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chickensarentcheap · 4 years

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Best Part of Me -Chapter 27

Warnings: toxic parent and adult child relationship

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @alievans007

She introduces herself as Bonnie. A tall, slender woman with striking features; steel gray eyes and short cropped silver hair and high cheekbones. And Tyler doesn’t think much of until she adds, “your father’s special friend”. He vaguely remembers her...or at the very least someone resembling her...standing on the front porch of the old family home. The day he’d taken Millie to see the old man before they left for Mumbai. At that time there’d been no possibility of returning to Australia; Amir Asif’s people had found out he was still alive and were out for revenge and knew exactly where to find him. Going to his father’s that day had been a last-ditch effort to hash things out and patch them up. Or so he’d thought.

“You don’t remember me, do you,” Bonnie comments, as they linger on the front porch following introductions. And he wants to tell her that there’s some days he doesn’t remember what he did ten minutes ago, never mind what happened years ago. A side effective of not only the tremendous blood loss on the Sultana Kamal Bridge, but his brain being starved of oxygen during the times he’d flat lined in the operating room. “I was there the day you came to see your father at the old home,” she continues. “Five...six years ago.”

“Almost six,” Tyler confirms. Millie had only been two months old then. Three weeks before they’d found out Esme was pregnant again. They wouldn’t be told it was twins for another three months. It feels like a lifetime ago.

“I was there too,” Millie pipes up. Always confident, never shy or afraid to engage with complete strangers. Sociable, to a fault. “Do you remember me?”

Bonnie crouches down; a gentle hand on Millie’s shoulder as she engages with her eye to eye. “I peeked in on you through the window. You were just a tiny little thing. I remember you had blond hair then. And your feet were bare, and you had the cutest little toes. Amelia, right?”

Those big blue eyes widen in surprise and delight. “You remember my name? That was a long time ago.”

“I used to be a teacher. I used to have to remember a lot of names. Old habits die hard. Your grandfather remembers your name, too. He woke up very excited this morning knowing that he was going to see you today.”

Tyler can’t stop the doubtful smirk that tugs at the corner of the mouth, and he feels his wife dig her elbow into his side when she notices it.

“Really?” Millie’s smile grows, crinkling the corners of her eyes and the bridge of her nose. “I made him something. My birthday’s coming. I’m going to be six.”

Tyler’s shoulders immediately tense at the mere mention of that age, and he anxiously shifts his weight from one foot to the other. It’s irrational of course; the fear that Millie will wake up the morning of the big day and will have come down with something horrible and untreatable. But his brain isn’t exactly being rational these days.

“I want grandpa to come to my party,” Millie says. “So I made him this...” she unzips the plush unicorn knapsack she has slung over one shoulder. She’s quite eclectic today; the bag and the baby blue ‘princess dress’ with ruffles and frills and those dirty old Spiderman sandals. And she pulls out a handmade card and shows it to Bonnie. “Daddy helped me,” she proudly chirps. “It’s got sparkles and stickers of kittens and unicorns and butterflies and all the stuff I like. Even glitter. Lots of glitter. Do you think he’ll like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” Bonnie gushes. “I think he’ll love it. Do you want to go and give it to him?”

“By myself?” For once Millie sounds hesitant, and she looks up at her father, followed by her mother, then curls all her fingers around two of Tyler’s and leans into his legs. “I don’t think I want to go by myself.”

“I’ll go with her,” Esme speaks up, and then takes the baby carrier from Tyler. “She probably has to go to the bathroom anyway and Addie definitely needs a diaper change.”

He lays a hand on the small of her back and presses a soft kiss to her cheek. Things have been better since his meltdown in the middle of the road; surprisingly rational and calm considering how powerful and near crippling the anxiety and panic had been. And they haven’t talked about it or the issues surrounding it since. He knows it’s inevitable; he owes her an explanation for why he’s been so fucked up and on edge the last few days. It’s a conversation that has to happen –including the desperate cravings for the meds and the booze- but he is absolutely dreading. It isn’t the first time that he’s felt like he was slipping; he’d fallen off the wagon more than once during his various attempts at sobriety during the past six and a half years. But this time he knows there will be no more chances. If he fucks up, that’s it. He loses everything. And that’s the most terrifying thought of all.

“First and last?” Bonnie inquires, when Esme takes an uncharacteristically nervous Millie by the hand and escorts her inside. “The girls? First and last children?”

He nods. “There’s three more in between though. All boys.”

“That’s quite the brood. A big family for this day and age.”

“What can I say?” he gives a shrug. “It’s one of the few things we’ve actually agreed on in the past seven years. Wanting a big family.”

Three had been the original limit; none of them planned. Most had come as a complete shock. The twins being quickly after Millie was born, Declan making his presence known despite the fact his mother had been on birth control at the time. Millie came about during an unconventional time, but she hadn’t been that much of a surprise; complete absence of any form of protection over the course of five days meant it would have been more a shocked had if Esme hadn’t gotten pregnant. Addie was the only one that had been somewhat considered; they’d agreed on a fifth without knowing that she’d already been conceived.

“Your father couldn’t remember for sure,” Bonnie says. “He knew for sure that there were two of three. And he knows there’s two little girls. That’s a good day for him, when he remembers that much. A very good day.”

Tyler just nods. Hand shoved the pockets of his jeans, eyes on his feet. He knows he should feel something when it comes to his old man’s illness. Or at the very least he should express some kind of sorrow or even remorse for letting the years pass by without attempting to mend fences. But he feels nothing. At least none when it comes to his father. But the nightmare the night before has left him feeling many things towards and FOR his mother. And for that terrified little boy that had spent years cowering in his bedroom closet.

“I know things haven’t always been easy between you and your father,” Bonnie sympathizes. “That things were strained between the two of you.”

“That’s what he told you?”

“He said you were a difficult child. That it only got worse as you got older. Especially into your teen years. That you were very smart but acted out a lot. That you were always misbehaving at school and...”

“I was difficult, was I,” Tyler gives a small, dry laugh. “I wonder why that was.”

“I know you had your troubles. With discipline and authority. And controlling your emotions. I know...”

“You don’t know shit,” he interjects. “Is that what he told you? That I was a bad kid? That I was out of control? That’s what he said to you?”

“It’s understandable,” she attempts to lay a comforting hand on his forearm, but he scowls and yanks it away. “You lost your mother at a young age. That’s a tremendous loss. It’s not surprising you started acting out.”

“You’re not blaming this on my mother,” he can’t control the vehemence that creeps into his voice. Or the way his fists continuously clench and release. And that tightness in his chest returns; a vice tightening around his heart and squeezing at his lungs. “There’s no way you can blame this on her.”

“I’m certainly not blaming her for dying. I’m simply saying it takes its toll on loved ones. Especially those so young.”

“He used to beat the shit out of her. Did you tell you THAT? That he used to get drunk nearly every day after work and come home and put his hands on her? Did he tell you that I’d hide in the closet listening to the whole thing? I was a little kid. Millie’s age. Even younger when it started. And that’s what I dealt with. Almost every goddamn day until the day she died. I bet he didn’t tell you all that, did he.”

“He told me they argued. That they had their quarrels.”

“Arguments don’t cause black eyes and busted lips and concussions and trips to the hospital.”

“It’s not my place to judge. I don’t know what happened in the past between your father and your mother. And you were a little boy and you only HEARD these things. You don’t know for sure what happened.”

“When I was nine, he figured I was old enough to see what was going on. He used to make me watch; used to threaten to beat my ass or hurt her even worse if I didn’t. He wanted me to see how a ‘real man controls his woman’ and how he ‘rules his house’. So I did see it. And when she died, I was the one who took over the role as his favorite punching bag; the one that he took all his shit out on. You don’t know what happened.”

“You’re right. I wasn’t. But...”

“You weren’t there. But I was. I lived through it. Until I got too big and strong and I was able to put fear into him for a change. So don’t fucking stand there and tell me I was a ‘difficult kid’. You have no clue what growing up in that house was like.”

“And now you’re here for what? Revenge? That why you reached out after all these years?”

“He called me first. A week ago, when he needed some shit done around here. And you know what, I showed up and I did it. No questions asked. I’m here because my kids should probably get to know him before it's too late. I’m not here for revenge. I’m not here to make him for what he’s done. He either won’t remember of if he does, won’t give a fuck. I’m here for my kids. Not for me. Not for him. For my kids.”

“So you have nothing to say to him?”

“I have tons I want to say to him. A shit load of stuff I’ve been holding onto for years. But what good is going to do? He’s never regretted a goddamn thing that he did to me or to my mum. So what good will it do? It won’t do fuck all.”

“You have a lot of anger inside of you,” Bonnie observes.

“You think?”

“You haven’t had an easy life, have you. You’ve spent years with all of that anger inside of you. Trying to find a way to either get it out or cope with it. I can see it in your eyes; you’ve seen a lot of horrible things.”

“I’ve done a lot of horrible things,” Tyler admits. “To people who deserved it.”

“In the military.”

“In other jobs too.”

“What kind of other jobs?”

“Jobs that paid me damn good money and let me pretend it was my father I was beating on.”

Bonnie blinks at his brutal honesty.

“You don’t know anything about me. About the things I’ve seen. The things I’ve done. The life I’ve lived. You only know what he’s told you. About his failure of a son who fucked up his life and abandoned his dying kid and had his marriage fall apart. I’m sure that’s the picture he’s painted of me, isn’t it?”

She nods.

“I nearly died seven years ago. On a dirty fucking bridge in Bangladesh. I came this close..." he holds his thumb and forefinger half an inch apart. “...to dying that day. And for some reason, I’m still here. After all the shitty things I’ve done. I got a second chance. I’ve got a wide and kids and a pretty damn good life. But I bet he never mentions that; the good things I’ve done. Because he doesn’t see me that way. He just sees me as a fuck up. The kid he never wanted; some burden that was dropped in his lap. So don’t stand here and pretend you know who I am or what I’m about. No disrespect, but you know shit.”

“Daddy!” Millie bursts through the screen door, and his fists immediately open, and his shoulders relax.

She’s been through enough today; she doesn’t need to see him in that kind of state. Her face is glowing, and her eyes are big and bright; she’s full of childhood exuberance and excitement. And she’s perfect and innocent and she deserves so much better than he can ever possibly give her.

“Daddy look!” she holds out her left hand; a highly polished silver dollar nestled in her palm. “Look what grandpa gave me! It’s from the year I was born. He went to the bank and got it special just for me!”

He knows that Esme has sent her out there; that when he hadn’t followed shortly behind and joined them in their visit that she’d immediately assumed the worst and was worried he’d have another ‘episode’. That Millie would be the quickest and easiest way to get him down of whatever edge he was teetering on. And it’s worked; those big blue eyes sparkling up at him and that little voice and the way the word ‘daddy’ sounds when it comes out of her mouth. It’s always so sweet. So genuine. And he can remember the first time she’d ever intentionally said it as baby; just shy of her first birthday, standing in her crib and reaching up for him and nearly making him cry.

“That’s pretty cool,” he gives her a smile and lays a hand on top of her head. “You’ll have to put it somewhere safe when we get home. Where your brothers won’t find it.”

She nods in agreement and tucks it into his pocket for safe keeping. Then looks up at him with her head cocked to the side, eyes narrowing. “Are you going to cry? You look like you’re going to cry.”

“I’m fine,” he assures her, and combs his fingers through hair; letting the thick, soft tresses slip between his fingers. “Just tired. It wasn’t a good night last night.”

“Daddy doesn’t sleep good sometimes,” Millie informs Bonnie, then wraps both of her arms around one of his thighs and leans against him. “He has a lot of hurts. From the bad guys.”

“Okay...” Tyler gives an uncomfortable laugh. “...we don’t need to talk about the bad guys.”

“He used to rescue good people from bad people,” she continues. “And he got hurt a lot when he did. And he almost died! Before he even found out I was in mommy’s tummy. He almost died and mommy almost had me all by herself and I never would have met him, and he never would have met me and...”

“That’s enough,” he scoops her up with one arm and settles her on his lip. “Bonnie doesn’t want to hear about that. Boring stories about my old job.”

“Daddy used to beat people up. He even killed some of them.”

“Amelia...please...” he presses a kiss to the side of her head. “...no more, okay? We don’t talk about that stuff. Especially with strangers.”

“Bonnie’s not a stranger. She’s grandpa’s girlfriend. So that makes her my grandma, right? I mean, other than the mean one in Colorado. She’s horrible,” she says the last part to Bonnie. “She’s so mean. I don’t like her. I’m glad we don’t' see her anymore. She makes mommy cry and then daddy gets mad and tells her off. My mean grandma, not mommy.”

“You don’t have a grandma,” Tyler reminds her. “She died a long time ago. When I was little.”

“Bonnie can be my grandma if she wants. I don’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t object to that,” the woman in questions says, smiling as she reaches out to cup Millie’s face in her palm. Fingertips grazing her cheek before Tyler steps away, breaking all contact. “I never had children of my own, so I don’t have any grandkids and...”

“Let’s go visit,” he suggests, cutting her off before she can finish. There’s no way in hell that this woman...whoever the hell she is and whatever role she plays in his father’s life...could ever fill those shoes. “Then we go and get lunch. Sound good?”

“Sounds good,” Millie agrees, then wraps an arm around his neck and places a kiss on his cheek as he steps past Bonnie and into the house.

****

The visit has gone surprisingly well; the old man in good spirits, doting on his granddaughters and spending the majority of his time cuddling the baby and reminiscing about the few rare good times that had existed in Tyler’s childhood. And he’d attempted to smile at the memories and offer his own commentary, but they’d only left a bitter taste in his mouth and a tightness in his jaw and throat.

He’s been unable to stop the continuous loop playing in his brain, the sights and the sounds from the vivid and heartbreaking nightmare. He hadn’t wanted to hear about the bonfires on the beach or the roasting of marshmallows within their flames. He hadn’t given a shit about the odd family camping excursions they’d take along the Gold Coast. Those memories had been too rare. Too fleeting. And now that he’s an adult and can look back on the situation, Tyler knows the old man only engaged in those activities to give his mother and himself a false sense of security; so she’d stay in the marriage under the pretense that things were getting better, only to have them fall apart again weeks later. It’s how his father had kept her around; always promising to change and making noticeable improvements before resorting back to being the monster he was.

There’d be more horrible times than good ones. And it makes him sick that the old man refuses to even acknowledge that or take responsibility for what he’d done.

“When did Sarah dye her hair?” His father asks now, as they sit side by side on the back patio, watching as Bonnie gives Esme and Millie a tour of the various flower and vegetable gardens.

Sarah. His ex-wife. Who’d couldn’t possibly be any different from Esme if she tried. Tall, on the thicker side, green eyes and long blond hair. And it didn’t end there. Sarah was boisterous and loud; obnoxious even. Needy and clingy and constantly needing validation. Someone who prided themselves on being strong and independent when they were anything but.

“Dad, that’s not Sarah,” he attempts to be as calm as possible while correcting him. “Sarah and I haven’t been together in sixteen years.”

Any mention of his ex brings back a lot of hostility; both towards her and to himself. He’d done a shitty thing; abandoning Austin when he was dying. And he’d never forgive himself for that. But their marriage had been strained and troublesome from day one; she hated being a soldier’s wife and was very vocal about it. It hadn’t taken her long to start fucking other guys while he was deployed, and he probably would have left as soon as it started had she not ended up pregnant and he’d not believed her when she’d insisted the baby was his.

“That’s Esme,” he continues. “You came to our wedding, remember? At the same place you and mum got married. By the opera house.”

Bonnie had explained this could happen; coherent one moment, not remembering a damn thing the next. And Tyler had long ago made a vow to himself –after a neurologist had explained his own brain issues following the Dhaka incident- that if he ever got THAT bad, he’d put a gun in his mouth and pull the trigger.

Confession clouds the old man’s eyes. “How long have you been married to her?”

“Six and a half years.” Sometimes it seems like six months, other times it feels like sixty years. So much as has happened during that time: leaving for Australia for Mumbai and winding up back in Dhaka. Taking custody of Ovi and moving to Colorado. Michael McMann and the bullshit in Ireland and then New Zealand. Five kids and a trial separation he’d been one hundred percent sure was going to turn into a divorce. And not in that order.

“And the little girl?”

“That’s my daughter. Amelia. And this is Adeline,” he lays a hand on the baby’s back as she sleeps soundly along his thighs, stomach down.

“Like your mother.”

Tyler nods, struggling with the bitterness and the anger that eats away at him. That the old man-despite all the heartache and damage he’s caused over the years- has managed to live such a long life while his mother’s had been tragically cut short. It’s what pisses him off the most; that the punishment for all the beatings and all the vile, degrading things he’s ever said has taken so fucking long to arrive.

“It’s a beautiful name,” his father muses, a soft smile on his lips as he watches the activity in the garden; Millie crouched in the grass, giggling as a chipmunk eats sunflower seeds out of her palm and Esme takes a video of the moment. “A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. I remember when I first saw her. Those blue eyes of hers and those long lashes and that red hair of hers...” he gives a happy sigh. “...she took my breath away.”

Tyler wonders if it’s the dementia talking or if the old man is telling the truth; if he actually did feel that way when they first met.

“Her brother introduced us,” he continues. “We were in the army together. I’ve told you that, yeah?”

Tyler nods.

“Brought me to his place when we were on a leave. That’s how we met. Your mother and me. Through him. She was sitting in the backyard, reading a book under a tree. And she looked up and smiled at me and it was like my heart stopped beating and the earth stood still. You ever felt like that?”

He smiles as he looks across the yard, at where his wife is taking her turn at feeding the chipmunk; showing even more excitement and wide-eyed enthusiasm and wonder than Millie had. He feels it now in the same way he’d felt it seven years ago when she’d walked into his place in the outback; he’d never met anyone like her and knew he never would again.

“All the time,” Tyler says. “Every time I look at her.”

“It’s an amazing feeling, innit? Especially when they smile at you or they take your hand or touch your arm. And how they sometimes look at you like you’re the most incredible guy on the face of the earth, even when you’re feeling anything but.”

He nods. He’d experienced that last night when he’d had the nightmare and the panic attack that had accompanied it. And in the middle of the road that very afternoon when he’d had the ‘meltdown’. She never judges him; tending to him with the same kind of tenderness and patience that she uses with the kids. Sticking by him through insurmountable amounts of bullshit and heartbreak. Always looking at him like he’s the strongest, bravest man in the world; always trusting him with her life and the lives of their children. Even when he feels like a complete and utter failure.

“You love her.” It’s more a statement than a question.

“With everything I am and everything I have,” he admits.

“So you got this one right, at least. Didn’t go so right the first time, did it.”

Tyler smirks. He knew it could only last so long, the fond reminiscing and the touching words. “No,” he agrees. “It didn’t.”

“You did a horrible thing, you know. Taking off like that. I don’t care what your reasons were. You never abandon your own like that.”

He nods slowly, taking in his father’s words. It’s nothing he hasn’t said to himself a million times over the past sixteen years. There isn’t a vicious word that he hasn’t called himself, no end to the guilt and the regret that he feels. It’s a cross to bear; one he’ll carry for the rest of his life.

“Hope it doesn’t happen again,” the old man sighs. “When something goes wrong. Because you’ve got a good thing there and if you walk away again...”

“I fucked up. Is that what you want to hear me say? That I royally fucked things up and I feel horrible about it? Is that what you want to hear? That I hate myself and I’ll probably hate myself until the day I die? That’s what you want me to say, yeah?”

“It’s nice to hear a little remorse come out of you.”

“You’re going to get on my ass about remorse? You? Of all people?” Tyler scoffs. “That’s rich. That’s really fucking rich.”

His father’s eyes narrow. “You don’t talk to me like that, boy.”

“First of all, I’m not your boy. I’m a grown ass man. With a wife and kids. Second, I’ll talk to you any goddamn way I want.”

His voice is louder and tone harsher than he’d intended, and he sees how both Bonnie and Esme look up and glance towards the porch. A frown on his wife’s face, her brow furrowed. He can see the concern in her eyes...the worry. And he’s thankful when Millie tugs on her hand and diverts her attention.

“Don’t you talk to me about remorse and regret,” Tyler lowers his voice. “After everything you’ve done. All the things you said, all the things you did. To mum. To me. You have the nerve to get on my ass about the mistakes I’ve made?”

“I know I haven’t always been a good man...”

“You’ve never been a good man. When the hell were you a good man? You think being nice once and while and taking us places and buying mum flowers or jewelry made up for the shitty things you did? You’d promise to change, and you would, and it would last what? A month? At the most? Just so she’d stick around. Then you’d start your crap again.”

“I don’t know who you think you’re talking to, Tyler. But...”

“I was a kid. A fucking kid. And I used to hide in my closet and listen to everything you said and everything you did. I remember going to the hospital to see mum and you warning me on the way there not tell the nurses or the doctors the real reason she was in there. Because you’d pushed her down the stairs and busted her head open and you convinced them that she fainted and fell. Do you remember that? Because I fucking remember that. And I was Millie’s age when that happened.”

His father’s face hardens, eyes darkening, jaws clenching.

“Yeah, you remember. I know you do. You remember all the times you talked down to her and all the times you put your hands on her. How about when you tried convincing me that that’s the way all women shouldn’t be treated? That all men were just like you. And thank God I never believed it, or I would have grown up thinking that it was true, and I would have beat on my wife and my own kids. I’ve done some shitty things over the past six and a half years; I’ve lied, and I’ve broken promises, and I’ve made some bad choices. But I’ve never...ever...raised a hand to my wife. And if I ever do...if I ever even think about...I’ll fucking kill myself. Because that means I’m just like you and she deserves better than that.”

“Hey,” Esme greets, as she climbs the stairs to the patio. “Everything okay? You seem a little...upset.”

“I’m fine,” he assures her, and she steps behind his chair, putting her hands on his shoulders and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You ready to go? I’m ready to go.”

She nods. “Millie’s going to get hangry soon and you’re...” her hands slide across his shoulders and down his arms and then back up again, pausing to squeeze his biceps as she drops a kiss on the top of his head. “...pretty tense.”

“I’ll be okay,” he says, and lifts a sleeping Addie from his lap and tucks her into his chest. Forearm against her back and palm supporting her head as he stands. “We were just talking. Right, dad?”

“My son has a big mouth,” he responds. “Tried to slap it off him a few times growing up but obviously it never worked.”

Esme nervously chews her on her bottom lip, eyebrows arched as she looks up at her husband.

“It’s fine,” Tyler runs his free hand over her hair, settling it on her back as he kisses her forehead. “Just ignore him. He didn’t like the things I had to say.”

“Can we just go?” she asks, visibly anxious. “Let’s just go. Don’t say anything else. Not with Millie here. Please.”

He nods in agreement, then glares at the old man when he gives a derisive snort and a snide, “Obvious who wears in the pants in your family.”

“What do you want me to do, dad? Beat her into behaving? Knock her around so it will keep her in line? Think that will show her who’s boss? Break her nose, give her a black eye, knock out some teeth?”

“Tyler...please...” Esme pleads, and her fingers curl around his forearm, nails pressing into the flesh. “...let’s just go.”

“She’s probably the one that knocks YOU around.”

“You know what, dad...”

“Tyler...” her voice is more forceful now. “...enough. Just walk away...be the bigger man and just walk away.”

“Better listen to her,” the old man scoffs. “She probably lays a beating on you from time to time. Seeing as you’ve gotten so soft.”

“Tyler...” Esme glares at him. “...don’t even engage. Just go. Go and take the baby to the car and I’ll get Millie. Please?” One hand fists the front of his t-shirt, the other reaches up to rest on the side of his face; fingers pressing into his cheek, encouraging him to look down at her. “Just take the baby to the car, okay?”

“Are we leaving?” Millie happily skips up the stairs, pigtails swinging and bouncing. “I’m so hungry could eat the ass out of a dead rhinoceros.”

“Excuse me?” Esme frowns. “What did you just say? Who taught you THAT?”

“That sure as hell wasn’t me,” Tyler says. “Of all the weird things I’ve said, that’s not one of them.”

“Ovi taught me,” Millie sheepishly admits. “Sorry. I AM hungry though.”

“Go with daddy,” Esme instructs. “I have to get Addie’s baby bag and your shoes from the house. Go on. Both of you.”

He places a hand on her hip and his lips to her ear. “Don’t say anything. Even if he tries to cause shit with you.”

“I won’t,” she promises, and he pecks her lips before scooping Millie up and slinging her over his right shoulder, her head and top half of her body dangling down his back.

“Bye grandpa!” the five-year-old calls in between her giggles. “See you at my party! Don’t tickle me too, daddy!” she squeals. “You’ll make me pee my pants!”

Esme smiles as she watches them go, waiting until they disappear around the side of the house before turning to her father in law, smile fading.

“What the hell is wrong with you? That is your son? Do you have any idea how lucky you are to even still have him in your life?”

He doesn’t respond. Mouth set in tight, thin line as he stares blankly ahead.

“He could have died seven years ago. In fact, he did, and they brought him back. Twice. If there’d been a third time, they weren’t even going to try to save him. Do you have any idea what he’s been through? What he still goes through? What his life has been like in the last sixteen years?”

Still no answer.

“Don’t you even wonder what he was doing when he left the army? Do you want to know? Do you care at all?”

“Security work.”

“He was a mercenary,” she says, and she notices his eyes widen. “A hired gun. He went into shitty places and into dangerous situations and put his life on the line to help other people. You’re lucky to even have him and you’re going to treat him like you do? You can’t see that he’s trying? That he wants to get through to you? You totally screwed him up as a kid. And it’s left him totally messed up as an adult and...”

“Esme...” Bonnie’s voice is stern as she climbs the steps. “...I think you should leave.”

“I know you’re never going to apologize to him. Even though you should. And he’d probably never accept it anyway. But he’s still your son. And he’s going through hell right now and he’s trying so damn hard to get himself better and if you’d just meet him halfway...”

“I owe him nothing.”

“He’s your child! And I know he’s a grown ass man and he’s a husband and a father, but he’s still your son. And I should hate you for what you did to him when he was a kid and how it’s messed up for the rest of his life. But I actually feel sorry for you. Because he’s a big man with a big heart and he’s good to me and good to his kids. He is trying so hard. And I need you to help him. I’m begging you to help him. Or help me help him. Please. That’s all I want. For him to be okay.”

“It’s too late,” the old man says. “It was too late years ago.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing. The kind of man that he is. And I find it pathetic that you can’t even look him in the eye and tell him you’re sorry. Whether he wants to believe it or not. You can’t even love your own son. What kind of parent does that? What kind of evil lives inside someone that that they turn out the way you did?”

“Esme...” Bonnie tightly grips her arm. “...you need to go.”

“And you’re just making this worse,” she addresses the other woman. “You’re ignoring it too. Everything he did to Tyler, everything he did to Tyler’s mother. You’re just turning a blind eye to it and enabling this shit. What is wrong with you people? I feel sorry for both of you. I really do.”

“Leave,” Bonnie orders. “Now.”

“I am going,” she yanks her arm out of the woman’s grasp, then turns on her heel when she reaches the door. “If he’d died what then? Would you have even felt bad? Would you even have mourned him? If I hadn’t had been there, he would have died alone in that hospital and you probably never would have known. How pathetic is that? You wouldn’t have known your own child was dead. I had to call you and tell you what happened. And even then, you showed up pissed drunk and you brought his ex-wife. Classy. Real classy.”

And with that she stomps into the house, slamming the door behind her.

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fic #tyler rake fan fiction #best part of me #extraction #chris hemsworth character

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