He lowers his lips to my cheek, first for a kiss before gliding them to my ear. “It’s nothing.”
I flip around, breaking his hold on me, still holding onto his bruised and bloody hand. “This isn’t nothing. What happened?”
“What needed to be done,” he mumbles, with a stern expression that’s not directed at me, but instead over my shoulder, and the feeling I had that something was going to happen creeps in again.
“Sarina.” That’s all my dad has to say and my stomach drops. I squeeze Tomás’ hand, not giving a damn if any of the blood gets on me. I need the comfort.Hiscomfort.
My dad says my name repeatedly. Each time more condescending then the last, and every time I hear it spewed out with such venom it brings me back to when I was living under his roof. Always a nuisance. Always to blame. No matter what it was, I —for some reason— was the lucky one to always be his punching bag.
Tomás’ attention on me, he whispers, “It’s okay.”
I nod knowing full well it’s never okay when it comes to my dad. And to make matters worse, he’s slurring his words, meaning he’s been drinking since before the ceremony, given that cocktail hour only just began.
“Do not make me same your name again,little girl.”
My eyes pinch closed for a split second. They don’t open until Tomás moves his hand from squeezing mine to being wrapped around my shoulder, so that we are both facing my dad, together.
“You have a lot of fucking nerve, you know that?” My dad spews, gaze locked on me.
Tomás words echo in my head on repeat as I try to convince myself that it’s okay, when in fact, I know deep down that it’s not.
None of this is okay.
I’mnot okay.
It’s not okay that my own father has nothing but hate in his eyes and is glaring at us, on my sister’s wedding day of all days.
It’s not okay, that he insists on speaking to me like I’m beneath him.
It’s not okay that whatever it is that has him in a mood, is somehow my fault.
I lived my entire life being at the mercy of his mood swings and I’m done.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I manage with a steady voice, even as my heartbeat has taken residency in my eardrums.
Stunned, my dad looks at me with ample disgust spewed across his face. “I don’t know what has gotten into you or who thehellyou think you’re talking to like that, but if you don’t follow me outside right now so we can talk about your latest stunt, I swear to god I’ll…”
There’s no finishing that sentence, not when Tomás has positioned himself in front of me, blocking my view of my dad.
“There won’t be a need for any of that.”
“Excuse me?” My dad tries to make his way around the barricade Tomás has created.
“You heard me.”
“You know, for someone who needs me to sign off with your firm, you sure have an interesting way of trying to impress me.”
“First of all, I don’t need anything from you. And the only person I care to impress is the woman you foolishly think you can berate in front of me.”
A sadistic laugh erupts from my dad. “You meanmydaughter?”
“Who so happens to be mywife.”
“Go to hell. It’s a sham marriage intended to circumvent my mother’s will. All Sarina’s idea, I’m sure.” From what I can see from my very limited periphery, my dad waves his hand toward Tomás, stumbling a bit as he does. But of course, as always, my dad has found a way to take what someone else has said or done and make it my fault.
Air catches in my throat as tears that won’t yet fall swell to my eyes.
Speak, goddamn it.
