"Gosh, I'm 23. What I decide to do isn't really your business." She said.
"You're my daughter, you are my business." He said.
"And as long as you live under my roof, you will abide by my rules."
She thought about the wall that she was against. She was having a hard time looking for jobs in her field. He was pretty much footing the bill on everything for her.
"Ugh! Once I find a job I'm outta here. You're so overbearing. I hate living with you." She said.
"I only car-" he got out before she left the room.
He huffed and pinched his forehead.
He knows he can be overbearing. But she's his only babygirl. When everyone wasn't there she was. All the hours he put to support them was only for her.
Before leaving on his way to work he knocked on her door. After minutes of standing there and with a feeling of dejection he went on his way.
She woke up to the smell of burning flesh and the feeling of fire on her back.
Pain so powerful all she could do was gasp.
But it was gone in a flash. She hurriedly checked to see if her back was burnt. All she felt was the cloth of her shirt, soaked with sweat.
Before she could think about what just happened she was startled by a knock at the front door.
"Yes?" She asked, sounding a little unsure.
She's watched enough movies to know that when a cop comes knocking on your door at 3am its bad news.
Unless there was some crazed convict on the loose, there should be no reason for them to be there at this time...
Reality seemed to make its way to her head before hope and ignorance could.
The cop looked at her with pity.
Her heart thumped.
"Your father.." The cop faltered.
Her heart pounded.
"Your father was in an accident."
Could no one see that her heart was trying to escape. Could they not see her heart trying to rip a hole through her chest.
She died. When he died.
She tried to survive without him. She really tried. All the money that was left for her couldn't fill an inch of the hole that was left in her chest.
Then one day she found it impossible.
The pain of the blade cutting into her veins couldn't compare to the desolate and hopeless feeling. The note beside her couldn't compare to the remorse and regret she felt while writing it:
'I wish I had opened my door.
I wish I told you I loved you.
I wish I could go back.
Maybe you'd still be here.
I went to say I'm sorry.'