SIMONA
"You did that yourself sweetie. In Dylan's car. And you didn't let him put it back on you." She informed.
"What?!" I shrieked in alarm. My eyes widening. That can't be right. I am too conscious and insecure about my body to let someone else see it. Mom blinks and sighs. "I should be very mad at you. But I can't because I am quite happy that you are stepping out of your shell for once." Huh?
"You can have all the fun you want. But don't be senseless and indiscreet about it, especially now that your dad is running for a government office." She added.
"Richard is running for office?" Another shocker, if that's true.
"Don't call him Richard. He is dad to you." That scold never gets old. I don't know why she refers to the man as my father. Sure, I am thankful for his generosity, but nothing will change the fact that he is not my biological dad and that we are only related because he married my mom. That will change if they divorce. The man is a two-time divorcee already. There is a chance that he might become a three-time with my mother.
"He is not my dad mom. Stop pushing that already!" I protested. I am getting fed up with her for that.
"He is not your biological dad—yes, but he has done so much than your deadbeat father ever could for you. Doesn't that make him qualify?"
My mouth twitches to say something. A refute. An argument. Anything. But I can't because there isn't any. The bastard whose sperm made me is deadbeat in everyway. I can't understand how an angel like my mom got entangled with him in ways that led to my birth. He was a pity excuse of a man. An alcoholic, a gambling drug addict, and a wimpy bastard who tried to sell his wife and daughter to pay off some of his gambling debts. He did succeeded with mom. She was assaulted by two of his creditors. I heard it all happen when I was hiding in the kitchen cupboard. I still hear that sound even now. It plays in my mind sometimes like a broken record plate. I still see the images of her lying broken and helpless on the dirty floor as the men took what they wanted. On another day, one came for me next. Mom lost her shit and hit the man with my heavy snowball music box that she got for me as a present for my 10th birthday, which was barely three months before all of that. That man is currently lying brain dead in some hospital—that is if the doctors and his family has not decided to put him off life support. I was surprised he didn't fully die from the crazed way in which mom hit his head over and over. I still see that image too; of her covered in blood, and me being choked with fear, trapped underneath a monster who wanted to ruin me. I have no one but my mom to thank for him not succeeding with his attempt. The days and months after that were a chaotic blur. I was thrown into social welfare custody while mom battled with the trauma from her assault and the attempted murder lawsuit filed against her by the man's family. Dad died during all of this. They said he overdosed from a drug. I was quite happy about his death. I could not imagine having to see the bastard's face after everything me and mom went through because of him and his addictions. I remember when she came to visit me at the social welfare. She told me that that might probably be the last time I see her. That she would come get me if things went well. But if it doesn't, I should hope and pray to get adopted by good foster parents. I cried a river that day. But fortunately, she won the lawsuit. As well as five hundred thousand dollars paid by the man's family as compensation. She came back for me. That compensation fee helped us get our life back together. We moved away from Kansas to the big apple where we started a new life. Mom opened up a fancy restaurant in Manhattan. And three years later, that is where she and Richard's whirlwind romance began. I feel bad for existing sometimes. Mom doesn't speak it, but she sees me like a baggage from her previous hell marriage that she is stuck with. It is there in the way she looks at me sometimes—like she recalls all the assault, and everything she went through in the hands of my dad. She would have been starting on a completely clean slate with Richard if I wasn't around. But I console myself with the thought that it is not my fault for existing. It is her fault for screwing around with a senseless drug addict in the first place. Heavens, she even owes me an apology for giving me that kind of man as my dad. Our case is a cautionary tale for me. I will not give my kids a deadbeat father. Back to Richard.
She is right. But I can't call him dad. I am better off without one.
"You need to move in with us now." Those words dropped on me like a bomb. Did I just hear her say move in with them? Where to? Hopefully not her matrimonial mansion. I look at her like she has grown two heads.
"What....?"
"Like I said before honey, your dad is running for office."
"What does that have to do with me?"
"I can't help but think you are dumb like your real dad sometimes."