Daddy Issues

Summer

"Gabriel, please. I have to stop."

My body is on fire, and I feel as if I'm going to pass out. We've been walking for damn near thirty minutes. Even though we aren't going nearly as fast as I know he would like to go, it's still too fast for me.

Gabriel turns left, leading me into a park. I take a seat on one of the free benches not occupied by a homeless person. He sits beside me, his wide body taking up most of the seat.

Leaning my head back, I allow the cool breeze to wash over my clammy skin. I wish I could say this is the worst of my symptoms. However, by tomorrow I'll feel like my body is trying to reject itself. That's if I live to see tomorrow.

"At the moment, death doesn't seem so bad," I say with a chuckle.

He doesn't reply, instead he looks over to me briefly.

I stare up at the sky for a moment. Taking my time to enjoy the beauty of it. You will be surprised at the number of things you don't take the time to acknowledge in your everyday life. It isn't until you're at death's door that you stop to smell the roses.

"What demons are you running from?" His voice breaks through my calm, bringing me out of my somber thoughts.

"Have we gotten to that part of our date? The part where we start revealing intimate details?" I joke, but it is met with the same silence as earlier.

Glancing over to him, I notice one thick brow is lifted and a frown turns his full lips down.

I sigh, sitting up in my seat, I tuck my legs to my chest and cover them with the oversized hoodie.

"Do you remember when you asked me who I knew that died?"

He dips his chin but doesn't speak.

"It was my dad."

That seemed to be enough of an answer for him. However, if this is going to be my last night on this earth I might as well share my truth with someone.

"I was a daddy's girl. Family and friends all said that I was his shadow. Wherever Terence Jones went his mini-me followed."

I laugh reminiscing on my good times as a child. Despite how much of a fuck up I am now, I did have a fairly normal childhood up until about six years old.

"I looked just like him too. He, like me, was what the old folks called high ‘yella'. We even have the same freckles," I say pointing to the smattering of brown spots across my face.

My smile from earlier falls as I think about how things turned out. "I was about six when I first noticed something wasn't right with him. I tried to talk to mama about it, but she kept telling me it was nothing. She told to me to stay in a child's place."

"You see, daddy would have moments where he would be so high on life and funny, that he'd seem like he was floating. He would pull me out of school on those days just to get ice cream or go for a walk. Then there were the days when he couldn't get out of bed. At first mama tried to explain it away as his artist's soul. My father was a painter."

I look over to Gabriel and although his gaze is bouncing around the area on high alert, I know he's listening to everything I'm saying. So, I push forward.

"I was seven years old when I first learned of his bipolar disorder 1 diagnosis. The doctor put him on pills to keep him levelheaded. But, he often complained that the pills affected his creative mind." I pause at this point in my story because it all goes downhill from here.

Gabriel's warm rough hand wraps around mine, squeezing it gently. I stare at the way his large palm swallows my hand. I don't pull away and neither does he. I allow the comfort of his touch to give me the strength to keep going.

"By the time that day happened, it had gotten bad in our house. We moved out on my eighth birthday. Daddy nearly burned the house down with all of us in it trying to make me a cake. That day mama found out daddy wasn't taking his meds anymore. As the weeks went by, he'd gotten worse. He was going through phases of hypomania."

I let out a deep breath, fighting down the tears and the memories. "That day, we went by to check on him and to get some mail. The house was a mess, and he had paint everywhere. He wanted us to stay. Even begged my mother to sit with him for a while, but she refused. But I was a daddy's girl, so I asked to stay with him. She didn't even argue," I say with a chuckle even though it isn't funny.

"I often think back on that day. I wonder if Raina had asked to stay, would my mother had said yes."

That thought has always stayed with me. Why did she care so little about me to allow me to stay. She knew he was dangerous. She even admitted once that she figured he would take his life soon. Yet, it never crossed her mind to keep me away from him.

"What happened that night, Summer?" Gabriel asks, pulling me from my last thought.

Leaning my head back on the bench, I once again look up at the sky.

"He wouldn't sit still. He kept talking and pacing. He repeated over and over that someone was coming, and we had to run. Eventually, I got him to calm down and try to sleep. I woke up from my bed in the middle of the night. My father was standing in my doorway with a gun.

"He shot me first. The bullet went through my shoulder and out my chest missing every vital organ in its path. As I lay there bleeding and in pain, he told me he loved me more than anything in the world. He then turned the gun on himself."

I didn't realize I was crying until Gabriel wipes the tears from my face.

"I see him every night I try to sleep. I remember the pain in his eyes as he pulled the trigger both times. He was fighting a losing battle with demons I couldn't help him with. And what's worse, I think I have the same demons."

I break down, allowing the many years I've kept my fears to myself to catch up with me. The first time I went to see a therapist I was so afraid of her telling me I was going to be like my dad that I would freak out before the appointments.

I didn't want to be him, but then I'd feel guilty because he was the only person in this world that truly loved me. The only person in the world that gave a damn about me was so fucked up in the head he didn't even know up or down sometimes. What does that say about me?

"Breathe, Summer," his deep voice sounds low in my ear.

Sucking in breaths of air, it helps to calm my nerves a little.

"Do I get a pass on the death penalty now since I have a sad story?" I ask, only half joking.

Those seafoam green eyes narrow and he shakes his head twice.

I snort and have to use the sleeve of his sweater to wipe the snot from my nose. "It was worth a try, right?"

"If it were up to me, I don't think I would kill you."

Okay, I'm definitely suffering some kind of psychotic break because that was kind of sweet. I mean, knowing the little I do know about Gabriel, I don't think he gets to make many decisions on his own. So, for him to choose to not kill me, means he actually kind of likes me.

"Aren't we a pair. The killer with mommy issues and the hooker with a possible bipolar disorder."

For the first time tonight, I get a real laugh from Gabriel. Not the shoulder shaking silent thing I think I witnessed back in his apartment, but a real chuckle with actual sound.

We sit for only a few more minutes, allowing me to catch my breath before we are on the move again. We take another train back down to Queens.

After hopping off, we walk a few blocks before the smell of grilled steak and spicy peppers has my stomach growling. Without a word, Gabriel grabs my hand, and pulls me over to the restaurant. The only option for sitting is a little table situated under the awning near the register and some outdoor dining space.

Stepping up to the counter, the smell intensifies. I actually start to crave something other than a high for the first time tonight.

"How can I help you?" The Hispanic man asks with a genuine smile.

Gabriel looks at me and I don't hesitate to answer.

"Can I have two of your grilled steak tacos, two chorizo tacos, and two carnitas tacos." I turn to Gabriel. "You want something?"

He smiles down at me, before turning to the man behind the counter. "Double her order."

"And two lemonades, please." I kindly add.

The older man places our orders and Gabriel pays willingly. We step aside allowing the two young men behind us to place their orders as well.

"Where to next?" I ask, sipping my drink through a straw.

I'm starting to come to terms with his job. I don't want to ever witness it again, but so far the men he has killed all deserved it. Gabriel ran down his victims' crimes to me on one of our train rides. These were awful people. I'm not a fan of violence and killing, but they needed to die.

Gabriel looks at me briefly before turning back to his job of scanning the streets.

"John Smith."

I dip my brow and crinkle my nose. "That sounds like a made-up name. What's his crime?"

"Murder," he simply says.

So far tonight he's killed a cult leader that preys on young girls, a man that has orchestrated hundreds of hate crimes in the US, a pharmaceutical mass murderer, a soulless politician, and an organ harvester. This guy seems like a saint compared to them.

"Who did he kill?" It must be someone special for him to be on an assassin's hit list.

"I don't know." This time when Gabriel speaks on the subject he frowns.

Our order is called. Gabriel picks it up and then directs us to the outside eating area. We take a seat separating our food. After taking a bite of the delicious chorizo taco, I close my eyes and moan at how the flavors burst on my tastebuds. When I open my eyes, Gabriel is watching me. I'm too hungry to be bashful.

"What did your research say about this guy?" I ask, picking back up on our conversation.

I'll never get over the way Gabriel eats. In the time that I have taken two bites of my taco, he's finished one and is almost done with the second one.

"This is a special case. It was handpicked for me. I don't have much on him."

I pinch my brows together. "That doesn't raise any alarm bells for you?"

When he told me about the other men on his menu, he had so much detail. He told me about their crimes, their personal lives, and even some of their few good contributions to society. I concluded that Gabriel was big on doing his own research. It kind of made me feel as if he wasn't just out here killing because someone told him to. Don't get me wrong, he's definitely a rule follower, but he isn't a mindless sheep. That's why his response seems odd.

Instead of answering me, he grunts. I don't harp on it. He knows more about this shit than I do. Maybe this is a special case, and he doesn't need any details. I go back to enjoying my tacos.

After I've made it through about three of them, he cuts into the silence.

"Why did you eat this, but not the food at the diner?"

I look up to find his eyes on me. He's finished his food, but he isn't rushing me to finish mine. Which I appreciate.

Using a clean napkin to wipe my mouth I reply, "I wasn't hungry then. But also, I love Mexican food. It's about the only thing I'll never pass up."

"You pass up food often." He doesn't phrase it as a question, but I answer it anyway.

"Sometimes," I say, clearing my throat nervously.

As I've said, I haven't necessarily been good to my body.

I finish the rest of my food while telling him all about the best Mexican restaurants I've visited. I wrap my last taco up, too full to eat another bite. I go to place it in the tray we were using for trash, but he holds out a hand to block it.

When I look up at him, he cocks a brow at me. Without saying a word, I know what he wants. Sighing, I drop the taco back down in front of me and unwrap it.

It only takes me a few more minutes to finish the last one. Once I'm done, I ball the paper up and toss it in the tray.

"Happy now?" I ask.

"Yes." He grabs our trash and takes it to the trash can.

Standing, I try to grab his black duffle off the ground, but the thing has to weigh at least fifty pounds. How the hell has he been carrying this around all night so effortlessly. I try again to lift it using both hands.

He comes over, knocks my hands away, and easily lifts the bag up. I don't miss the slight tilt of his lips.

"Whatever." I roll my eyes. "I could have done it."

"You will need a few more tacos before you can lift this."

I stick out my tongue at his little dig. He swings the bag over his shoulder and starts to walk off. I follow like the obedient captive that I am.

"Tell me about your mother?" I ask after another block of walking and talking.

I've talked so much about my life, trying to appeal to his humanity, that I haven't found out anything about him. Will knowing more about him help me stay alive? Doubtful. But at this point I'm kind of interested.

His shoulders tighten and he has yet to respond to my question. This is usually when I would let him off the hook. However, I did admit to him that I'm possibly batshit crazy like my father. I'm not going to be the only person exorcising demons tonight.

When he still hasn't responded after three minutes, I ask another question.

"Is she dead or alive?"

This time, he cuts his eyes over to me and I can read on his face he doesn't want to discuss this topic. Tough luck.

"Oh, I see. You can ask me about my shit, but I can't ask about yours. Good to know where we stand in this relationship."

"This isn't a fucking relationship," he growls as he spins around to face me.

I stop in my tracks. It's not like the fear of this man has ever dissipated. However, being around him and talking to him made me a little more comfortable with him. But having him glare down at me the way he is reminds me again of his capabilities.

"We aren't on a date, nor are we friends. Despite your blatant attempts at it. Need I remind you that you will die tonight by my hands."

For a second his words cut me like glass shards. I'm not crazy enough to believe that we were bonding or anything, but I did think that my plan to make myself more human to him was working. I even thought maybe we were cool, and he somehow understood me.

Although Trina has been my bestie since forever, she has no idea the demons I fight daily. No one does. Well, except Gabriel. He has been the first person since my daddy died that has ever truly listened to me. I thought maybe that meant something. I guess I'm an idiot or maybe it's Stockholm syndrome.

I lower my head ready to give up the fight. Then a thought hits me. Gabriel is doing exactly what I do when someone is trying to get too close. Usually, I fuck things up. Like, try to cook on a stove knowing damn well I'm too high. One of my rehab councilors called it self-sabotage.

"Fine. You want me to be your silent victim. We can do that."

I start walking even though I have no idea where we're going. This could very well backfire on me. Despite what he said, I think he has enjoyed my talking all this time. So, going silent could speed up his ire and cause him to strangle me. However, it's worth the risk.

Gabriel walks past me taking the lead. We walk about four blocks in complete silence. It's probably harder on me than it is him. I'm a talker.

I no longer stand beside him when we stop at crosswalks either. I make sure to put about six feet of distance between us. At the fourth crosswalk, Gabriel sighs.

"She's still alive."

I don't allow any outward change to appear on my face. I keep it cool and stay stoic. However, inside I'm cheesing hard. Keeping my gaze locked on the red hand sign across the street, I remain silent.

"Every day I ask myself why I haven't killed her yet," he admits.

His hand tightens into a fist down at his side. This is a hard topic for him. The way his breathing sounds labored and the veins protruding in his forearms are clear indications he's uncomfortable.

I wrap my hand around his fist. He loosens his grip. I slide my fingers in between his. He looks down at where our hands interlock but doesn't comment. It's a bold move. Not sure if I did it because I'm still trying to survive the night, or if I did it just because I know he needed it.

"Why haven't you killed her?"

My goal was to stay silent. I planned to let him get it off his chest at his own pace, but I want to know the answer to that. He is more than capable of killing his mother. The man is a trained assassin. There has to be more to the reason he hasn't done the deed.

"I don't know," he admits.

That's a lie. I think he does know, and he just doesn't want to admit it. Maybe it's because at the end of the day, despite how awful our parents can be and how they can fuck us up royally, they're still our parents. No matter how hard we try to not be bothered or to get their hurtful words out of our heads, we are still children needing the love of our parents.

I know there's nothing I can do to make my mother love me. She has said on multiple occasions that I'm the worst thing that ever happened to her.

Even before I became her problematic druggy daughter, I was always the misbehaving child. The one that hardly sat still, the one that asked all the questions and liked to get dirty. It's why my father and I bonded so well. I was like him. My mother has always hated that about me, and yet, I still long for her love.

"Well, if you kill me, maybe I can come back and haunt her for you," I say to lighten the mood a little.

My comment has those pale green eyes looking down at me with a smirk.

"Maybe," he says.

The little walking symbol appears on the sign giving us the right of way. Before I go to step off the curb, the loud sound of rap music has me looking to the left.

A large black SUV pulls up to the light. My heart skips a few beats and then starts to race in my chest. My belly fills with rocks and my limbs refuse to move.

It's him. I know it's him. I want to run and hide but I can't get my body to respond. Eventually the light turns green, and the SUV speeds off down the street.

Finally, I can breathe and my heart stops dancing in my chest. When I look up, Gabriel is staring at me suspiciously. He then turns in the direction the black SUV went. I swear this man doesn't miss anything.

"We should go," I say, before he starts asking questions.

He inclines his head, and we cross the street. Despite the red hand on the crosswalk telling us not to.