Page 24 of Beautiful Monster

He freezes, his eyes softening as he looks at me like he just noticed my presence. “Sunny…”

“It’s fine,” I mumble, turning back to the drawer I was looking through.

“I’m in a small apartment with Ilsa. It’s just not a good time.” He steps forward, but I keep my eyes down. I can’t bear to see the pity in his expression. His fake fucking sympathy and regret. I am a footnote in my father’s itinerary: if possible, show kindness to the daughter you just abandoned with her abusive mother.

“Besides, Sun. You’re nineteen years old. Get a job and move out if that’s what you want to do.”

“I said it’s fine,” I bite back.

He turns away with a huff and runs upstairs to continue searching. As if being nineteen was all I needed to move out. Who is going to give me a lease? There are no jobs out there that would pay me enough. I hate him for saying that, as if it’s all that easy.

I hear the jingle of keys from the drawer just before I close it. Slowly, I pull it farther back and find the three keys attached to a plastic keychain from our trip to the Florida Keys, which my mother thought was hilarious and ironic.

My father’s footsteps retreat down the stairs, and I hold the keys in my hand, ready to show him I found what he wanted, ready for his approval.

But then I think about the countless messages I left that went unanswered. I think about the way he left. About the way he showed up and dismissed my presence entirely.

He curses my name from another room. “Dammit, Sunny. Did you find them?”

I swallow and shove them into my pocket. “Not yet.”

“That bitch is hiding them from me, I know it. She wants me to be miserable because she’s miserable.”

I keep my mouth pressed closed as I watch him tear through drawer after drawer, spitting insults at me like my mother and I are the same person. Like because I am a woman born from her, then I must be as evil and vindictive and heartless.

Glancing over my shoulder, I watch Alexander step closer to the building.

“Can I take care of you?”

No one in my life has ever been so selfless. No one in my life has ever cared about me so much. Me, the person. The girl. The artist.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” I mumble when he looks at his watch and determines the keys a lost cause.

He leaves in an angry huff about fifteen minutes later, too annoyed to give me a hug, and I watch him drive away from the living room window.

I ignore the stinging pain in the back of my throat. I won’t cry for him. He never once cried for me. But I let myself imagine him pulling back into the driveway, walking through the door, engulfing me in his arms, and whispering his apology in my ear. I let myself feel it in my mind, and then I make myself drown in the absence of it. A cruel trick I do to myself when I feel self-pity rise to the top.

As I make my way to the backyard, Alexander is standing there with a worried look on his face.

“Everything okay?”

Silently, I nod.

Then, I brush past him as I make my way to the side of the house.

“Sunny,” he calls, trailing me. “Talk to me. You look upset.”

“I’m not upset,” I reply with a flat expression. “He was just looking for his boat keys. He wasn’t here to see me or talk to me. But that’s fine.”

When I reach the trash cans on the side of the house, I let that anger stew. Then, I pull the keys out of my pocket and dangle them on my finger. Alexander is behind me, silently watching as I open the lid to the trash can and toss them in.

Turning around, I stare into his eyes and swim in the pleased look on his face.

“Good girl,” he whispers, and I smile.

Then, he puts out an arm, inviting me to nestle myself beneath it. With his hand resting protectively on my shoulder, I breathe in his comfort. The way it feels to have someone who doesn’t want anything from me. No keys or money or promises.

He just wants to protect me.