Garden of Sins

“Dad?” I ask softly, but of course, he doesn’t respond. “I made you breakfast.” If he wasn’t breathing and blinking, you’d think he was dead. Maybe that would even be a relief for him. But I still remember his shining eyes and his homely laugh, which is why I don’t want to give up on him completely like I did with my mom a long time ago.

“Aren’t you hungry?” I ask and set down the plate before I start collecting empty cans. It smells of alcohol and cigarettes in here. We never used to have that in our house. My parents didn’t smoke, use drugs or drink, just occasionally at football games that Dad dragged us to or at parties and barbecues with friends — who have all turned their backs on us now, just like the rest of the family on Dad’s side. I don’t know my mother’s side of the family.

I go to the kitchen, dispose of the empty cans, and come back with a bottle of water, which I set next to the plate. Then I sit down with him again.

“You really should eat something,” I say seriously. Finally, he at least looks at me sluggishly from the side. He has deep bags under his dull green eyes and his skin is grayish and sunken. I hate to see him like this.

He stares at me for a while and I hold my breath because such moments are rare between us. Then he stretches out a finger and his rough fingertip glides gently over my swollen cheekbones. I get goose bumps and I want to cry and fall around his neck because he does something, reacts in some way, and I see a hint of pain in his eyes and the man he once was.

But then the house phone rings and rips him out of the moment. His hand drops and he stares at the TV as I choke down the lump in my throat. I let the phone ring because the weight on my shoulders is so heavy, I feel just like him as if I can never get up again.

* * *

When I return to my room, I let the tears flow. I hate feeling so powerless, yet I know my dad is still in there somewhere. I’ve always been a daddy’s girl and I’m still not ready, still not ready to let him go.

Now I sit here on my bed, my hair hanging in my face, trying to control my breathing so I can get rid of the lump in my throat. God, I know what I said but I just feel so alone and so helpless right now that I just have to hear your voice.

Quickly, I take the cell phone out from under the floorboards and unlock it. You still haven’t texted and it a

Still, it upsets me, honestly.

I text you: Hey, baby, what are you doing? You were online three minutes ago, but don’t answer immediately. I get a bit nervous and wonder what you are doing and with whom you are texting. With someone else? The women just flock to you. You could have one on each arm... Maybe you didn’t hear the cell phone so I try again.

?

Three minutes later, which seems like twenty to me, you finally answer. It is such a relief.

I’m in Carter’s room. What’s up?

With a wrinkled forehead, I skim the message a few times, trying to read between the lines to capture your mood. Finally, I ask you directly what I want to ask you because I’m too upset for games.

Are you mad at me? I ask and send a smiley face.

No.

I snort and toss my phone aside. Fine then! You’re making my blood boil because you’re acting so strange and I need something else right now. I’m not feeling well. I miss you. I hate my mother. I’m in pain and I hate my life. I just want attention.

You call me on video chat. I immediately pick up the phone without thinking because my heart is racing and I need you.

As the camera co

Your face appears on the small display. You look so good, so perfect. Apparently, you are in Carter’s room because I don’t know this room. I’ve never been there. It’s off-limits, I’ve been told. I’d better not go in there without you knowing.

Your hair is slicked back and I hear Marilyn Manson singing the Dope Show in the background. I bet you two could make your own. I miss you.

As always, you look incredible. You are shaved and between your full lips is a lit cigarette. Shirtless, you lie on a sofa with slightly reddened eyes. One of your arms is angled behind your head and I hear Carter’s voice in the background shouting, “No cam-sex on my couch, BRO!”

“Shut up, Carter,” you answer sluggishly and then peer into the camera. Of course, your face immediately knocks me out. I love your turquoise blue eyes and I want to lie down on you and kiss you, just forget, feel you, and lose myself.

“Has Julia arrived yet?” you ask.

“Who is Julia?” Carter asks. I see him behind you, also shirtless as he drops onto the armchair and rolls a joint. Curious, he glances up.

“Oh, Alayna, you again,” he says lazily as if he is a

I roll my eyes in a

“Well,” you say, “I was wondering if Julia had arrived yet.”

“Caden, who is Julia?” I ask a bit irritated because I don’t like it when you pronounce other women’s names. Not at all!

“Your friend who came to visit you, baby girl,” you mutter and reach over to stub out the cigarette.

OH! I blanch and my eyes widen when I remember the lie I told you. Why didn’t I just tell you what was really going on? What’s going on inside me? Why this distrust? My fears, which were so present yesterday, now seem to have completely faded.

“Ohhhh!” I yell. “JULIA, OF COURSE!” I move my hand from my cheek to my forehead and hit myself. Carter’s hands, which just finished rolling a joint, pause. “Yeah, well, she...well...uh, she changed her mind. She’s not coming. Unfortunately.” Then I realize my cheek is exposed, so I quickly toss my hair over it and pretend I want to play with the strands. Shit, shit, shit!

“What else is going on with you?” I ask nervously, but you have grown rigid. Completely rigid.

You don’t move and there is a dangerous flash in your eyes. As I’m about to say your name, the cell phone jerks because Carter takes it.

“What the hell is wrong with your face?” he asks. His eyes darken and his forehead wrinkles.

“What the hell do you care, Carter? Put Caden back on!” God, he’s so a

Carter glances in your direction and shakes his head. “I’d rather not, Alayna.”

I raise my shoulders, not comprehending. “What the hell are you doing?”

“What happened to your face?” he hisses.

“Whoa, I ran into the open fridge door. Now put CADEN back on, you parasite!” I snap.

You grab the cell phone out of his hand rather quickly and jerkily.

“Show me your face,” you demand without any em.

“No,” I reply sheepishly and regret taking the call in the first place. Shit.

“Show me your face! Now, Alayna!” you demand emphatically and I can’t stall anymore. As always when you take that tone.

I groan, brush my hair behind my ear and glance down because I can’t stand pity, which will now follow. I hate pity like the plague.