It's Not Prostitution Ch. 07

"Of course," he replies softly. "It was one of the worst days of my life," he recalls with concern as though it were that very day all over again. "I remember driving to the hospital at a thousand miles per hour when I got the call that you had hurt yourself," he embellishes, but I can't help but laugh a tiny bit.

"You said it happened at a birthday party, right?" I go on, oddly already far less nervous at speaking with him. It truly was as if nothing had ever happened. "Do... do you remember whose?" I ask, frightened only at the answer, and freezing the moment that I hear it.

"Allison Facelli's," my father returns to me, and while I'm shocked into silence, I don't know why I should be. It was the answer I was expecting to hear, after all.

"Haha," my father laughs nostalgically. "I remember being worried to death on the way to the hospital, thinking you were probably so scared and alone and bleeding," he went on, finding the memory amusing. "You never did handle the sight of blood very well," he continued, and I don't know why but I could sense that he was smiling on the other end of the phone.

"But when I finally got there you were as calm as a kitten," he went on. "the doctors had already treated you and you were fast asleep in her arms with your arms around her neck," my dad continued. "It was as though nothing had happened."

Again, I don't know why I ask. I already know the answer, and hearing it I know is only going to make me start crying all over again, but like an idiot I ask anyway.

"Wh... whose?" I whisper out almost voicelessly, and loving my father answers.

"Allison's mother."