A Temper To Match

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The knife clattered to the floor of the kitchen.

“Al? What are you doing here? Your dad didn’t say you were coming home.”

Of course he didn’t, I thought, but I didn’t say so.

“Want me to ring him?” My father’s girlfriend could have been my sister, though I suspected I was older than she was. By the way, how did she know who I was? I was fairly sure my father kept my existence hidden from the rest of the world.

“No, I don’t want to bother him. I was just dropping by to collect some of my stuff.”

“Oh OK. Will you stay for dinner?”

I shook my head instantly.

“No no. I’ll only be here for a few minutes.”

In fact, I’d timed it so that I wouldn’t have to meet my father. The feeling was mutual. I doubted he’d welcome me with open arms. The homophobic son of a bitch.

“Well. I’ll be here if you need me.”

She bent to pick the knife and resumed chopping the vegetables. I half pitied her. She must have been strong willed for her to handle my father, or maybe she hadn’t seen him for what he really was. The last time I’d been here, there’d been a different girl. This one tall and blonde and definitely older than me. She was a no-nonsense woman, that was probably why she wasn’t here anymore.

I left the kitchen and took the stairs two at a time to my room. Or what used to be my room. It was as I had suspected. Untouched.

Dust had settled on my trophies. There were so many, I had a whole canlı bahis cabinet for them, and medals too. There were lots of pictures too. My hair colour had been as volatile as my dad’s taste in girls. In some pictures I was a blond and blue eyed and there was Carrie, the short buxom one.

Then there was the goth hairstyle, all black and spiky, and beside me, looking like my twin, was Rachael, with her hair short and black. There was one thing you could always trust my father to have, and that was a girl.

I reached under my bed to where I’d kept my gun, never sure if it was safe to have one, especially since I didn’t have a permit. It was there alright, and so was the extra magazine. I pulled it out and checked that the safety was on. I also checked that it was loaded. No use carrying an illegal gun if it wasn’t loaded.

I tucked the gun into my jeans and pulled my tshirt over it, stowing the magazine in my jacket pocket.

I wanted to get out of there as soon as I could but as I walked downstairs I knew something was wrong.

“David! Al came by today. He’s still in.”

Ah. He was home.

“You said?”

“AL, your son. Said he wanted to pick up a few of his stuff.”

She probably thought she was doing him a favour, but she had just ruined his day.

I heard him push the door open and stomp in.

“What the fuck are you doing in my house?” He screamed.

I considered going back to my room and slipping bahis siteleri out through the window, but I pushed the thought away and stomped down with equal vigour.

“Picking up my stuff, that’s what.” I snapped.

“What things? What fucking things do you own in my house?”

“David?” New girlfriend had come in to stand beside my father and was staring at him. His face had gone purple with rage, and he was practically spitting the words.

“Your house?”

“My house, goddammit. And you’re not welcome here. How many times do I have to get that into your thick skull?”

Any other guy would have taken that as his cue to get out, but I had my father’s temper.

“I’ll come in here whenever I fucking want to!”

“You’ll come in here from a hospital, huh?”

I was quiet for a while. I wanted my words, when I spoke them, to hit home.

“Who’s going to put me there, old man?”

He dropped the suitcase he was holding and removed his tie in one fluid motion.

“David?” New girlfriend called out, startled by this new side of her boyfriend.

“Hell I ain’t gonna put you in a hospital, boy. It’s too good for you. I’m going to put you in the morgue.”

He advanced toward me.

“Baby, do you know where the phone is?”

Her eyes snapped me, dignity taking over fear.

“What did you just call me?”

“Take one more fucking step, and I’ll shoot you. I swear to God I’ll shoot you.”

I bahis şirketleri drew my gun and aimed it at my father. He stopped where he was.

“You wouldn’t have the guts. You’re not man enough.”

“You sleep with everything that has a skirt, and you’re giving me lessons about being a man?”

“At least I don’t chase after everything that has a dick.” He probably meant it to wound but I’d been hearing it for too long to care.

“Baby? go stand near the telephone. If you hear a shot, call 9-1-1.”

“You’re not going to shoot him, are you?”

“No, Angie. He’s not going to shoot me. He’s just trying to show off for the ladies. You never could get them into your bed, could you?” He took a step forward.

“David, please don’t do anything stupid.” Angie pleaded.

“For Christ’s sake, he has a gun!”

“Angie honey, I’m sorry we had to meet like this. Now if you like this man, I suggest you restrain him. If he comes at me, I’ll shoot him, and I’ll shoot to kill. I can’t guarantee I won’t kill you too. I don’t want to spend my life in jail.”

As I talked, I advanced and my father retreated.

“Take a few more steps, easy does it.”

My father and I were a few inches apart and he looked at me with unconcealed disgust.

“Nice seeing you again, dad.” I told him. I tucked the gun into my jeans again and hightailed it out of that house. No matter how many times it happens, I always feel frustrated after a row-if you can call it that-with my father.

I got into my new Toyota and drove away. I hoped Angie didn’t call the police. And I hoped she didn’t stay long enough to find out what an asshole my father really was.

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