He clicked his tongue, "Are you even listening!? If something happens, we'll both be in big trouble with your mom!" 

"Huh?"

Esmey dumbly looked back at her father, who in turn, immediately reached out to turn her head to the front again, "I said fix your posture, Mey! You wanna end up in the hospital!?"

"Hmm," Esmey put on a fake thinking face and replied while wearing an adorable pout, "That doesn't sound too bad. . . " 

"You brat," Her father held himself back from flicking the back of her head, "Which part of that sounds agreeable to you!? Don't jinx yourself!"

"But. . If I end up in the hospital. . then mama will put you in one too," She cheerily giggled, "Then we get to eat lots of jello together!" 

Her father sighed, letting his hands carry the weight of his temples, ". . . So you'd throw your own father under the bus for some stupid jello?" 

"Not just jello!" Esmey's short neck promptly bent backward to look up at her father's rigid face behind her, "I'd get to spend more time with you too!" 

Her father's eyes clearly reflected his daughter's foolish grin and expectant gaze. His expression softened incredibly and the faint trace of a tender smile mimicking hers immediately broke out. 

"The sun will set soon," Pushing his daughter's head back to the front once more, he made sure to rub her braided hair into a jumbled mess before tentatively giving out a warning and slowly stepping away from her, "Come on. Be careful and keep your stance in mind, Mey." 

"I'm already doing that~" 

There was a moment of silence before another sigh escaped his lips, "I'll get you some jello on the way home. No need to worry me half to death with a trip to the hospital! Now, fix your stance!" 

". . . Just Jello?" 

". . ." 

Esmey's thin arms lowered the shotgun in her arms slightly, her beady black eyes drifting to the sky in an innocent manner.

"You little-! Be careful with that! What else do you want!?"

"Well, it's getting kinda hot these days. . . " 

"So!?" 

"Ice-cream!" 

Her father felt the nerves on his head close to popping, "Fine, fine, fine! Ice-cream too! Now hold it steady. . ." 

Esmey's wide eyes, which greatly resembled a delicate doll's, immediately flooded with joy. 

She briskly nodded, bit her lips, and lifted the gun back higher in order to match her eye level perfectly. The custom gun's length fit her well. So with shoulders straight, a tight grip, and thin arms outstretched, she adjusted her aim and followed the target closely. 

The sound of bullet shots echoed one after another throughout the deep and forested valley until sunset arrived and the father-daughter duo finally began packing up their things. 

"You did much better than last time. . Good job." 

Esmey looked up at her father's face that was bathed in an orange hue. His brows were habitually creased. When he bent down to grab the last bag, his daughter reached out and poked that wrinkled spot. 

"So ugly," she giggled. 

His frown deepened at her comment, but he still honestly replied with reluctance, "Mn. Be grateful you look just like your mother." 

Esmey's father ruffled her hair again as the pair began making their way back home. 

* * * 

"Daddy!" 

The voice of a child faded away and the mellow musical chime of an alarm replaced it. 

Esmey forced her eyes open at last. She grabbed her nearby phone and swiped at her screen lethargically. . . 

5:55 

6:00 

6:10 

6:20 

6:30 

6:40. . . 

One by one, she began turning off her countless morning alarms while wiping the drool off the side of her face. 

Still late. . Should I set up more alarms? Esmey tossed her phone aside. 

She sat completely still, dazedly staring into space. The sun's radiance slowly slid in-between the small opening of her curtains and made its way to her, tenderly landing on her exposed shoulder and climbing up to her slender neck.

The chirping of the birds outside was the only noise in the otherwise quiet atmosphere of her room. The whole world presented itself as peaceful and harmonious. Esmey's eyelashes quivered when the light reached the side of her face. 

The sudden sound of an alarm quickly jolted her away from her sluggish daze. She imperceptibly flinched at the noise and looked back at her phone only to realize she had mistakenly overlooked turning off the next alarm. Esmey rubbed her uncomfortable neck and sighed from the fright. After tossing the phone aside again, she rigidly left the comfort of her warm bed. 

The comb in her hand felt unbearably heavy, but she still managed to lead it to go through her unkempt, shoulder-length hair.

Voluntarily choosing to skip breakfast as always, Esmey steadily walked down the stairs in a tidy high school uniform. But she unconsciously paused her steps at the clear sound of water being poured. Her father was lounging on the dark leather couch of the living room, casually sipping his lukewarm drink. 

Her steps had already faltered but it was too late to turn back. 

"Good morning," Her father got up the minute he felt her presence, placing his cup back down on the coffee table that was littered with work papers. 

Esmey felt a tightening pressure in her throat but she thrust the words out of her mouth anyway, "Good morning." 

"Going to school already?" Her father's tone was stern but it still plainly betrayed the awkwardness its owner was feeling. 

"Mn." Esmey tried avoiding keeping her sentences short so she added, "Are you coming?" 

Yet her father's face still undoubtedly darkened. Any trace of the small guilt that was there a second ago disappeared, "What do you mean by that?" 

Esmey's hand nervously clenched. 

"What kind of question is that?" Her father's voice was low but the intimidation behind it was clear, "'Am I coming?' To my own daughter's graduation? Is that something you should even ask?" 

"I. . didn't mean anything by it." Please, just let it go. For once, just let it go.

"Of course you didn't. Always making me look bad, does that make you feel better?" Her father looked exasperated, plopping back down on the long couch while irritably rubbing his forehead. His voice got louder with conviction bit by bit, "If you're still upset about what happened a few days ago then just say it, Esmey! Just say it! Don't be so roundabout with me." 

He shook his head disappointingly, "Unbelievable. Always holding a grudge like your life depends on it. How long are you going to stay like this, hm?" He looked back at her in anger.

What nonsense. 

"Sorry," With a mellow voice and blank expression, Esmey immediately gave in. 

Where did it all go wrong? Or was it never even right? Did her father really change or was it just her own perception of him? These questions all retired to the back of her mind after getting accustomed to their new normal. 

She can't remember exactly when they started, but the small scuffles between him and her mother kept getting more and more prevalent with time. Their fights seemed to start and end with nothing, fermenting for days and only ever evaporating when both parties ran out of energy. They became a weekly routine, a frequent and never-ending cycle of hurt and hurting. 

That is—until her mother fell sick. During those few months she had left, the household was the most peaceful it had ever been. But that false peace didn't last long. Esmey was only fourteen when her mother passed away on that bleak hospital bed. 

The most her father and mother had ever done when fighting was shove each other. So afterward, when her father's palm came close to her face, all Esmey did was freeze up in confusion. When it left her ear ringing and her face burning, Esmey remained frozen in place. There was a mix of humiliation and despair in the pit of her stomach and the question 'why? why? why?' ran its course in her mind, over and over again like a broken record. Her tears dripped one after another uncontrollably. Looking up at her father who was still screaming in a fit of rage, Esmey's thoughts simply halted. Her body moved on its own to instinctively fight back. She screamed, bit, kicked, scratched, pushed. . . But when her father's hand tightly grasped her throat, she was forced to wake up from her trance. Her father's face was twisted in angles that seemed unnatural, "Is this what you wanted!? Is this is it!?" 

Why did they even fight that day? Was it just because she had said something wrong? Was it because she'd done something wrong? 

Eventually, she realized that she was thinking of it all wrong. It was because she hadn't learned to conform yet. 

The constant struggling made her realize she was hitting a brick wall. Whatever she does, nothing will change; And that was her reality. No matter how many times she collapsed, confused and tired, an offhanded apology is all that would be offered before her father resumed his unreasonable demands. 

Esmey pinched her hand in discomfort to force those memories away.

"Next time, pay more attention," Her father's jaw tightened, looking away from her. 

A few minutes passed and he wondered if he should try to say something else to ease the atmosphere, but when he caught sight of his daughter standing as still as a statue, he furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head again. 

Standing up, he left behind a, "I'll meet you there," before exiting the room. 

But Esmey's feet stayed glued to the ground for a long time after.

I know now. 

I know this is just the you in a 'bad mood'. 

I know you're hurt. 

I know you're not okay.  

But neither am I.

I'm tired.

I'm lost.

I'm lonely.

I. . . miss you.