Why Do You Hate Me, Daddy?

But no. That wasn't me. I had only had sex the one time and the thought of my second time being with some random guy I met on a dating app made me feel a little sick to my stomach. I was no whore. I just wanted someone to distract me from my own thoughts. The prison in my own head that I had locked myself up in.

My failure at something as mundane as online dating took its toll on my mood. I descended deeper into my own thoughts. And what was worse was the fact that I was irritable to be around for everyone. I sometimes ate dinner with the "family", but I kept to myself even then. My dad continued throwing his judgmental looks my way. At least that's how I perceived them. He would scowl at me when he didn't know I was looking. And I just pretended not to notice.

Monica and Ally started showing signs of discouragement, too. Ally held on longer than her older sister, but both of them eventually stopped trying to "cheer me up". And to make matters worse, I resorted to snapping at them. Why couldn't they just leave me alone? There was nothing anyone could do to take away the pain of rejection that had so thoroughly lodged itself in my head. My father not only didn't want me. He hated me with passion. His cold looks my way told me as much. I couldn't wait for summer to end so I could escape this living hell.

[Ch 13. Amends.]

Have you ever woken yourself up by sobbing in your sleep? It's not a comfortable feeling. It was almost a month after my night at the club when I had come home fairly intoxicated and confronted my father on the elephant in the house. I must have been dreaming about my life, I decided. But when I opened my eyes in the middle of the night, my nose was running and my chest hurt. It hurt from the strain of crying so hard that every loss I had suffered in my entire life seemed to be weighing down at once, crushing me in my sleep.

A gasping sob erupted from my mouth and I struggled to breathe through it. Thoughts flooded my head. My mom's death. My dad's resentment of me. And then there were thoughts of my sisters. A quick recap of how I had been treating them lately played through my mind like I was watching a horror film. Oh god. I sat up. Fuck me dead. It hit me hard.

I had been treating my sisters with the same cold aloofness that my father had been doing to me for almost a decade. And I felt horrible about it. It wasn't right. In all my efforts to forget about my father, I had started to become him. That made me hate him even more, even though I knew I was lying to myself. I could never hate him. Not when I felt another emotion so strongly.

Shaking my head, I checked the time. It was almost five in the morning. Everyone was asleep, I was sure. But I knew there was no way I could go back to sleep, so I forced myself to get up. Grabbing a change of clothes, I headed upstairs as quietly as I could and took a long shower. The hot water had the effect of melting away the memories of my sadness, at least a little.

I dressed in the bathroom and then headed back down to my room where I spent the next hour brushing my hair. It was relaxing in a weird way. After that, my hair was super silky soft. Grabbing my curling iron from my closet, I stood in front of my bedroom mirror and carefully heated up locks of my hair, twisting the iron just a little to create a natural looking wave all the way around my head.

When I was done with my hair, I stared at myself in the mirror, turning to one side and then the other. I realized that I had styled it unconsciously the exact way my mom used to wear hers. The only difference was that mine was blonde, although my brown roots were starting to show at the top of my head.

Noises upstairs told me that people were up. It was a Saturday so my dad didn't have to go to work. But I forced thoughts of him out of my head. Today was a day for me and my sisters. I was going to take them out. By myself. Daddy wasn't invited. The last thing I did before heading up was put on some makeup. I used a very subtle amount today. And I even put on a little lipstick, despite my abhorrence of it. One last look in the mirror showed me an almost replica-like image of my mom. I don't even know why I did it, but it felt right. It reminded me of how I used to take care of them like I was their mother. And I was going to give them a day of just me.

Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, I buried my own insecurities. Then I headed upstairs feeling like I was wearing a suit of armor.

"Gracie?" my dad said the second he saw me. He was gaping at me, eyebrows lifted.

"Good morning," I said, purposefully looking away from him. I could tell he was still staring at me. When I looked at my sisters sitting at the kitchen table eating their breakfast, I saw surprise in their faces, too. Before the shock could wear off, I announced, "I'm taking you two out today. Just the three of us. I assume it's ok for me to borrow the car, father?"

When I looked at my dad with my question hanging in the air, his mouth was open. He clamped it shut and swallowed but then he nodded. Good. I caught him off guard. That settled, I quickly piled some eggs on a plate for myself and sat next to Ally while we ate. We chatted about nothing in particular. By the time we all finished eating, both girls were showing signs of excitement at the prospect of going out with me. That made me feel good.

And so my sisters and I spent the entire day out of the house. We went to the mall and did some shopping. I let them both get coffee-free Frappuccinos, which they were giddy about. After a small lunch, we went to a movie together. Ally held my hand the entire time and we all shared a huge tub of popcorn. After that, the girls dragged me to Forever 21 and begged me to buy a swimsuit. Apparently they thought dad would take us to the beach soon. I let them pick out a bikini for me to wear. It had been years since I had worn anything like it, but I had to admit, it looked pretty cute on me when I tried it on. That was a funny experience because the three of us all climbed into a changing room together. I tried on four different suits before we unanimously agreed on one.

The suit we ended up with was a two-piece. It had a metallic top that was a shimmery lilac color. The fabric covered my shoulders and had a closed back. That was almost enough to call it conservative except that each cup on the front had a half-circle cutout on the inner edge of my breasts, with a pink nylon string that connected the two halves, forming a full circle that revealed my subtle cleavage in the middle. The cord was tied to hold the two halves together at the bottom of the circle, with the bows and strings hanging down onto my belly. The bottoms of the suit were not metallic, but the color matched nicely. It covered my vagina and most of my butt nicely, with strings tying the front and back together and leaving the sides of my thighs exposed. It was the least conservative bikini bottom I had ever bought. Ever.

It was evening when we finally got home. Dad was sitting in the living room watching the latest John Wick movie and nursing a beer. He asked my sisters how the day had been and they both sounded excited as they told him what we did. Ally mentioned that they helped me pick out a bikini and asked if we would be going to the beach soon. I listened without seeming obvious and he gave a noncommittal response.

After dinner, I told the girls I would tuck them in for bed when they were ready. They each took a bath while I changed into my pajamas and then, a little after ten, I went up to their room to send them off to sleep. My dad was still sitting in the living room when they told him goodnight and the three of us headed down the hall toward their rooms. Monica's room was first but she kept walking with us all the way to Ally's room and the three of us went in.

Ally hopped into bed and I walked over and sat down on the edge. Monica sat on the foot of it watching. My attention was drawn to a picture of mom sitting on Ally's nightstand. I picked it up and ran my thumb down the front. She was so pretty. I missed her horribly, even though it had been a long time since she passed.

"I like your hair like that," Ally said suddenly and I glanced over at her. She was looking back and forth between me and the picture of our mom. Turning my head toward the mirror on my little sister's closet door, I nodded to my own reflection. I really had done a good job mimicking mom's hairstyle today.

Feeling sad suddenly, I set the picture down almost reverently. Then I forced a smile on my face and put my attention on Ally again. Her strawberry blonde hair was longer than mine, hanging halfway down her back. It was mostly straight but had little natural ringlets at the ends. Her face had a few pale freckles across her nose and even above her lips. She was the epitome of a cute eleven-year-old. When she smiled, it was next to impossible not to feel warm.

Reaching my hand out, I ran my fingers through her hair. It was a little tangled from the day since she clearly hadn't washed it when she took a bath. I didn't care, but I was careful not to let my fingers catch on the knots. She closed her eyes and laid her head back against her pillow.

"I hope you had fun today," I said softly.

Ally smiled up at me without opening her eyes. Then she said, "Yeah, but I wish daddy was with us."

Frowning at her, I glanced at Monica. She was staring at her lap. When I looked back at my youngest sister, her eyes were open. I still had my fingers in her hair, stroking her head. Pulling them out carefully so as not to snag, I sighed.

"Well, dad and I aren't really getting along lately," I admitted. Monica shifted on the bed but I kept my focus on the eleven-year-old lying under the covers.

Ally was frowning up at me. An unusual look for her normally jubilant face. Then she said softly, "You need to fix it, Gracie." After a pause, she added, "I don't like how it feels in the house when you aren't getting along."

Sighing again, I blinked a few times, battling back the tears that threatened to trickle down my face. Then I said, "It's nothing new, really. This has been going on for years."

Monica cleared her throat and I turned toward her. She was still staring at her lap but she glanced up when she noticed I was looking at her. Her eyes flitted to Ally and then back to mine before she said, "Yeah, but you're all grown up. You should be able to fix it." Her lower lip quivered. Oh god. She turned away from me and then said softly, "We hate it."

A single tear rolled down my cheek but I quickly wiped it away before either of them noticed it. When I looked at Ally again, she was staring at me with a hope-filled expression. She clearly mirrored her sister's thoughts.

Shrugging, I finally said, "I tried. Believe me, I tried. But..."

"But what?" Monica asked. She was staring at me instead of her lap.

But daddy doesn't love me, I thought to myself. But then I shook my head and said, "Nothing. You're right. I'll try harder. I promise."

Leaning down, I kissed Ally on the forehead and whispered, "Good night, princess." She smiled and made a cooing noise at me and then turned her head to the side with a smile on her face. Just then, I heard a creak outside the bedroom door. When I looked, I didn't see anything.

Monica and I stood and walked out of the room, closing the door behind us. My dad was just walking into the bathroom when I looked down the hall. Frowning to myself, I followed my other sister to her room and got her snugged into her bed, too.

"Gracie?" Monica whispered just as I kissed her forehead.

"Hmm?" I murmured, lifting my head up.

"Please fix it," she said.

As I stared at her, I saw a bead of liquid surrounding each of her eyes. She was on the brink of crying. Tears started trickling down my own face. There was no hiding them from her. But I nodded and whispered, "I will." For my sisters, I would. I had to. They needed me to.

I left Monica's room and headed down the hall. I noticed the bathroom light under the door on my way. My dad was still in there. Hesitating, I considered waiting for him in the living room. Maybe I would have better luck talking to him without any alcohol in my system. But I chickened out and went down into the basement before he came out.

[Ch 14. Confessions.]

It was dark in my room when I heard the door at the top of the basement stairs open. Reaching over, I clicked on the lamp on the little table next to my bed. Footsteps announced that someone was coming down. My heart fluttered nervously. I knew it was my dad, but I didn't know what he wanted. He almost never came downstairs, and certainly not after I had already gone to bed.

A knock announced his arrival at the door of my little room. When I called out that he could come in, he opened the door. For a minute, we just stared at each other. I couldn't help but take him in. He was much taller than me, his head almost brushing the top of the door frame. Of course it was a shorter door than the ones upstairs. He wasn't quite six feet tall. His dark brown hair was wet. I guess he must have just taken a shower. He was wearing a button-down pajama shirt and sweatpants.

"What's up?" I asked. I was proud that my voice didn't crack.

"I heard you talking with your sisters," he answered.

So that creak in the floor had been him after all. Nodding, I said, "Yeah, I thought so."

He took a step into my room and then said quietly, "I think... we should talk."

Shifting nervously in my bed, I said, "Ok. About what?" This wasn't supposed to be like this. I was the one who was supposed to start a conversation with him. I had no idea what he wanted to talk about. Maybe he was going to ask me to leave. My tears from just a few minutes ago started welling up around my eyes again.

My dad walked deeper into my room until he was standing at the foot of my bed. "May I?" he asked, nodding his head toward the end of the bed. When I shrugged and nodded at him, he sat down. Then we sat in silence for a full minute before he finally spoke.

"Your hair looks really nice like that," he said, staring at me.

Pulling my hips back, I pushed up into a sitting position. It felt weird to be lying down while talking to my dad. "Um, thanks?" I responded.

He had his hands together in his lap and for a minute, he stared at them. Then he spoke without looking up at me, "You remind me of your mom."

The fight we had a month ago came burning into my head like a wildfire. Anger bubbled up inside me and I couldn't help but raise my voice, "Yeah, you made that very fucking clear."

"GRACIE!" my dad shouted at my use of bad language.

"Well, it's true," I said with scorn. "I know I look just like mom. I'm the constant fucking reminder of what you can no longer have. Of what you lost. But I lost her, too, you know? We all lost her! But I don't deserve to be the outcast just because of my genetics. It's not fair!"

My father wilted at my words but he kept staring at me. When I was done talking, I felt out of breath. My heart was thrumming in my chest so hard I felt like it was the only sound you could hear in my room.

After a long bout of silence, my father spoke. He sounded funny. Like his voice was strained. If I didn't know any better, I would say he sounded on the verge of tears. My anger had pushed my own tears back but when I heard him speak, liquid welled up under my eyelids again.

"It's not that, Gracie," he said softly. When I frowned, he added, "It's not the reminder that she's gone."

Sniffling, I asked, "What is it then?"

He sighed, finally pulling his eyes away from mine. Like he couldn't bear the thought of looking at me. Then he spoke toward the floor, "It's the reminder of how attracted I was to your mother."

"Oh," I said. What did that have to do with the way he treated me? "But I don't... I don't understand," I whispered. A single tear from each eye sprung free and ran down my face.

He was quiet for a long time, until I started to think he wasn't going to explain. Then he finally looked over at me. His eyes flicked up to my hair and I watched as he seemed to trace the outline of my head, following my blonde strands down to my shoulders. Then he whispered, "You really do look just like her."

Swallowing, I didn't say anything. I just watched as his eyes continued looking at me. Roving over me, that is. He focused on my shoulders and then he even glanced down at my chest. I tilted my head down, looking at myself.

"Because of my little tits?" I asked.

"Uh, breasts?" he said, clearing his throat. "'Tits' isn't very ladylike."

"Fine," I said, feeling frustrated at his little jab at correcting my speech. "Because of my flat breasts?"

He shook his head but was clearly staring directly at my chest. Then he whispered, "They're not flat."

As I stared at my father, he continued to stare quite deliberately at my chest. At my boobs. His nostrils flared slightly. I realized that his attention was causing a tingling flutter in my belly. And then it hit me like a church bell going off inside my head. But before I could even put the thought together, he spoke.

"Look," he said, his eyes finally lifting back to mine. I stared at him, feeling a strange intensity between the two of us in that moment. Then he whispered, "I started feeling... attracted to you."

Swallowing a huge lump in my throat, I just sat there. I felt completely paralyzed. I didn't know what to do or say. The longer the silence stretched between us, the more uncomfortable we both became. He shifted himself on my bed, looking nervous.

Finally, I asked, "What do you mean?"

My dad shook his head, at a loss for words. I don't know that I had ever seen him look like that before. And his cheeks were slowly turning red. After another long pause, he said quietly, "I can't talk about it." When I frowned at him, he added, "I... I'm not supposed to feel this way."

Even though I had asked what he meant, deep down I knew. And the realization was finally catching up with me. My father was attracted to me. Or at least he had been. I guess. Jesus. Why was it suddenly hard to breathe? I squirmed a little. That's when I realized that there was a warmth radiating between my legs. I knew what it meant, but I fought it. I didn't want to have my vagina dictating any part of this conversation. But I owed him something. A confession of my own.

Taking a deep breath, I blurted out, "Daddy, I've had a crush on you since I was ten."

His head whipped up and he stared at me again. His gaze seemed to peer right through me, into my head. I felt stripped. Bare. Exposed.

Then he said, "That seems... normal." But I was already shaking my head at him. He cleared his throat as he waited for me to respond.

Whispering, I said, "Maybe. But... it never went away."

"Oh," he whispered back. Then he shrugged uncomfortably and turned away. I watched as he swallowed several times and I noticed the flush had risen all the way up to the tops of his cheeks.

Biting my lip, I blurted out another confession without thinking, "I lost my virginity last year."

"What?" he asked, turning his head quickly toward me again.

He was frowning. I couldn't tell if he looked pissed or not, though. But then, I was old enough to make grown up decisions. If he was going to get mad at me about it, then fuck--

"What does that have to do with any of this?" he asked. His face looked bewildered.

I couldn't look at him so I closed my eyes. He was still there behind my eyelids, though. My stomach was doing summersaults and I felt like I was going to be sick. But this was it. I wanted to share this last confession with him. I hoped to god it didn't backfire and cause him to explode with anger.

"I thought about you," I said so softly that I wasn't sure if he heard me. Then I added, still whispering, "...while it happened."