...

...I took my first step closer my fathers house over two years ago, and I was alone. I'd stolen the information sheet on him from the social worker and skipped out on a meeting just to go and see the man who had destroyed my life--before I was forced to live under his roof. If I'd had the ability, back then, to be touched or impressed by anything, I would have been by this house. It was so large, and detailed, two tiny little snowmen outside and this, to me, was evidence of other children. He had three cars, a boat, even... I hated it. I stared up at the black windows, and made sure the night was just as silent as it needed to be and I threw a rock through the front window. As I'd expected, there were alarms, so I "stole away into the night".
I think I'd been planning (in the back of my head) to go in and say hello. Of course there was curiosity: even though I looked exactly like my mother, I guess I still had something of his inside my somewhere. And the tiny, almost dead part of me (which was my conscious, my fear of the big, scary world) wanted a family, the kind of protection that everyone else had...but of course, the majority of me was dead, and it was nauseous by sentiment.
I took out my anger out on someone's Chevy, three streets north, and went to visit my dealer...I ended up, for the first time in my life, not buying any cocaine and then I went back to the shelter to get stitches in hand where the glass shattered through.

Lately, I haven't spoken to my father at all, but he came to visit Fran and he met Lance again (Holy fucking awkward...the last time he met Lance, my step-sister was introdoucing him as her boyfriend). I stayed, sulking downstairs with Lance (still trying to play Prince of Persia) and listened to the muffled words upstairs. It made me nervous, and I kept getting jittery so Lance had to rub my leg to calm me down.
About 3 hours after I left, he tried calling me and I hung up on him.

We did go to the prom, and there was a lot of crap from the same old people (but not while Perfect Lance was around, everyone loves him)...to a point where instead of my usual instinct to punch someone, I felt like crying instead. We didn't dance, because I hate dancing, but after about 2 hours Lance took me outside and we started to drink a bit. Details, details, blah, blah, blah and then we had sex a couple of times in his room. For me, it was pretty magical even though it doesn't sound like it...and I did end up crying a lot at the end of the night...I felt like a sensitive little girl. To be honest, "faggot" has never bugged me until tonight, but then again maybe thats because this is the first time I ever bothered trying to have a relationship in front of the losers from our school. I was pretty much wallowing in alcohol, sex and tears by the time we decided to wind down for the night in Lance's bed and Lance was tittering and kissing the top of my head with a bottle of diet Coke in his hand.

sigh
JV