22. Father & Son

twenty-two

Father he will heal me.”

Vincent throws his hands in the air. “Not what I wanted to hear.” He tilts his head. “Fine, you are lucky. Your buddy has a first-aid kit here and did a first-aid class once.”

I eye him skeptically while he retrieves said kit. “When exactly did you do that class?”

“Well, it’s been a while, but you know what they say. You never forget-”

“A while?” I interrupt him. “What? Was that in kindergarten?”

“Primary school!” he huffs.

“I am letting someone patch me up who took a first-aid class in primary school?” I deadpan.

“It’s that or the infirmary,” Vincent says.

“Fair enough,” I sigh, “you win.”

I doubt Vincent truly knows what he is doing, but he has a disinfectant that burns awfully on my lip and something for the bruising. I guess there isn’t too much he can do wrong. For minutes, neither of us talks until Vincent hands me some ice for my face.

Sadness fills me all of sudden, shoving aside the numbness that I was feeling ever since I walked out of my father’s office.

“Why can’t he love me?” I ask into the silence, my voice breaking slightly.

Vincent looks up.

“Why does he not have any love for me?” I repeat.

“Elden,” Vincent says quietly, his shoulders dropping slightly.

“I tried so hard. I did everything he wanted me to do, always. I was hoping it would be enough one day. That he would look at me, really look at me and see me, and show me some kind of love. But it never happened. Mom wasn’t enough for him, and I am not enough either.”

“Fuck!” Vincent curses. “That asshole!” He gets up. “Drinks,” he says.

“Yeah,” I agree. “I hope you have something strong.”