heart. Not only did it cause real damage in his work life; because how was he meant to continue on working with Ryder's dad, who had been his best friend for most of his life, after his son had done such a thing to his daughter? Hell, I even feel pretty bad for Ryders parents – because Ryders actions towards Tori were nothing to do with his upbringing. Mr and Mrs Daniels have always been the nicest couple. To highlight that point? After hearing what Ryder did 'to me' and finding out the details, they never once denied it or even tried to defend Ryder. Mr Daniels actually came over to speak with my dad the first day I was out of the hospital (and holed up in my room with Beck) to apologise and beg my dads forgiveness for his sons actions. Both him and his wife were sickened at the thought of what their son had done. They apologised to me as well, in a long-written letter, feeling that I may not have wanted to see them face to face after all that had transpired – especially Mr Daniels. Ryder was practically his carbon copy, just younger.
The real damage caused, however, was because my dad knew he had pushed me towards my supposed stalker and rapist. He had always hinted that he wanted me and Ryder to get together. He sat us next to each other at dinner, constantly told me all the 'great things' about Ryder. He encouraged me any time I was speaking with him or hanging out with him. He wanted me and Ryder to get married and have painfully pale babies and live in a mansion just down the road or next door.
And now? He found out he had been pushing his daughter into the arms of her stalker the whole time. The very same stalker he had been spending so much money protecting me from. That all the security measures – the cameras, security guards, electric fencing along the top of the walls, refitting all external doors so they could only be opened from the inside...all of it was pointless, because the stalker was someone he happily invited into his home hundreds of times over the years. Someone who knew the alarm codes and was often told to just walk in, with no need to knock. Someone he'd asked to check up on me multiple times when him and Julia were out of town any longer than one night.
It devastated him.
He had been so angry, so full of hate for my stalker. I felt utterly awful manipulating him and Julia, especially when they were around for the 'incidents', not just hearing about it as I spoke to them or the police about things that had happened.
Like the whole 'balcony' incident. It was before the whole 'room trashing' thing with Robbie, so there were no cameras up yet, no security guards, which made it easy for Beck to sneak across the lawn from the side fence(which was a lot smaller and easier for him to climb over, as he had done multiple times in our relationship, when I was grounded and couldn't come stay at his) and then climb up the old tree next to my balcony (once again, something he had done a lot in the past, so he didn't worry too much about it).
He wore a pair of black jeans with a black hooded sweater again, like he did the night he trashed my room, just in case someone spotted him; his hair was a dead giveaway after all. And just like all the other 'acting' moments in this little plot, like finding things in my locker, we decided to act out the little play – the photos Beck took were good for the 'stalker-album' so it made sense to grab them. Plus, in case one of the maids looked out after I screamed, it would mean they saw a figure dressed in black hightailing it away from my balcony.
I didn't know exactly when Beck would be out there taking the photos – it was easier to appear totally natural when I didn't know exactly when I would be getting shot. Once he was done, we broke from our plan a little bit, when he came in and we fooled around a little, before I shoo'd him out the balcony doors and watched him climb back onto the tree and get halfway down, making sure to scuff the balcony railing with his combat boots (dirty from the mud in the flowerbeds he landed in from climbing the side fence, and the lawn, and just the general marks black rubber often make on white stone) and leave a generic brand lense cap behind. And once he had touched the ground, I started screaming (I wanted to make sure I gave him a good head start, just in case).
Calling for my dad was...odd. He'd missed out on most of the years when I would cry and shout for my dad when I was hurt or upset as a kid, and by the time I was living with him full time, I was already independent to a degree and had learned long before that no matter how much I screamed or cried, no one would help anyway, often just more pain. So screeching for him like a banshee and listening to the thundering footsteps of people running up the stairs towards my room was an interesting experience.
You know, it's kind of a shame; this whole thing had been some of the best acting I had ever done, and was most definitely Oscar worthy, yet I'd never get any praise or acknowledgement for the role, from anyone other than Beck. I don't wish we'd done something different for revenge, but it still kind of sucks.
Anyway, when my dad and Julia finally burst into my room, a maid hovering in the doorway, I managed to babble out my story about someone being on the balcony. Of course, he bolted to check the balcony, possibly seeing Beck's dark-clad figure darting away, and the scuff and the lense cap. It kind of sucked I'd be saying goodbye to the ever so useful tree outside my balcony (that, along with letting Beck sneak in, often helped me sneak out) but it wasn't that big a deal; I didn't get grounded anymore, and if I wanted to go out at night, I could go out without having to sneak. Julia had something to do with that – she'd explained to my dad that, either way, I'd be going out whenever I wanted, so didn't it make sense that I was given the freedom to do so, so long as they knew where I'd be or what I was doing? At least this way they wouldn't be shocked or worried if they couldn't find me, because I'd have told them in advance and I wouldn't feel worried or scared of calling my dad if something bad happened, as I wouldn't be worried about getting in trouble for sneaking out. It way pretty cool.
Julia's pretty cool overall, actually; hence why I made sure to lean into her hands a little, when my dad could see; I like Julia and the fact that I like her is probably what's kept her around so long. Not that my dad is a monster who throws away women, but I know I was a huge reason for his split with his previous wives, because I hated them or they hated me. But Julia will hopefully stick around for good. She helps my dad mellow out and doesn't ever fuel his rages, often banking them – Julia to my dad is what Beck is to me.
Although it wasn't our aim, along with the revenge on that sack of shit Ryder Daniels, the whole plan had one other upside to it; weirdly enough, I think it made my dad actually start to really like Beck. Seeing him so protective, so willing to defend me, so caring finally made my dad realise that Beck truly loved me and cared for me. He was happy to have me go to Beck's or have Beck come to our house, with no jagged comments or sneering jabs about him (which I get to a degree; as protective as my dad is, it's no wonder he didn't like the guy who he'd once found bending me over the kitchen counter and fucking me senseless).
So after the whole balcony incident, my dad was actually supportive of me going across to Beck's place for the night to hide away from the stalker; even moreso when he found out we'd be staying in the basement of the actual house, not his RV – we didn't have to stay in the basement, we could have just went to the RV without my dad being any wiser, but it variation is nice sometimes. Plus, the basement room is lush. His parents had made it into an almost self-contained apartment, with a bathroom and a pull out sofa bed along with a huge TV. It was normally reserved for family and friends coming to town, and they didn't like Beck to just use it for himself much (rightfully so. The boy was terrible at cleaning and had a habit of spilling drinks all over the floor then just patting them dry. There were so many questionable stains and sticky spots on that RV carpet) but because they also were aware of the stalker, they agreed it would be safer for me to spend the night with Beck down there.
It was a good night – we actually called the others over, under the pretense that I wanted as many people around as possible to feel safe. Andre, Cat and Robbie all came armed with instruments, cuddly toys, movies, candy and sadly, Rex. Andre had even stopped at Skybucks and got me an extra large brown sugar iced latte because he knew I loved them. We spent the rest of the night watching movies, stuffing our faces with popcorn and singing random songs.
Nights like those ones always remind me of before. If I unfocused my eyes and let my mind drift, I could almost make believe that we were sitting in Tori's living room, not Beck's basement, with her dad in his office, her mom in the kitchen and Trina singing off-key from her room as we all piled together on the sofas (me in Beck's lap, obviously, as I often was). It made me miss her, which I was still getting used too; I never thought I'd really miss Tori. Back when she first came to HA, I hated her with every inch of my soul. But without me even realising it, she'd gone from being someone I hated to someone I could very well have loved, if given just a little more time.
It's the unfinished things that hurt most. The fact I never really got a chance to sing a duet with her. We never truly acted opposite each other. I never managed to help her find that one perfect pair of shoes she had once seen in an unknown shop one day, that we'd been searching for ever since. She never finished her terrible too-sweet, too-sappy, too-cliche script about a couple overcoming all odds to find true love.
It's all the 'almost's and 'just missed's and 'maybe next week's that hurt the most when some one has gone. I can't remember the good times, because I just always end up thinking of what could have happened, what should have happened. Tori won't get to walk across the stage at graduation. Tori won't get to perform at the huge graduation showcase. She'll never make us eat those gross spicy tuna balls or drink sickly sweet pink lemonade. She'll never pull us into one of the many zany schemes she hatched because she fucked up and needed to fix it.
Yeah. The 'almost's and 'just missed's hurt the most.