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“Alvin.”

“Fuck, fuck, fucker fucked fuuuuuuuck!”

The nurse suddenly looked deeply interested in the chart on the wall, and my father came closer. “What happened should serve as a warning to you, child.”

I stopped smiling, and everything inside me went still. “A warning.”

“That this path you’ve chosen has consequences.”

I looked down at myself. At all the bruises, bandages, the hospital gown. Wires and machines that kept track of all the ways my body was still trying to work. Then back at him. “You mean being dragged naked behind a truck is a blessing.”

His expression didn’t change in the slightest. “You could have died.”

“That sounded almost like concern.”

“I am concerned.”

“No.” My voice cracked. “You’re embarrassed. There’s a difference.”

His eyes hardened. “You don’t know what I’ve had to do to protect this family.”

I stared at him for a long moment, and suddenly I understood something I probably should have understood years ago. He wasn’t going to choose me over his God. He’d never intended to. Maybe he’d convinced himself every cruel thing he’d done was love. Maybe when he’d hit me, prayed over me, punished me, shamed me, burned me, he’d genuinely thought he was rescuing my damned soul.

I swallowed.

Or maybe. He thought he was rescuing his. Because my father chose himself and his Bible over everyone around him.

“How many?” I asked, and his brow furrowed. “How many people have you protected over the years? How many times has something happened in this town and you made it disappear because it was God’s will, Dad?”

“Son…” he started to say.

“How many!” I yelled.

“That was not my implication. You’re reading into things.” He stepped closer to the bed. “You’re angry. You’ve been through trauma. And when you’re stronger, we can talk about getting you the help you need.”

I laughed again. Smaller this time. “You really don’t hear yourself.”

“You can still change.”

It was the same line he’d been feeding me since I was old enough to notice I was different. Change. Pray. Repent. Beg. Burn it out. Beat it out. Bleed it out. Hide it. Whatever it took.

I could feel the tears welling to the surface, and I tried to shake them off. “I used to think you cared about me, ya know.”

“I do.” He reached out a hand in my direction, and I swiped it aside.

“No. I thought maybe you cared in your own fucked-up way. I kept making excuses for you… Because you’re my dad.”

His eyes dropped to the floor. Just for a second.

“I thought that maybe underneath all that God talk and fucking hatred for something you didn’t understand, there was a small part of you that loved me.” I shook my head. “I was wrong.”

His jaw tightened, his teeth clattering in the back of his mouth. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

“Your life can still be redeemed.”

I stared at him while something inside me settled. It didn’t heal. It sure as hell didn’t forgive. Just settled. Accepted.