As I walked out of the school gates, I saw him standing by the car, his eyes fixed on me with a mixture of excitement and guilt. My dad, reeking of alcohol, his breath visibly intoxicating even from a distance. I had warned him countless times, pleading with him to stop drinking, to be sober for me, for our family. But here he was, yet again, disregarding my wishes, disregarding my feelings.
I felt a surge of anger and disappointment as I gazed at him, his eyes calling out to me, "James, James!" But I refused to acknowledge him, refused to respond. Instead, I reached for my phone, put on my earphones, and turned up the music, drowning out his voice, drowning out the pain.
I began to walk away, determined to leave him standing there, alone and rejected. The sun beat down on me, its warmth a stark contrast to the chill I felt inside. I could hear the sounds of other students laughing, chatting, and calling out to each other as they walked with their friends or got into their parents' cars. But I was alone, alone in my anger, alone in my hurt.
I quickened my pace, my feet carrying me further and further away from the man who was supposed to be my rock, my protector. But he had failed me, failed us, time and time again. I couldn't bear the thought of getting into the car with him, of being trapped in that confined space with his alcoholic breath and his broken promises.
The music in my ears grew louder, the beat pulsating through my veins, fueling my determination to walk away, to leave him behind. I could feel his eyes on me, could sense his confusion and frustration, but I didn't care. I didn't care about his feelings, didn't care about his excuses. All I cared about was getting away, getting away from the pain and the disappointment that he had brought into my life.
As I turned the corner, I could see the long stretch of road ahead of me, the houses and trees blurring into a haze of anger and tears. I walked faster, my feet pounding the pavement, my heart pounding in my chest. I was running away from my dad, running away from the pain, running away from the fear that I might become like him, that I might end up trapped in a cycle of addiction and heartache.
But as I walked, the music still blaring in my ears, I knew that I couldn't run forever. I knew that eventually, I would have to face him, face the pain, face the fear. But for now, I just kept walking, kept running, kept trying to escape the hurt that my dad had brought into my life.
As I turned the corner onto our street, I noticed a sight that made my heart skip a beat. My mom was loading her luggage into the car, her movements swift and determined. I was taken aback, my mind racing with questions. Where was she going? Why was she leaving? Had something happened?
I quickened my pace, my feet pounding the pavement as I ran towards her. "Mom! Mom!" I shouted, hoping she would hear me and stop. But she didn't even flinch. She kept loading her luggage, her eyes fixed on the task at hand.
I ran faster, my heart pounding in my chest. I couldn't believe what was happening. My parents had fought last night, but I had no idea it was this serious. I thought they would work things out, like they always did. But now, it seemed like my mom was leaving.
As I approached the car, I saw her get in and start the engine. I reached out, hoping to grab her attention, but she ignored me completely. She put the car in gear and started to drive away, leaving me standing in the driveway, feeling helpless and confused.
"Mom! Mom, wait!" I shouted, running after the car. But she didn't stop. She kept driving, leaving me behind. I watched as the car disappeared around the corner, feeling a lump form in my throat.
I stood there, frozen in shock, trying to process what had just happened. My mom had left, without even saying goodbye. Without even explaining where she was going or when she would be back. I felt abandoned, left alone to deal with the aftermath of their fight.
As the reality of the situation sunk in, I felt a wave of emotions wash over me. Anger, sadness, confusion, and fear all mixed together in a toxic brew. I didn't know what to do, or where to turn. My parents were supposed to be the ones who took care of me, who protected me from the world. But now, it seemed like they were the ones who were falling apart.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. I knew I had to think clearly, to figure out what to do next. But as I looked around at the empty driveway, the silence was deafening. My mom was gone, and I was left to pick up the pieces.
As I stepped out of the house, carrying my luggage and trying to hold back tears, I saw my dad packing his vehicle. He was putting bottles of alcohol into the trunk, and I knew he was planning another drinking binge. I felt a surge of anger and sadness, knowing that he was choosing alcohol over our family.
He saw me standing there and ran towards me, a look of desperation on his face. "Common buddy, where are you going? Are you leaving me behind?" he asked, his voice laced with guilt and regret.
But I didn't answer him. I just kept walking, my eyes fixed on the road ahead. I couldn't bear to look at him, couldn't bear to hear his empty promises again. Fresh tears ran down his cheeks as he started making the same vows he always made. "Okay James, I promise you, I will never drink again. I cross my heart, James. I promise."
But I knew it was all lies. He had promised before, and he had broken those promises. I didn't trust him anymore. All I wanted was to get away from him, to find a safe haven where I could escape the pain and heartache he had caused.
I kept walking, my luggage heavy in my hand, my heart heavy with sorrow. My dad kept pleading with me, following me down the street, but I never listened. I never looked back. I just kept walking, my eyes fixed on the horizon, my heart fixed on finding a way out of this toxic cycle.
Finally, I saw a taxi turning the corner, and I ran towards it, my luggage banging against my legs. I yanked open the door and threw my luggage inside, then turned to face my dad. He was standing there, his eyes red and puffy, his face etched with sadness and regret.
But I didn't feel sorry for him. I didn't feel anything. I just got into the taxi and slammed the door shut, leaving him standing there, alone and defeated. As the taxi drove away, I didn't look back. I didn't wave goodbye. I just kept my eyes fixed on the road ahead, my heart fixed on finding a way to heal, to move on, to leave the pain behind.