I walk uo the garden path of my fathers old house. I guess I should probably think about it as my families old house, but since my parents divorced, all that's left in that house now is my lonely dad and my horrific memories of years of abuse as a child. Even now, years after it all happened, I cannot look my father in the eye, cannot venture upstairs into my old bedroom, I find it hard to enter the house at all.
Before I knock on the door, I check that i'm not exposing too much flesh. I hate the thought of him seeing my body. I'm paying my father a brief visit just to check if he's okay. I'm on my way to an office party where I have to be in a half hour, and i'm wearing a tight, low cut, strapless black dress and heels. Over my shoulders i've thrown on an old cardigan that was in my car. I pull it tightly accross my cheast as I build up the courage to knock. Since my mother moved out, I always knock. After a few seconds my father opens the door. I'm surprised - he is well dressed for once.
"Well. What's the occasion?" I ask as I walk into the dimly lit living room.
"Ah, you'll see." He replies with a faint smile, watching me sit down on the dusty old couch. "Would you like a drink? I got your favourite." He says, shaking a large bottle of burbon.
"How'd you know that's my favourite?" I ask. It strikes me as strange that my father should know anything like that about me, as I try to make my visits as brief as possible and never take the time to converse with him at all.
"You'd be surprised at some of the details I remember about you Maggie dear." He smirks as he says this, and I feel like hitting him. I grind my teeth and clench my fists underneath my legs, forcing a false smile. He hands me a glass, and pours me a large measure. To be honest, I feel like I could do with it. I drink it quickly, and signal to him for a reifll.
"May I?" I ask politely.
"That's no problem sweetheart. I bought this stuff for you." he says as he chuckles, filling my glass further.
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