First And Last Time

My father shot out of the couch as I threw my weight forward, and the broken glass struck it, my blood darkening the purple color.

“What is the meaning of this, Siri?” he asked, his voice loud, and for the first time since I've known this man as my father, I saw intense emotions in his eyes: shock, fear. 

Good. 

Good.

“DIE!!” I screamed as I raised the glass above my head, my blood dripping down my arm as I lunged at him again. “Just die!”

He stepped out of the way again, his eyes growing wilder. I was panting, my hair glued to my face, my entire body trembling. I could feel myself growing weaker with every movement, but rage and devastation were the fuel that kept pushing me forward. My vision grew blurry with my tears, a hard sob ripping from my throat. 

“Drop the glass, Siri,” he said, trying to stay calm, but I noticed his hands shaking and his chest rising a little too heavily. 

He was scared, or too shocked. Either way, I didn't plan to stop. I didn't plan to stop until one of us was dead. 

Maybe then the agony will end. Maybe then, the screams in me will stop. If one of us were dead, maybe I would no longer feel their hands on my body. Maybe I won't hear their laughter again, or see their wide smiles every time I blink. I won’t feel my heart breaking under Michael’s cruel stare. I won’t feel my soul withering away, even now.

“Please,” I cried, my voice breaking as I threw myself weakly at him, and he stepped out of my way, his hands held out in a sign of peace, but I was too gone. “Please, Dad, just die. Please, I'm begging! It needs to end! It won’t stop! Their voices won’t go away! So die, please!” 

I was about to go for him again, but there was only so much my body could take, and it just gave out. My legs could no longer hold me up, and I crashed to the floor, my knees hitting it with a cracked sound. The glass dropped from my hand, the deep cut there finally making itself known.

I turned my head slowly to the glass lying a foot from me, reaching for it, but it was kicked away from my reach. I looked up to see my father staring down at me with his chest heaving heavily, his eyes bright and wide with fear.

“Okay, then,” I said softly, weakly. I raised my trembling hands to my neck and grabbed it, my hands tightening around it. “I will die then. I will die, and it will end.”

He dropped to his knees in front of me, his hands shaking as he grabbed mine and pulled them away from my neck. I struggled, but it was no use. I was too weak, but I screamed and thrashed anyway.

“Let go! Let me go, please! It has to end! Please!”

That morning was the first and last time I ever saw my father’s eyes filled with tears. That was the only time he saw me. The only time he felt strong emotions towards me, and it hurt so much that I wished I had never seen it.

“What happened, Siri?” he asked softly, still holding my hands and stopping me from choking myself. 

And that was the only time he ever called my name so softly.

“You,” I cried, still struggling. “You happened, Dad! You have never, for one day, been a father to me. Not for one day! And yet everywhere I go, every corner I take, I'm branded as Marshall’s daughter!” 

My shoulders dropped, my struggle ending. I stared down at my lap, my tears dropping, my body trembling so hard, my teeth rattling. 

“Everywhere I go, people see you before they see me,” I whispered, my eyes wide, my chest too tight and suffocating, but not suffocating enough to make me stop breathing. “They know your name before they know mine. They judge me before they know me. So please… Please die so this torture can end. Just… be gone so I can finally be someone. So I can stop living under your shadow.” 

My tears have dried up, but it still hurts. It still hurts so much, and I wanted it to end. I wanted to stop feeling, because it was just too much. 

I didn’t hate my father. No, I have never hated him. I have always tried to have him look at me and really see me. I have always wanted him to see me as his daughter, and maybe act like it. I have done well in school; I have been good; I stayed away from boys, but none of that was ever enough. He never sees me. He looks at me, but it feels like he just sees through me.

Why? What have I ever done? Exist? Being born? Why was I being punished like this? Could it just end? I have suffered enough, so could it just end? If I could–

“I’m sorry,” that deep, smooth voice whispered, and everything in me stilled. 

I raised my head slowly to him. 

He wasn't looking at me, just at a distance, but those emotions were still in his eyes. And he looked… broken. My father, who I thought was emotionless, looked like he was coming undone. He ran his hand through his hair, inhaling a shaky breath as he shook his head. 

“God, she would be so disappointed in me.” 

I didn't ask who “she” was and just stared at him. Finally, his eyes dropped to mine, and those emotions bled into me, and I felt like I was falling apart, piece by piece. 

“Forgive me, Siri,” he whispered. “Sometimes we try to be better people, to be someone else, and for a while we succeed, but we can’t really run from who we are.” His voice cracked. “But I'm… I'm truly sorry. Truly sorry.”

That was the most he has ever said to me. In my seventeen years, those are the most words my own father has said to me, and it broke everything in me. It broke the things Michael hadn't managed to break. And it hurts. It hurts so much. I wanted to curse at him; I wanted to scream at him, but all I did was sob until I could cry no more. And he knelt there, not saying anything else, not touching me. He just stayed there.

And those words were the only thing that kept me from slitting my wrists or swallowing a bottle of pills. Those words and that look in his eyes were the only thing that I held onto that got me up every morning. 

My father never spoke about that day. He acted like it never happened and went back to the way he had always been, but for a whole year, he stayed away from women and their possessions. But one day, he came home with a woman in his arms and introduced her as his fiancée, urging me to play the perfect daughter after everything. 

That night, he told me with a blank look in his eyes, “We can only be who we are.”