Post by Admin on Nov 9, 2016 1:14:34 GMT -5
The cigarette between his fingers had burned down to the filter and put itself out, that perfect column of ash dangling precariously, impossibly. His throat burned, raw from the single inhale he'd managed to choke on— his first in a year.
"Daddy?" Ellie's voice was quiet, almost tentative as she appeared in the gym's doorway like some spectre. The fact that she'd called him that might have lent some credence to the claims that he fucked around more than Wilt Chamberlain, and that this was the latest conquest, fresh off some college campus, but the truth was far more skewed: Eleanor Rivera was his flesh and blood, exactly half his age.
Jackson grunted, giving away his whereabouts before he retreated into the shadows again, finding more comfort in the darkness as the morning sun assaulted his eyes before the door swung shut behind her. She'd almost expected to be greeted with the rhythmic thudding of fists on the heavy bag or the clanking of weights. Instead she found him sitting in the dark, in the corner in silence with his back against the wall. His head hung, the tip of his nose nearly touching his bent knees. His hands were still clenched into tight fists as his sides, despite the cuts against his knuckles that still oozed blood— he'd been punching the bag without any protection, obviously.
He heard her footsteps and tensed up, expecting her to start laying into him. She didn't disappoint.
"I'm really pissed at you," her voice broke.
He couldn't find the energy to look up, "yeah. I know. If you're gonna call me a heartless bastard, save it, okay? Heard that one before and it doesn't bear repeating."
"Dad..." she shook her head, "I—"
"Don't. If you came all the way here to rip me a new one, just go away." His hand shook slightly and the ash finally fell. He watched it go, losing himself for a few seconds before he flicked the filter away. "If you're gonna call me a shithead, an asshole—"
"I wasn't—"
He lifted his head and she stopped talking immediately. The scabbed up hole in his cheek wasn't the worst thing— his eyes were bloodshot and dead black. Cold.
Ellie sniffled as she stood there, staring at him. "Dad..." her voice squeaked and she felt the prickle of tears again, "I didn't mean..."
"Yeah. You did." He chuckled ruefully, shaking his head. "So you're here. Feel better knowing that I'm still breathing? Still mobile?"
She nodded and sank down on the bench a few feet from him, covering her face to muffle her sobs. "I d-don't wanna lose you a-and you l-left... me a-alone—"
"Stop it," he snapped, swiveling his bloodshot eyes to focus on her. "Stop being such a selfish little brat— you think any of this' about you? Huh?" He chuckled again; he looked like shit, completely worked over and exhausted. He knew it, and he could see by the look in her eyes that she saw it too.
"I had a bad dream," her voice came out small, "you got hurt a-and nobody cared. They were cheering and yelling and the monster you were fighting picked you up and threw you around like a ragdoll. Y-you were bleeding everywhere a-and..." she trailed off before she said the word he could read all over her face.
He looked shell-shocked as her words sunk in. Cold anger made his features immovable and he made no effort to get up and comfort her like he normally would have. He just continued to sit there in silence before he finally broke it. "I won't die."
"You can't promise me that—"
"Actually, I can. Been doin' this as long as you've been alive. I know the risks, kiddo, and when you come in here like this, sniveling and whining, it just shits all over everything I've done. You understand that? You realize what you're doing right now? No, I don't suppose it ever dawned on you that you're being a selfish little cunt, just like your druggie mother was."
She gasped, paling. "Dad, don't say that. I was scared... wasn't trying to..." her voice broke on more sobs.
He said nothing, simply looking back at her, his dark eyes dry as he watched the outpouring of emotion. Finally, he moved to his feet as he opened his mouth, finding he had nothing to say. Instead he shook his head and walked away, leaving her alone again.
"Daddy?" Ellie's voice was quiet, almost tentative as she appeared in the gym's doorway like some spectre. The fact that she'd called him that might have lent some credence to the claims that he fucked around more than Wilt Chamberlain, and that this was the latest conquest, fresh off some college campus, but the truth was far more skewed: Eleanor Rivera was his flesh and blood, exactly half his age.
Jackson grunted, giving away his whereabouts before he retreated into the shadows again, finding more comfort in the darkness as the morning sun assaulted his eyes before the door swung shut behind her. She'd almost expected to be greeted with the rhythmic thudding of fists on the heavy bag or the clanking of weights. Instead she found him sitting in the dark, in the corner in silence with his back against the wall. His head hung, the tip of his nose nearly touching his bent knees. His hands were still clenched into tight fists as his sides, despite the cuts against his knuckles that still oozed blood— he'd been punching the bag without any protection, obviously.
He heard her footsteps and tensed up, expecting her to start laying into him. She didn't disappoint.
"I'm really pissed at you," her voice broke.
He couldn't find the energy to look up, "yeah. I know. If you're gonna call me a heartless bastard, save it, okay? Heard that one before and it doesn't bear repeating."
"Dad..." she shook her head, "I—"
"Don't. If you came all the way here to rip me a new one, just go away." His hand shook slightly and the ash finally fell. He watched it go, losing himself for a few seconds before he flicked the filter away. "If you're gonna call me a shithead, an asshole—"
"I wasn't—"
He lifted his head and she stopped talking immediately. The scabbed up hole in his cheek wasn't the worst thing— his eyes were bloodshot and dead black. Cold.
Ellie sniffled as she stood there, staring at him. "Dad..." her voice squeaked and she felt the prickle of tears again, "I didn't mean..."
"Yeah. You did." He chuckled ruefully, shaking his head. "So you're here. Feel better knowing that I'm still breathing? Still mobile?"
She nodded and sank down on the bench a few feet from him, covering her face to muffle her sobs. "I d-don't wanna lose you a-and you l-left... me a-alone—"
"Stop it," he snapped, swiveling his bloodshot eyes to focus on her. "Stop being such a selfish little brat— you think any of this' about you? Huh?" He chuckled again; he looked like shit, completely worked over and exhausted. He knew it, and he could see by the look in her eyes that she saw it too.
"I had a bad dream," her voice came out small, "you got hurt a-and nobody cared. They were cheering and yelling and the monster you were fighting picked you up and threw you around like a ragdoll. Y-you were bleeding everywhere a-and..." she trailed off before she said the word he could read all over her face.
He looked shell-shocked as her words sunk in. Cold anger made his features immovable and he made no effort to get up and comfort her like he normally would have. He just continued to sit there in silence before he finally broke it. "I won't die."
"You can't promise me that—"
"Actually, I can. Been doin' this as long as you've been alive. I know the risks, kiddo, and when you come in here like this, sniveling and whining, it just shits all over everything I've done. You understand that? You realize what you're doing right now? No, I don't suppose it ever dawned on you that you're being a selfish little cunt, just like your druggie mother was."
She gasped, paling. "Dad, don't say that. I was scared... wasn't trying to..." her voice broke on more sobs.
He said nothing, simply looking back at her, his dark eyes dry as he watched the outpouring of emotion. Finally, he moved to his feet as he opened his mouth, finding he had nothing to say. Instead he shook his head and walked away, leaving her alone again.
