Resting against the window, I was a part of it. My hair, cheek, lips, melted into the glass and I was cold as the snow that flew past. My breath no longer fogging and condensing, but vanishing, my body slowly crystallizing.
'Son,' my father repeated, shattering the glass me. My eyes slid to the side and I saw his face, pointed directly forwards, concentrating on the road in front, not looking at me. The flickering patterns of the shadows gave him chilling angles on his nose, eyes and temples. I averted my gaze to the outside and had no choice but to answer. I tried to keep my voice as steady as possible.
'Yes?'
I could hear his head turn to look at me, the sound of his coat collar rubbing against his neck was sharp. I didn't want our eyes to meet so I kept my attention on the world outside the car. It flew by so quickly, I wanted to catch it. I could feel my father's stare, it was unsettling, like a stranger whispering in my ear.
'I hate you.'
To say I wasn't shocked would be a lie. But it wasn't the fact that he hated me that was surprising. I had known that since I was a child. However, that he had said it aloud caught me off guard completely. My father never expressed his opinion, or emotion, or anything for that matter. He wasn't like a cool, stony and stoic character from a book or movie, more so he was annoyingly hard to read. When he said anything, it was a command, devoid of any feeling.
I have always lived in uneasiness with my father. Avoiding his gaze, his touch, his few words, never allowing myself to have any attachment to him, emotional or otherwise. I'm a coward, never being able to stand up to him, to disagree or even say a thing back to him.
When he would stare sternly at me as I ate my food, looking for mistakes. I would shakily lift the food to my mouth, acutely aware of his gaze cutting into me and absolutely terrified of accidentally dropping something or dripping. He stared while he ate, and finally one time said,
'Don't hold your chopsticks like that, you're not a child anymore.'
His voice was smooth, cold, and it made me stop, stilled like a statue while still holding my bowl, my hand almost trembling. The way he had said it, as if purposely trying to point out a flaw, any flaw he could find, using a voice that could have paralyzed any man, prevented me from eating. And even to this day I cannot eat anything in his presence, avoiding him when he's home, only being able to enter the kitchen when I'm sure he's out.
That, and many other similar instances have caused me to hide from him whenever possible. Stealthily moving through the house, quietly, swiftly, ghosting the walls and halls so he doesn't notice my being there. Only facing him when it's necessary, only speaking when spoken to. Many times I have considered running away and I laugh at the fact that it would probably take him a week to notice my absence. Unfortunately, as I am now, a senior in high school with a low paying job at a twenty-four hour coffee shop, it would be impossible to continue living successfully away from home.
Despite all that, I had no choice but to agree when he had asked me, standing directly in front of me and glowering at my bowed head, to go with him for a drive. I didn't question his destination or reasoning for suddenly asking me, and because of that I had ended up in my current situation. A long known statement, a monster, and a good for nothing. All together in a car, driving driving driving, then stopped.
It took me a moment to realize he had parked the car. We sat on the shoulder of the road, not two metres from the brightly lit bridge that connected the two sides of the city split by a wide and violent river. It was black, but the city was reflected on the surface.
My father turned his body towards me and I could hear his jacket scrape against the car seat. I wanted to look at him, to see his expression, but all I could do was keep my eyes fixed on my hands rested in my lap. I heard a click, a metallic click. A gun's click.
'I'm going to shoot you now. I'm going to shoot you and I hope you die.'
There was a long pause. I gathered the courage to turn my head, slowly, very slowly. My eyes were unable to reach him before he pulled the trigger. He shot me in the stomach, not the head or heart, but near my stomach. The bullet went right through me and lodged in to the seat. I swallowed and felt blood move its way up my throat. I reached a shaky arm over to the door and opened it, leaving the vehicle to enter the cold outdoors. My father didn't stop me. He didn't say anything.
I took an unsteady step to the direction of the bridge, my arms encircling my midsection. I didn't feel anything except for the blood flowing out of me, staining my jacket and hands forever. I made my way onto the bridge gradually, carefully walking on the snow, looking out towards the other side of the city. I coughed once or twice, red dripping down my lips and chin, the blowing snowflakes and my hair sticking to it, making my face frozen and messy. I couldn't taste it.
I made it nearly halfway before I fell. My legs became weak and then crumbled, taking me with them. I didn't notice I had fallen till I felt ice caressing my forehead and cheeks, red mixing with white. I unwrapped my stiff arms and with great difficulty and pushed myself into a sitting postion, my back leaning on the bridge's railing. I was breathing hard now, my breath coming out as liquid and as fog. My hands lay limply by my sides, I grabbed snow and pebbles and dirt and death and squeezed them between my numb fingers.
I looked up, the lights shined so bright, blindingly, fragile flakes twirled in front of them. The landed on me, my eyelashes, my nose, my teeth, my heart. They were inside me, filling me with bitter frost. They spilled out red. I was dying. I knew this, and this brought about a pain, a searing pain, a crippling pain.
Nothing but pain. No sadness or regret or remorse or anger. Just simple pain, and it hurt. It hurthurthurtsomuchIcouldbarelystandit.
I wanted to cry, to feel warm tears on my face, but they came out cold. Cold and red and painful.
I was dying.
Dying,dying,dying,death,dead.
I don't want to die I don't want to die I don't wantIdon'twantIdon'twantIdon't
Death.
