They say your father is your biggest supporter. Your number one protector. Someone who can give you strength when you are weak.

But the person walking down the stairs has taught me to gather my own strength—for he failed to give me his.

I watched how he proudly smiled, laughed, and shake hands with people who seem to look up to him, follow him, and preach with him. Remembering that night, after he left me begging for a fatherly love, even just a bit of it, I beg to differ from these people.

All I can say is I am utterly disgusted at him. And I am never gonna look up to him, ever again. He does not deserve any bit of appreciation from me.

He made me see life differently. And it made it very petty.

As a rebel of my own self, my hand automatically flew to a glassful of red liquor by the walking server. In one bitter sip, I withdrew.

Only to have another bitter sight.

A complete-looking family passed my watch as soon I shifted my eyes.

Seemingly an only daughter with her mom and dad, the toddler with her baby blue slim elegant dress, seemingly 5 or 6 years old, halted on her playful and bit jumping steps which also halted her parents, who are holding her hands on each side. They stopped at a certain spot before the music room, where all the paintings are.

My eyes steadied, noticing what certain painting they stopped at.

"Mom, her smile should be pretty as well as yours! Who is she?! Is she a beauty queen?"

She giggled and amusement started to beam in her innocent eyes. To her clapping hands. Down to her giddy feet.

"A goddess like the allurious and exquisite Psyche?! They really existed on Earth? Is she from the young gen?"

The cold in my gut intensified when she pointed to an explicit frame presenting the resplendence of an indeed ravishing woman.

Volumized and messy-chic waist-long jet black hair styled like those of playboy magazine models. Small and pointed narrow nose. Brightest of orange orbs like those of a lioness... calm, yet notably fierce in nature. Naturally high cheekbone with glowing pinkish cheeks, and full red lips... in a playful smirk.

Allison Ines Dresteca Flinn is indeed exceptionally beautiful.

That was her in 17. Effortlessly alluring the school hall in her dark blue and white high school uniform, while in her hand is a noticeably expensive and exquisitely-made designer bag. And the photograph is a stolen shot by...

"Mommy thinks it's Mrs. Flinn. Remember the one who invited us here? She is his wife"

"Oh!" she clapped joyfully, eyes on innocent bliss. "That handsome uncle? The one having the famous and most gorgeous set of gray eyes?!"

It is pure silence for me when her father carried her in his arms. He snappily fixed back the little unruled hair behind her ears before pecking a light kiss on her forehead.

Her mom gently stroked the kid's back too, silently assuming what could be on her daughter's imaginative mind.

"Bulls eye... huh.."

Chimes like endearing bond.

What a sight for the unprivileged.

Of course, social gatherings would always pick on me. Intendedly. Unintendedly.

And by experience, unintended things always pokes harder.

"Then their daughter must be heavenly pretty! Can I meet her? Who she looks like?! Is she in showbiz? Is she an actress? A model? Perhaps a ballerina or figure skater?!"

Oh, I am pretty dark, and not stunning.

Possibly a ballerina if holding katanas. Or a figure skater with dozens of guns.

"We haven't met her yet. But for sure she is pretty stunning as you, my dearest,"

I covered my lips with the glass again. Sipping poison. Twirled it to my mouth. And as usual, feeling puckish as it slides down my throat.

Head up to the banister, I met some intriguing jaguar orbs preying on me.

He smirked at my eyes before he played with the wine glass in his mouth. He let me grace the lewdness of his adam's apple as he consumed a long shot.

He soon raised his glass at me.

I gave him cold eyes as I consumed the whole remains of my booze too.

His tongue flicked on the side as he watched me.

I threw him one last gaze as I paced the center of the floor.

An almost... entertainment.

Flawlessly, I uncovered a not-really crowdless spot behind the long table of desserts and drinks. My eyes got inquisitive at the play of colors in front of me. Until a familiar massive shadow neared me.

"Would it kill me to join a lone and mischievous lady in front of the colorful delights?"

My eyes darted to a particular chip. How bizarre.

"If I'd say change the color of delights, would you?" it was an just inquiry.

He took a short silence. I then knew he had spotted what I got inquisitive at.

"Would it comfort you?"

Would it? I doubt... no.

"Do color offer comfort anyway?" I lifted my eyes and recognized such an overwhelming chest, something robust on the eye. Shamelessly, I trailed all of it until his crystal caramel irises met mine.

I smirked at his big smile.

"Good evening Ms. Aesha, what a nice evening isn't it?" German who seemed to be enjoying the evening stood beside me. His mere presence is unstagedly coarse to the point that I never faulted a doubt when the watchful eyes tripled in number.

But then one swerve of my eyes and they tore theirs away.

"Same old nonsense evening for me, even with all the extravagance. Or the tall tales,"

In my peripheral view, I saw how he eyed the man too, then played with his wine. We both watched him for a while. Though I know we are both watching him with different opinions flowing in our minds.

How odd that years before I am also that proud of him and all he has ever done. That I was also a believer of the man. That I am also one of his crowd.

The richest would even bow at him. And how could anyone deny the fact that he would always stand out even of all the dominant alphas and success stories around him?

The Flinn superiority could never be ignored, more so if it's the Luther Sievou.

Always imposing. Always the prodigy. Always the highlight.

But of course, the German I know would not last my continuous silence so he speak up. "Your father seemed to enjoy the evening with all the guests that he is meeting. He has been successful leading. Making connections with people."

Connections.

He is good at making connections?

I beamed shortly. What a funny joke.

Sure he knows to build connections to these people. But he sucks building a connection with the person who badly needs to connect with him the most.

All these connections, they are all fucking useless.

"Father." I echoed the word, now playing with the wine in my glass. Mimicking a familiar motion that leads the stirring of everything in between the glass in my hand.

My mind traveled back, looking at how he is a father to me. How he is supposed to be a father to a family.

Lemme see...

Hmmm. How about on my school recognitions? Proms? Hospital visits? On my usual silent nights? When I'm weary and sick? During the persistent insomnia and trauma attacks?

Oh!

He never attended any of it!

"Father..." I echoed again.

I fail to remember when he became one.

For he was long gone.

It felt so long that I can't even remember. I glanced at the man one last time and it seemed like it is now his turn to have his welcome greetings when he offered his widest smile to the crowd this evening.

What a warm man. I mocked.

What a big smile on his lips.

Meanwhile, I find it hard to let out a quarter of that kind of smile.

"I do not have a father," I said, spitting the last word with pure disgust.

I turned my back on all those blinding lights surrounding him. Of all the grandest that's shoving me his wealth, power, and pride. I decided to walk away from him. To turn my back on him again. A habit I have successfully mastered during the past years... yet still taking a toll on me.

German nods, acknowledging my words, but still keeping his gaze on the man.

"Take care..." he bid as I take my first step, drowned by lots of following steps.

It is easy to be aware of the eyes staring at me right now. Some undress me with their eyes. Others praises what they can see. More of them judges me. A lot are curious, some are plotting a move.

But what I only decided to look at is the door to exit this location. Like all of this is insignificant aside from that door who can remove me from this hell-hot hole.

I don't care. I shouldn't care. I won't care.

The three things I should plaster and master.

I placed the wine glass on the table near the door and proceeded to remove myself from the event. Not something that picks my interest. I'd rather have a silent night.

And indeed, I was welcomed by the darkness outside, lighted by those bright lights from the parking lot. Fancy vehicles are properly parked in the lot and I believe there are lots of them right now. A number of cars are continuously entering.

He sure knows how to bring a show. And it seemed like they are all addicted.

For sure because what they kept seeing is something I'll never see. Or ever felt...anymore.

I walked past the parking and proceeded to go to the left passage with little lights as my guide to another small classic gate. Opened it with my very own keys and it revealed my motorcycle, lighted by another vintage post light that has been standing there for years.

Effortlessly climbing over it, I kicked it with my heels on. My dress rise at my spirited movements and I felt the cold metal pressing on my thighs as I pushed to remove the motorcycle stand.

Some loud roaring of the engine to somehow ruin his precious event.

And I let it roar until I'm fully satisfied.

I sped my way out the small gate and briskly noticed how the front door became busy as I passed by all those cars in the lot. Now it is full of people who are curious about who the culprit is—destroying the extravagant perfect show.

And of course, the menace in the eyes of the mafia members who are scattered all over the mansion are all directed at me. They have all disguised themselves as one of the crowd. As if they are just here for party and booze. As if they have never slaughtered hundreds.

Under their clothes are guns. Hiding in the darkness of the lot and their cars are their bright and sparkling swords... knives. Behind those eyes are the darkest motives.

And yet they can't ever scare me.

"Isn't she his daughter? "

"Really?" a woman got shocked.

Of course, how can we forget these kinds of buzzes in the world?

"It's not her first-time base on the hearsay. What is she up to?"

"Typical teenager. Rebel issues with their parents, I assume"

"Still. This is overboard disrespectful,"

"Agreed. Some things really don't tick right with their generation. It's a pity they are all gonna be put to waste,"

Oh, that'll be offending to those who are not me.

"But it isn't the generation that creates the waste. Generation is a whole... it is not right to be defined just by the number of its foul-minded individuals."

No brainer, I looked up to the glass window and saw the man watching me. I am guessing how he is now feeling about me ruining his precious evening once again. And why he is taking too long to act on every craze I host.

Before I get out of the gate, I noticed German in the side mirror, watching me go.

I drove all the way up and shoved all the feeling the man upstairs and the mansion made me feel.

How unfair.