Every few minutes, a camera flashes, blurring my vision. Bright lights hurt my eyes since starting the meds. Father’s speech elicits the usual hoots and hollers that his ragebaiting tirades usually do. I’ve heard the damned thing for days, so nothing really surprises me.
He never once goes off script, uttering each word with well-rehearsed inflection. The minutes drag on, and the speech approaches its completion.
The heavy feeling in my chest for days is starting to break up. Once this is over, I’ll be able to hide in my room again. Maybe I’ll sleep for a change. That’s all I want to do.
But then my father says something that wasn’t rehearsed. “As most of you know, my beloved wife, Belinda, passed away earlier this year.”
What the fuck?
My stomach drops. Hard enough that I almost lose my balance.
No. He’s not doing this.
“Perhaps passed away isn’t the right term. Belinda was a sick woman. Her mental health took a drastic turn for the worse earlier this year, and she just…wasn’t strong enough.”
My body freezes in place. No. Not this. My mouth falls open. Why wouldn’t he tell me he was going to mention her? What’s he trying to do right now?
“It’s been incredibly hard on my family, but my poor son, Felix, has suffered the most.”
He motions to me and stares into my eyes with a phony, sympathetic expression, making my clenched fists shake at my sides.
“A young boy should never lose a parent to something as grim as suicide. Felix…”
He fully turns to me, holding his arms out, but making sure hismouth is close enough that the microphone catches everything he says. “I promise, I will be strong for you. I’ll take care of you, the way a parent should.”
The lights flash, and the applause grows louder and louder. My mother’s face enters my mind, and the worst thing imaginable happens.
I start to cry.
And I can’t stop it. It’s like something cracked open inside me, and everything just spills out.
To which the crowd responds with sounds of sympathy and praise for this disgusting man who doesn’t deserve the title of father.
Then the sick bastard turns to the crowd and screams, “I’ll be strong for all of you!”
Their deafening cheers swallow me alive as blinding rage consumes me.
Father closes the distance between us and wraps his arms around me, pressing me to his bosom. The old me would have bitten him, but I’m so shaken that I can’t do anything but just stand there like the prop that I am.
He used me. I didn’t even know it was going to happen. He had it rehearsed the whole time and never once said it aloud in front of me. Never once asked if it was okay to bring this up in front ofhundredsof people. Because he wanted it to rattle me, he wanted me to look completely crushed so he could swoop in and play the heroic father in front of the cameras.
The crowd cheers, and Father turns to face them, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and pumping his fist in the air.
I want to scream at the top of my lungs and tell this crowd what a monster he is—that he used his own son. I want to tell them that the only reason I’m here is because of mymother’s love and that she was the best thing that ever happened to me.
But all I can do is cry, which is creating the perfect photo op for my Father.
My legs buckle, and, for a moment, I fear that I’ll faint, but then I hear the rev of a motorcycle engine.
I don’t know why, but it cuts through everything.I can breathe again.
It gives me the strength to lock my knees and stay upright.
I won’t fall for my father. I won’t bow anymore.
This is the final blow.
Something inside me finally snaps clean.
