Adult-FanFiction.org : Cartoons

No Way Home	By : Flagg1991 Category: +G through L > The Loud House Views: 2161 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Loud House nor will I profit in any way from this story

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
Meagan Loud came awake in a spill of early morning sunshine like a cat, her body stretching and a big yawn escaping her lips. She rolled over, sat up, and scratched the back of her head before she was fully conscious, and had to stop herself from getting to her feet; sometimes she got up but wasn't ready to be up, which lead to spills, pratfalls, and tumbles. She wasn't clumsy - at least she didn't think she was - she just...fell. Not a lot, though, just a little. In one of the books she read, a character got really drunk (like Dad used to), and the writer said something about the room spinning and the floor tossing like the deck of a ship at sea - that's how she usually was in the morning. She knew the Sandman came by at some point and sprinkled sand in her eyes, but was there also a Beerman who crept through the window and made her drunk?
That was a joke, she didn't believe in the Sandman. She didn't even believe in Santa Claus, not at lot, at any rate. He made absolutely no sense whatsoever, but she really, really liked the thought of him being real, so she kind of hung on even though her fingers were slipping and had been for a long time.
When she trusted herself to not topple over, she got up, slipped on her glasses, made extra sure she was steady, then crossed to the door. She used to try and walk when she was sleep-drunk because it was like getting her sea legs, but, and this is pretty embarrassing, she didn't have sealegs. She had regular old normal landperson legs. Last summer, Lori and Grandpa took her and Lucas to Lake Michigan for a weekend, and they were out on a charter boat: Meagan was all excited...until she boarded and got violently seasick. She spent the whole time puking over the rail while Grandpa held her hair and Lori patted her back. First time's always the hardest, Grandpa said. Uh, yeah, I'll say! Since then, the idea of going out on the water didn't set entirely well with her, but whatever. She didn't really wanna be a pirate, it was just fun think about. She wouldn't want to be a spacewoman either, come to think of it. One teensy, tiny little problem and you're trapped in the vacuum of space forever, floating farther and farther away from earth as the pressure builds then POP, your head explodes.
No, thank you. Fantasy and reading is one thing, but she'd poop herself if she actually went to space.
The hall stood empty and alone, like a country road at midnight, all the doors tightly shut and shadows filling the air. Her eyes went to her mother's door, and she wondered again if her father was in there since he sure wasn't on the couch when she sneaked down at midnight. She really wanted to hang out with him, and also, kind of to, well, make sure he wasn't mad at her or anything. She was used to Mom yelling at her (though she didn't do it very often anymore), but Dad, as far as she could remember, never raised his voice in her direction, and that he did last night bothered her. Then again, he and Mom were, like, doing sex stuff, and sex makes people act funny. That's what Lucy told her - she read a book where two characters had sex and it kind of confused her. The author said something like Herschel entered her and bursts and whorls of sensation crackled through her brain. Uh...he entered her? Like...he was a demon and he possessed her? That didn't make sense so she asked Lucy, who gave her a barebones rundown.
The man, apparently, puts his thing in the woman's thing. Meagan had no idea how that worked and she didn't really want to know - it was kind of gross and embarrassing. That her parents acted like they were going to do that was encouraging, though, because doing sex with someone means you love them, and if her parents loved each other, they'd get back together. She was apprehensive about the prospect at first, but after hanging out with Dad yesterday and realizing how much she missed him, it excited her. She imagined them all living together as a happy family and it made her giddy. She'd really miss Lucas, but maybe she could talk Lizy into letting him move with them. And by talk, she meant intimidate with threats of making her walk the plank and stuff.
Probably wouldn't work, but that was a worry for another day. Right now, her main concern was her parents falling in love again.
The way they yelled at her stung, though.
She hoped they didn't do it again.
In the bathroom, she did her business and washed her hands, a light, airy tune of her own devising humming from her lips. The weatherman on the news last night said today was supposed to be warm and sunny; maybe she could talk Dad into taking her and Lucas to the park. That'd be fun.
She cut the sink, spun in a swish of blonde hair and white nightgown, and went back to her room, a happy spring in her step. In her room, she went to the closet, opened the door (she kept it closed because open closet doors are creepy) and considered her selection. Mom insisted she wear dresses so she bought them by the butt load. She had green dresses, blue dresses, pink dresses, white dresses, black dresses, enough dresses to sink a pirate ship with some left over. She had jeans and other pants, but, to be honest, she'd come to enjoy the freedom of a dress, and the breeze was nice too. Sometimes you need pants, though, especially in winter. Mom didn't mind her wearing pants in the winter. Or the summer either. It's not like she made her, just if she saw her in pants, she'd start in. Oh, you should wear that pretty dress I got you last week. It's so nice and blah blah blah. Meagan didn't understand it, but even though people said she was smart, she didn't understand a lot of things.
Brushing her fingers across the dresses, she settled for a pink one with shoulder straps and a white floral pattern. She pulled her nightgown over her head, replaced it with the dress, then went to the dresser, where she selected a pair of blue underwear and yanked them on.
There. Now she was ready for an awesome day with her Dad.
TIckle.
Lemy winced in his sleep and muttered something that even he himself didn't understand. His mind was at half power but he was just conscious enough to know that he wasn't fully asleep, yet not wholly awake. The soft flutter came again, like the kiss of spidery legs against his cheek, and his face crinkled. He lifted his hand to brush it away, but stopped when he felt something he didn't expect and couldn't explain. He creaked one eye open, and Leia's face filled the world, her blonde hair hanging in his face and ghosting over his features. Her eyes were muddled with both sleep and desire, and he was suddenly aware of her sickly heat breaking over his rigid dick. A wicked smile across her pink lips, and she leaned in, planting a slow, wet kiss at the corner of his mouth.
"Good morning," she said and kissed his jaw. Lemy blinked the sleep from his eyes and fluttered his hands to her bare hips; she straddled him like he was a horse, and when she rolled her hips, her satiny center scraped his head, sending his heartbeat off-kilter.
She trailed needy kisses along his jawline and to his throat, where her tongue darted out and flicked his pulse. "Good morning," he said with a lazy smile. He ran one hand up the curve of her back, starting at the cleft of her butt and ending at the nape of her neck, a long, gentle stroke. If he was a horse, she was a cat, and their union was strange, wrong...and exhilarating.
"You're really hard," she purred into his ear. She took the lobe between her teeth and clamped down, pain and arousal bursting in his skull.
He slid his fingers into her hair and kissed the dip of her throat, the salty taste of her skin like ambrosia in his mouth. "You do that to me," he said.
She giggled and licked his ear. "Do I?"
He kissed her shoulder, then bit down hard, making her jump. "You do," he grinned.
She arched her back, guided her hips to his tip, and aligned their sexes, her fingers splaying on his shoulders and her breasts quivering with the pounding of her heart. Lemy had been with two dozen women in his life, but none had tits as nice as Leia's. They were small but firm, a cute mole dotted one and her responsive nipples a soft, girlish pink. He cupped them in his hands and squeezed, his thumbs making deep circles against the swollen nubs; her eyelids fluttered and she seductively licked her lips, then slowly impaled herself on his length, her walls forming tight against his shaft and stroking wetly down, drawing him deep into her boiling core. His breath caught and he held fast to her hips, his butt lifting off the bed and touching the opening of her womb.
Leia threw her head back and issued a long, protracted sigh through parted lips, then looked down at him with a devilish simper. She lowered her face until their noses touched and her hair shrouded his face, closing them in their own secret world; her hot breath broke against his lips, and he breathed deeply, drinking it in like a fifth of Jack and getting dizzy, light-headed drunk. She tossed her head to one side, brought her pelvis flush with his, and kissed his cheek. "Can I actually cum this time?" she asked with a teasing hilt. She drew her butt back, then slid forward, taking him to her limit and sucking a sharp intake of breath.
Lemy turned his head, and their lips glanced, her pupils dilating slightly and her mouth turning up in a keen smirk. He squeezed her tit and she yelped. "Maybe," he said, "if you admit what a slut you are."
She giggled in the back of her throat, lifted up, then brought herself down again. "Hmmm...okay," she said and kissed his mouth, "I'm a slut. But you have a small dick."
He kissed her, his tongue sweeping into her mouth and swirling with hers and his fingers tangling in her hair. She kissed him back, her hips rocking faster and her walls shlicking his tightening rod. "No I don't," he panted.
A malignant light glinted in her eye. "Yes you -" he word cut off in a cry when he thrusted up into her.
"Okay, no you don't, no you don't, no you don't," she panted, and Lemy's ego swelled.
Propping herself up on her slender arms and staring down into his eyes, she set a quick, savage pace, her eyes rolling back into her head and her breasts bouncing. Lemy held onto her hips and relished the sight of her red face twisting and contorting into beautiful expressions of rapture and bliss.
When the end came, he threw his hips against hers and unloaded with a shivering grunt, his mind rolling away on a tide of nirvana and his body shaking as it pumped into hers. She moaned, bowed her head, and rode out her own climax, her eyes squeezed closed and her jaw slack. Lemy stared up at her as she came to a halting stop and opened her eyes, a satisfied smile spreading across her lips. "I really missed that."
"Me too."
She rolled off and his took her in his arms, his nose burying in her hair - fruity with a ripe hint of sweat - and laced his hands over her stomach. She scooted closer and wiggled her butt against his deflating member, a wet, silvery streak of cum smeering across her supple skin. Neither spoke, both enjoying the warm sunshine falling through the window, and the tingling afterglow of their lovemaking. Lemy's eyelids drooped, and before long he was dozing, a feeling he hadn't known in a long time lying heavy upon him like a blanket.
Happiness.
Or at least contentment.
If only he had a drink.
He smacked his dry lips and swallowed hard. He finished the last of the Canadian Mist last night after Leia was asleep, and the grim knowledge that there was no more clutched his chest.
"Any plans for the day?" Leia asked, bringing him out of his langor.
Plans? No. This wasn't a fun vacation getaway. He was here to sign that paperwork and probably to leave again. He doubted Dad wanted him hanging around, and he was not planning on staying where he wasn't wanted.
He thought of Meagan and Lucas, and of the woman in his arms, his seed drying on the insides of her thighs, of how much he missed them. Maybe...maybe he could swallow his pride and just deal with it. He counted leaving in the first place as a mistake, so why do it again? And even if Dad and his bitch aunts didn't want him around..well, fuck them. He had as much here as he had anywhere else. More, actually. His kids were here, and so was Leia.
The girl he loved.
And, at times, the girl he hated.
She was controlling and nagged, but perhaps, this time around, he could put up with it.
Shifting, he kissed the back of her neck. "Not really."
"Maybe we can do something later," she said, "me, you, and Meagan. As a family. After I get off of work."
That single word - family - both pieced and warmed his heart. "Sure," he said, "that sounds like fun."
She turned in his arms and kissed him. "Good. I need a shower. I'm really gross."
"Yes you are," he said and kissed her again.
While she went to the bathroom, Lemy got up and searched around for his clothes, snatching his boxers up from by the foot of the bed and his shirt up from its spot on the dresser; he resembled a man on a scavenger hunt. Dressed, he sat on the bed and pulled his shoes on, then went downstairs. Meagan and Lucas sat at the dining room table with Dad, Lucy, and Leni, Dad scanning the paper, his reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, and Lucy clutching a cup of coffee in her hand. Meagan looked up when he entered and beamed. "Morning, Dad!"
"Good morning," he said, bent, and kissed her forehead. He mussed Lucas's hair, and the little boy pulled away. "Having breakfast?"
Meagan's head bobbed up and down. "Yep. Auntie Lori's making it."
The sounds of pots and pans banging and grease crackling drifted from the kitchen, followed by the good smells of cooking. Bacon, eggs, toast. "She makes a good breakfast," he said genuinely. He rarely ever admitted that because fuck her, but it was true.
"Umhm," Meagan said and patted her stomach. "The best."
Eh, he wouldn't go that far, but okay.
Patting her on the head, he crossed through the kitchen, ignoring Lori at the stove, and went out the back door; the day was bright but cold with a wind from the west that made him shiver. He went to one of the patio chairs, sat, and fished his cigarettes from his hip pocket. He shook one out, popped it into his mouth, and lit in, the harsh smoke rolling thickly into his lungs. He clinched it between his fore and middle fingers, and realized that his hand was shaking.
He needed a drink. Bad. So bad that his head was starting to hurt and his stomach rolled. Maybe he could sneak away and go to the liquor store. Or even the gas station: He wasn't big on beer, but he'd drink it when he had to.
As he smoked, he gazed out at the yard; two squirrels chased each other through the grass, one darting up the trunk of a tree and the other hot on its heels. He took a drag and blew it out; a stiff wind caught it and pushed it away. His foot tapped a restless tempo and his head bobbed back and forth. His mouth was dry, the back of his throat tacky. He thrummed with nervous energy and he was starting to tremble. He told himself eating might help, but he knew that it didn't.
Finishing his cigarette, he flicked it away and went back inside just as Lori carried a plate into the dining room and sat it on the table. He followed and tensed a little when he realized everyone was there; none of them looked up at him, though, except for Leia - she wore jeans and a white, sleeveless button up blouse. She grinned and patted the empty chair next to her like an excitable girl inviting her crush to sit with her at lunch, and he went over, sat.
The food, on separate plates, made its way around the table counterclockwise, each diner taking what they wanted and passing the rest on. Lemy scooped a tiny amount of scrambled eggs onto his plate, then added two strips of bacon, a single sausage link, and a triangular toast half. He stared down at it all and his stomach turned. Nevertheless, he forced himself to eat; it tasted like cardboard in his mouth and went down like broken glass. The inane chatter of his aunts and kids sent a spike of pain into the center of his skull, and he winced.
Leia laid her hand on his leg, and he looked at her; she bit her lower lip and nodded. One thing he'd forgotten about her was how much she liked being fucked - there were times she'd want it three or four times a day. Not that he was complaining, it was just strange to go from no women wanting him to one wanting nothing but.
"How did you sleep last night, Lemy?" Lori asked without looking up from her plate. "I hope the couch was comfortable." There was a snide note to her voice that told him she knew he didn't sleep on the couch.
Before he could reply, Leia spoke up. "He slept with me last night." He detected a challenge in her voice. He blushed and looked down at his food; in his periphery, Lola shook her head sadly and Lori lifted her brows. I knew it. Dad cut a piece of sausage with his fork and impaled it on the tines. "That's good," he said, "you two are...working things out?"
"Yep," Leia said.
Lemy licked his lips. He wanted a drink so fucking bad it hurt. Just one sip. One drop.
"Good," Dad pronounced.
Meagan beamed, as though the idea of her parents working it out pleased her. Which it totally did. She suddenly remembered something. "Dad?"
Lemy looked up, his mind faraway. "Yeah?"
"Can you take me and Lucas to the park?" she asked. "It's supposed to be really warm today."
The park? There was a liquor store a block over. He could leave them on the playground, dash down, and grab a bottle, then hurry back. "Sure," he said.
"Luya will be here at two," Dad said to Meagan and took a bite, "so you'll have to wait."
Meagan slumped her shoulders. "But Luya doesn't like the park."
"True," Dad said, "but your father wants to spend time with her too."
Lemy did...but he wanted that fucking drink just as badly if not, God help him, more. Dad was right, though, he did want to spend time with Luya.
When breakfast was done, Dad, Lola, Lana, and Leia left for work. On her way out the door, Leia gave him a deep kiss and cupped his crotch. "See you later, sexy," she said and winked.
"I'll be here," he said.
And probably still jonesing for a drink, he added to himself.
Luya sat on her bed with her knees drawn to her chest, her phone lying next to her and tinny music filtering from the single speaker. She stared absently at the portable TV on her dresser and listened for her mother's rasping smoker's cough from the living room, as she had been for the past hour. When she finally heard it, signifying that she was awake, she pursed her lips in a sour grimace and sullenly crossed her arms. She absolutely did not want to go to her grandparents' house today, and she planned to fight her mother when she tried to make her, but knew vaguely that she would cave and do what she was told.
The problem wasn't that she hated her father, no, if it were that simple, she'd go without a second thought and ignore him. The problem was this: She didn't hate him, and yesterday, as she watched him with Lucas and Meagan, she found herself wanting to like him despite herself, wanting to hug him and spill all of her emotions out in a rush of babbling tears. How much it hurt that he used to avoid her, how terrible it made her feel when he left, how even to this day she thought there must be something wrong with her - he walked out and Mom treated her cold, like she was an unpleasant reminder of him. In her mind's eye, she saw him brushing her tears away, kissing her forehead, and dispensing fatherly advice that, as if by magic, would make everything okay...would make her okay.
She was smart enough to know that the heart is a bald faced liar, and she was not going to listen to it. When you listen to your feelings, you almost always make the wrong decision. Your brain is the organ you should listen to. It can be miserable, paranoid, and crumudgeony, but it was right more often than not. Her father was a drunk, selfish, and didn't care about her, or her siblings. He only cared about himself, even if he fooled himself into thinking he didn't.
Even so, she didn't trust herself around him. Last night, after Mom picked her up and brought her home, she lay awake in bed for hours, struggling to sleep but instead remembering all the times she sat in his lap as a little girl, all the times he held her and kissed her and told her she was pretty even though she knew she wasn't - her hair made her look like an old woman. She remembered the times he held her hand and read her bedtime stories, making her giggle because he slurred all the words. She recalled, with a wistful smile that felt strange on her face, the times he'd curl up next to her in bed or on the couch and pass out, drunk. She loved it when he slept with her because she felt safe, warm, and loved.
Her brain responded by going into panic mode and trudging up bad memories to bring her back to reality, but those were weaker, not as clearly defined, flickering shadows in the corner of a firelit room. She didn't care about those...she just wanted her Daddy.
And that scared her, pissed her off, and made her hate herself more than she already did. If she went to that house today, she couldn't guarantee that she wouldn't fall for the lie.
She didn't want that.
God, she didn't want to let herself believe...only to have her hopes ripped away and dashed on the rocks. She'd been hurt enough already, she didn't want to be hurt anymore. Did that make her a dumb, weak little girl? If so, then that's exactly what she was. She wouldn't admit it out loud, but she would to herself.
I'm a dumb, weak little girl.
There.
It was out.
She didn't want to hate her father, and she didn't hate him...she just wanted him to go away.
Her door opened and Mom stuck her head in; Luya's heart sank and she steeled herself for an argument. "Come on," Mom said, "we're going."
"I don't want to," Luya said, her voice low but firm. She hugged herself tighter. I really, really don't, please don't make me, Mom, please.
Mom hung her head and sighed deeply. She raked her fingers through her snowy hair and looked up at Luya, her eyes dark and stormy. "I don't feel like doing this with you right now. I have to go to work."
Luya opened her mouth, but Mom cut her off. "I don't care that you're pissed your dad walked out. Okay? I don't. You need to drop this nasty fucking attitude and deal with it. We all have problems, and we all have people we hate. He's not staying, okay? He's just here to sign paperwork, then he's leaving. You'll probably never see him again, so just suck it up."
Luya flinched and her stomach dropped. He's leaving...you'll probably never see him again.
She knew that, she really did...but why did it feel like Mom just punched her in the guts? And why did heart throb so fucking bad?
A long time ago, Luya learned not to open up to her mother; Mom didn't care, she was just as selfish as Dad. She eventually extended that to everyone, because if your own Mom doesn't give a shit, who will? She wasn't the tough facade she promoted, though, and sometimes she cracked.
Like now.
"I don't hate him," she said earnestly, "I'm just…" she trailed off. She didn't want to admitted that she was afraid, didn't want to expose her vulnerabilities, but she felt like crying and she didn't know why and she couldn't keep it locked in her chest anymore. She needed to get it out. "I'm -"
Mom threw up her hand. "I don't wanna hear it. You always have an excuse. You and your Dad will get along fine, you're just like him. Now get your ass up and get in the car." She drew away before Luya could speak, and that was that.
Alone. She was alone and had nowhere to turn, no one to talk, no one who really cared, not even Grandpa and Grandma.
Fighting back the urge to cry and winning, but just barely, Luya got up, grabbed her phone, and shoved it into her pocket, a dark mixture of hate, depression, longing, melancholy, and desperation swelling inside her chest like poison gas. She went out into the hall and through the front door, the afternoon sun dazzling her wet eyes. Mom sat behind the wheel, a cigarette clamped between her lips. When Luya got in, she threw the car into reverse and backed up, then started down the road. Luya stared out the window at the passing trailers, lined up like tombstones in a forgotten pauper's field, and tried to figure what to do. Mom was right, Dad was just going to leave again, and if she was taken in by his bullshit, she would be hurt...probably more hurt than she was the last time. She couldn't avoid him; he'd just come after her with that phony I'm sorry, I wanna make it right line.
They were just pulling up in front of Grandpa's house when she made up her mind.
She'd push him away, by any means necessary. She couldn't be hurt by him leaving if she never got close to him...and she couldn't fall for his spiel if she never gave him a chance to use it on her.
Mom lit another cigarette with the nub of the previous one, then slipped it through the crack between the window and the doorframe; bluish smoke hung in the still air like vapor from a bomb blast, obscuring her mother's tired, sallow face. Luya surreptitiously studied her countenance from the corner of her eye: Hazy, bloodshot eyes; pale, doughy flesh; dark bags; premature wrinkles around her lips; her hair messy and uncombed. She looked like a woman who had given up on life, and on herself. Luya knew how that felt, and the urge to give her a hug came over her like a shroud.
Instead, she turned away and opened the door.
"Have a good day," Mom mumbled, then, as a hurried afterthought, "love you."
The lack of conviction in those two words did not surprise Luya, and it normally didn't affect her, but right now it did, and a single tear slid down her cheek. "Yeah," she said, got out, and slammed the door behind her. She pressed her trembling lips together and rapidly blinked against the deluge threatening to overwhelm her, then crossed the yard, dread welling inside her stomach like a balloon. She was caught between a rock and a hard place, like the Soviet penal battalions she learned about in school, the Germans ahead and execution-happy superiors behind. In front of her was a father who didn't love her, and behind her, a mother who didn't love her, and in that moment, she hated both of them so much she sneered.
Reaching out, she opened the door and went inside, her breathing coming fast and heavy as her rage rolled in her stomach like tar. Her father sat on the couch flanked by Meagan and Lucas; when she closed the door, he looked over at her and flashed a weak, hopeful smile that would possibly disarm her if she looked at it too long.
"Hey," he said.
For a terrible moment, Luya thought a return greeting was going to fall from her lips whether she wanted it to or not; a meek, unguarded hi lodged in her throat, and she swallowed it. Keeping her eyes straight ahead, she passed through the living room and went aimlessly into the kitchen, not knowing where to go or what to do, just wanting to be away from him, away from the possibility of being taken in by his lies and then devastated the way she was two years ago. She stood by the stove for an indecisive moment, then went out the back door; she'd sit under the tree and think about boys...or listen to music on her phone...or anything to get her mind off her father.
She crossed to the tree and sat in her usual spot; the earth was canned here, like a chair, and the trunk was slightly curved in a gentle C-shape; she was more comfortable here than anywhere else in her life, even her own bed in her own home. No one bothered her when she sat under the tree, and her thoughts and fears were lessened, as though it blocked them the way it blocked the wind. She leaned against the bark, drew her knees up, and hugged them to her chest, the soles of her dirty white Vans scraping in the dirt. She let a deep breath out through her nostrils and gazed across across the way at the weathered stockade fence separating the yard from the next one over, her eyebrows lowering when she spotted chalky pink writing scrawled across the graying wood. She squinted and made out CAPT DAD, FIRST MATE MEAGAN, CABIN BOY LUCAS. Oh, God, she thought and rolled her eyes, Meagan and her pirate shit. Glad she's having fun with Dad-and-dash. When he left again, she'd see. Not that Luya wanted her to, but...what are you going to do?
Meagan looked so happy, though, and Luya kind of hated her for it; she wanted to be happy, she wanted to smile and laugh and not be wracked with fucking bullshit bad feelings and thoughts. If I did something different, would things be better? If I tried harder, would Dad have spent more time with me? What did I do to make Mom hate me? She didn't want to pay lip service to a lie, though, she didn't want to pretend that she had faith in her father, or front like she didn't know he was going to just walk away again.
Sighing, she glanced at the back door and froze as Dad slipped out and came down the steps. Ugh, go away. Why can't you just leave me alone?
He reached the bottom and started over, his head down and his shoulders slumped; he reminded her of a man being lead to the electric chair, and a rush of indignation rose in her chest. Was dealing with her really that fucking bad? Is that why he hid when she knocked on the door and asked if he was there?
Maybe she was being oversensitive and unfair, but she couldn't help it. If she could, don't you think she would?
Dad was six feet away when he designed to look up; a warm shaft of sunlight colored his face in a glowing golden hue reminiscent of saints in Renaissance paintings she saw in books. She hugged her knees tighter and looked down at her lap. He stopped and stood over her, but she ignored him, willing him to go away but secretly, on some level, hoping that he wouldn't.
"Luya," he said, her name coming out in a sigh.
She swallowed.
When she didn't respond, he dropped to one knee and reached out to touch her shoulder, but she squirmed quickly away, his fingers clutching air. If he touched her, she thought irrationally, she'd turn into another Meagan: Happy, carefree, and dumb, too fucking blind to realize that she worshipped her tin god of a father in the shadow of a hammer-head, too benighted to realize that sooner or later, it would drop.
Dad sighed. "I can't make up for what I did," he said, his voice a croak. "And I know you're...you're upset. I messed up. In a lot of ways." He stopped and collected his thoughts. "I'm sorry. I want us to have a good relationship from here on out. I know that's not going to happen overnight, and I know you're gonna be...wary, and that's fine. Just give me a chance, please."
Emotion welled in his voice as he spoke, and Luya could feel her defenses starting to crumble. She realized she wanted to give him a chance...but simply couldn't. "Go away," she said.
From the corner of her eye, she saw his lips purse in a wounded frown and his eyes flicker in pain. Her chest tightened; she was so close to hugging him and saying I'm sorry, Dad that her spine tingled.
Dad got to his feet and stared longingly down at her. "I'm taking Lucas and Meagan to the park. Can you at least come with us? I-I won't bother you. Okay?"
"Whatever," she heard herself say.
He nodded. "Okay. We're gonna walk over in, like, ten minutes."
"Yeah," she muttered.
He started to say something else, but thought better of it, turned, and walked away, the door closing behind him. She was alone now save for a sweep of wind driven leaves dancing in the falling rays of the sun. If she honestly thought he was going to stay and change, she would forgive him in a heartbeat. He wasn't going to stay and change, though.
Sighing, she got to her feet and went inside.
Rees-Headley Park sat on eight acres of land wedged between Route 15 and the upper reaches of Main Street, so far to the north that it was almost across the town line in Elk Park. A winding river bisected it, and dense trees covered most of its northwestern quadrant. Concrete walkways zigzagged through the lower portions, servicing pavilions, a baseball field, two different picnic areas (complete with rusted metal grills that reminded Lemy of headstones), and a playground. He hadn't been here since the night he slept off a drunk under the monkey bars, and as he sat on a bench next to Luya, his hands shaking in his lap, he wondered if winos still made camp in the woods on the other side of the path. Winos left behind bottles, and more times than you'd expect, there was something still in them. Rarely much, just a mouthful, but that's all he needed, something to take the edge off.
He licked his lips and found Meagan; she was pushing Lucas on the swing and holding her glasses against her face so that they didn't slip off. The whole walk over, she talked nonstop and by the time they actually got here, his head was throbbing and he felt like he was running a fever. That girl was a motormouth...cute, but a motor mouth nonetheless. He stole a sidelong glance at Luya; she watched kids climbing over the equipment with a scowl on her face; jaw clenched, eyes hard, hair rustling in the breeze. They'd been here for nearly an hour and a half, and he tried again and again to get her talking, but she wouldn't - nothing he was doing was working and he was starting to think it was hopeless, that she'd never forgive him no matter how much he begged. He wanted to cry...and to shake her until she snapped out of it. He made a mistake, okay? Did she really have to hold a grudge?
Only, truth be told, he made multiple mistakes with her, more than he did with Meagan and Lucas. When Lupa kicked him out, he turned his back on her and Luya. His line of reasoning was fucked up, he realized now, but at the time, angry and bitter, it made sense. Why keep playing father to her? Looking back, he was disgusted with himself, and wished to God that he would have gotten it through his thick, stupid head that he was her Dad regardless of anything else.
He licked his lips and took a deep breath through his nose. He needed a drink now more than he did this morning, and if he didn't get it soon, he was going to come undone. He was fidgety, restless, and his mood was sour. He already came close to snapping at Meagan for talking about fucking pirates, and Luya...why did she have to make this so fucking hard?
Not drinking did this to him...made him grouchy, irritable, on edge. That liquor store was only a couple blocks away, he could be there and back in no time. He watched Meagan pushing her brother; his soared back and forth like a pendulum, his brown hair fluttering and his little legs pumping furiously. He planned on getting away long enough to get a bottle, but only a piece of shit leaves their kids alone to go buy booze, right? Then again, Meagan was responsible, and Luya was here. Hell, when he was Meagan's age he went all over the place by himself, and sometimes he brought Lizy along with him - she was around Lucas's age. No big. Life in a small town, you know?
He drummed his fingers on his knees and squeezed his eyes closed. If he didn't drink, he'd be in a bad mood, and if he was in a bad mood, he might be an asshole to his kids. Therefore, getting that bottle was the right thing to do. It was for their benefit as much as it was for his. They didn't deserve to have their father be grumpy to them.
Mind made up, he looked at Luya. "Can you watch them for a minute?" he asked and nodded toward Meagan and Lucas.
She turned her head slightly and flicked her eyes in his direction, her face a stony mask of mistrust. Was she going to give him a hard time about this, too? "Why?" she asked.
"I have to do something," he said quickly. "I'll be right back."
She looked him up and down like a judge regarding a particularly pathetic defendant, her nose crinkling in distaste. "What do you have to do?"
He started to snap but stopped himself. Exterting inhuman patience, he said, "I need to get cigarettes. I'll be right back."
Luya rolled her eyes and shook her head as though he were insufferable. Her mother used to do the same thing; such an insulting fucking gesture. "I didn't come here to babysit."
Yeah? He thought, why did you come? You've been fucking miserable the entire time. You should have stayed at home.
That thought shocked him, and shame colored his cheeks. He legitimately wanted her to come, though he was hoping things would go a little better than they had. Still, this is why he needed his drink. "Please, just watch them for five minutes. I'll be right back."
She stared straight ahead, didn't speak, didn't nod, nothing. Lemy got to his feet, hesitated, then walked away, joining the path and following it past a marble fountain. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure that neither Lucas nor Meagan saw him go, then hurried his step, his hands thrusting into his pockets. Ahead, an old man sat on a bench and tossed pieces of bread to a gaggle of ducks, and further down the path, a woman in tight white pants and a pink halter top pushed a set of twins in a double stroller. To his right, a group of college aged boys tossed a Frisbee, and to his left, a black family crowded around one of the picnic tables, Dad or Uncle Bill manning the grill. The scent of cooking hamburgers drifted into Lemy's nose, and his stomach rumbled sickly.
She'd come around, he thought of Luya, she just needed time, that's all. It wasn't fair of him to expect her to take to him the moment he walked through the door. Not that he did, he knew she'd be distant, but he was hoping she wouldn't hold it against him too much.
He was at Main now, cars passing in either lane and people moving along the sidewalk, enjoying the day. Across the street, the new high school, a gleaming construct of brick and glass, stood like a castle on an English moor, the athletic field on one side and a vast parking lot on the other. The old one was on the other side of town - he dropped out two years before they decommissioned it. These days it was a community center.
Hanging a right, he crossed a green truss bridge spanning the river; town rose up in front of him, quint buildings flanking tree-lined streets. Despite its close proximity to Detroit, Royal Woods was a good place to live...if fucking boring. And lacking in jobs. That was the main reason he left: There was shit for work here. If he stayed, it could very well be a long time before he found anything...anything worthwhile, at least.
Maybe Dad could talk Lana into hiring him for the business. He was pretty good at siding and roofing, and they could use the help. She might grumble about it, but she'd probably have him anyway.
He imagined them working together, the air tense between them, and shook his head. Nah, fuck that.
Walking quick and feeling guilty, he reached the liquor store five minutes later and went inside; an Arab man in a black Under Armor T stood behind the counter and chattered into a cell phone. Lemy went down the first aisle and browsed the selection: Vodka, gin, rum, mixes. He reached the end and went down the next, looking for Canadian Mist but not seeing it. Damn it. Guess he'd have to settle for Captain Morgan. He grabbed a bottle and took it to the counter, where he paid, half expecting the cashier to rob him like the one in New York. Funny how these places are all run by Arabs, motels by Indians, and laundries by the Chinese. Some people might call that racist, but in his experience, it was true. Why did certain ethnicities gravitate toward certain businesses? There had to be a reason. Chinese restaurants made sense because, you know, Chinese people cooked and ate Chinese food, but what, did Arab people have a long and ancient tradition of operating 7-11s?
The cashier put the bottle in a paper bag and handed it to Lemy. He shoved it into his jacket's inner pocket, went outside, and stopped to light a cigarette. He was hyper aware of it pressing against his chest, its shape, its fullness, the way the contents sloshed with every step. There was an outbuilding at the park with bathrooms and showers - he'd go in there and take a few nips to fortify himself, hidden from view like a dirty secret.
Yeah, that didn't happen. He was on the bridge when he broke, pulled it out, twisted the cap off, and took a deep drink, the liquid burning his throat and filling his stomach like acid, its heat spreading through his body and melting the ice formed on his bones. His hand shook and he spilled some of it down his chin.
He pulled it away from his lips, swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, and screwed the cap back on, then returned it to hs pocket. Already he felt better, and as he made his way back to the park, he whistled. All was right in the world, except for Luya, but that was a work in progress.
Ten minutes later, he walked onto the playground and stopped when he saw Lucas and Meagan sitting on the bench, Lucas bent at the waist and Meagan rubbing his back with a concerned expression on her face. Shit, Lemy thought, something happened. His heart sank, and he rushed over, the sound of his son's wet sniffles finding his ears and sending an icepick of dread slicing through his heart. "What's wrong?" he asked as he walked up.
"He fell off the swing and skinned his knee," Meagan said. Lemy knelt in front of the little boy, and instantly saw the torn skin. He breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God it wasn't bad. "You alright, buddy?" he asked and put his hand on Lucas's shoulder.
Lucas nodded. "Yeah," he said simply, his voice thick with tears.
"Where were you?" Meagan asked.
He didn't know if the accusation in her voice was really there or if he was only imagining it, but it grated him anyway. "I went to the store," he said, "where's Luya? I told her to watch you."
"She said it wasn't her problem and went over there," Meagan said and nodded to her left. Lemy followed her gaze, spotting Luya sitting under a tree and staring down at her phone. Anger gripped Lemy's chest; he got to his feet and went over, his hands clenching and unclenching.
He stood over her and she ignored him just like she always did. Lemy took a deep breath through his nose and let it out evenly. "Really?" he asked.
"What?" she retorted sharply.
He started to cuss but stopped himself. The point was to thaw their relationship, not throw it into deep freeze. Getting ahold of his emotions, he said, "I asked you to watch them, Luya." His voice was strained, like a wire ready to snap. She wore a smug little expression that reminded him so much of Lupa it was sickening, and he hated himself for wanting to slap it off.
"I did watch them," she spat. "He was showing off jumped off the swing. It was his own fault, and I'm not a doctor, so…"
Lemy pressed his fingers to his throbbing temple and rubbed a firm circle. Okay, apparently it was a mistake leaving her in charge of her brother and sister. "Alright, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left."
She swiped her thumb across the screen and hummed. How casual she was about this, how callous, struck him deep in the guts and he sighed. "What do I have to do, Luya?" he asked seriously. "What do you need from me to show you I'm sorry and I want to be a good father?"
For a moment, she looked down at her phone, then looked up, her eyes squinting against the sun. "You can start by fucking off."
- 7
- 8
- 9
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

No Way Home