Because of You (3)

- "Toxic people create chaos, point fingers, shift blame and avoid taking responsibility" -

~ Dr. Anne Brown RNMS

"You little cunning b****! All those long training sessions and time spent putting you in shape sent my blood pressure up to the sky. All that yelling you made me do made my voice a wreck and pushed me down this rabbit hole of problems. Imagine that! Then imagine, that you, the ungrateful little b**** you are, would make it appear as though I did this to myself. You believed you were the innocent one in this story, didn't you?" he crinkled his eyes, huffing.

Her voice caught in her throat and she tried to defend herself.

"Dad... you don't understand-"

"DON'T YOU?!!" he interjected, now full of fury with protuberant eyes. 

The steam leaving his ears made her confidence recline and the figure recoiled to its place. Although it didn't want to give up, it foresaw the pointlessness of prolonging the argument. Berty was a stubborn, arrogant man. He made sure what he said stood. He enjoyed games where the ball was always in his court. It had always been that way. 

A heavy feeling hung over her shoulders. She did not like the idea of losing but they had reached the peak of their anger. By how things were looking, anything could play off. She kept a close eye on him, and another one on the mental map of the escape plan she was crafting, observing the way his fingers curled into a fist in the sheets. His eyebrows caved about his eyes and there was a burst of veins at both his temples. The crow's feet intensified the more his anger proliferated and his scowl deepened. Emma felt the adrenaline begin to infect her body as an awkward silence lingered on. He was letting his words sink in. 

"This is what you did to your father. Your f***ing disgusting attitude left me no other choice but to smoke. The doctor advised me to lay off the stress but I believed in you. I still do but I'm sick and tired of giving my all and having no results. Let's not even begin to talk about how you've screwed the business. Word on the ground is 'Berty's fazing out; 'bout time he left the field. The man's getting too old to teach now; his puppet's failing.' You've ruined the reputation we- no I worked so hard to build and now, you wanna try clearing your name - to appear as the innocent one here? Be f***ing real, Emma," he spat coldly. 

She pressed her lips together as a lump developed in the back of her throat. Suddenly, the cuts on her thigh were all she could think of. They were alerting their presence all the while but only then, she felt the sting of it. The world was spinning. The silence amplified the sounds in every nook and cranny of the room. The house continued to remind them that the walls were not the only ones forced to eavesdrop. The more she thought about everything at once, the dizzier she felt. She had to say something. She couldn't satisfy his hobby of twisting the truth. She had to find a way to let the words roll off her tongue. She squeezed the tray in her hands to remind herself that she was not in a dream and opened her mouth to let out some of the pent-up resentment. Before she could, like an unexpected quarry blast, a sudden, disturbing, loud grating sound erupted from nowhere and shook the room profoundly.

Her eyes dilated as she witnessed for the first time, the demon that he adopted take action. His deteriorating body must have expected it by the way he gripped his shirt and shut his eyes tight. His muscles suddenly became taut and a bent elbow flew up to his lips in a fraction of a second. The creases in his face proliferated. His free hand gripped the sheets in tight fists as he tried to battle against the smoker's cough, as it was so often called, that burned his chest. A part of her was satiated; karma was doing its thing. But then, another part of her was pained. It was still her father after all yet she was too stunned to move.

She watched as he groped about frantically for the hidden rag and once it was found, he brought it to his lips and coughed his lungs out. The cough rattled through his chest and scraped the walls of his throat. The tears that forced themselves through the crack of his eyes were an effort, perhaps, to somewhat ease the pain. The itchy feeling was almost insatiable and intensified the cough each time. 

Emma, pushing the adrenaline down to her legs, worryingly rushed to his bedside and fiddled with the contents in the tray.

"Hang on, dad!" she urged, "I'll help you!"

She had no idea what she was doing, she didn't know the prescription but using her intuition and whatever she remembered seeing Nanny do, she guessed that two tablets might do.

"Dad, please, take this quickly," she exclaimed, trying to shove the tablets down his throat but he stopped her.

He grabbed her by the wrist and pinned it to the bed as he continued to cough helplessly. Tightening the grip, he trapped her in place, in case she was bold enough to try escaping and forced her to watch as the rag at his lips slowly grew red.

"Look at what you've caused, Emma. Are you proud?" he then mockingly replied in a butchered chuckle.

Emma grimaced and looked away, clenching her teeth and regretting every decision she made earlier. A familiar guilt began eating her alive. Her heart rocked her entire body, shocking the fright or flight mode into action. She thought quickly of what to do.

"Dad, please... I only wanted you to know that I've been working so hard for you to get better! I don't get why you've gotten worse. I just want you to be healthy! Please!"

"I think it's too late for that now, dear," he struggled to say, adverting a murderous glare to her pitiful countenance.

Then, believing it was an Oscar-worthy performance, he feigned a broad smile and drew his face closer to hers to spike the fear dosage. By now, her heart was pounding, so loudly that she was sure the entire room was rocking. Through staggered breaths, she begged for mercy. She even attempted wriggling out of his grip but for an old man, he was strong. It was of no use. The cuts on her thigh burned profusely because of the awkward position she was in. Her mouth contorted in fear. There loomed that deranged entity in his eyes again, a familiar deranged entity that made her wish prayers were answered in milliseconds. She watched him with an awaiting holler. Slowly, Berty began to twist her wrist at an awkward angle and laughed as a moan of pain escaped her lips.

"F***ing fool," he murmured and twisted it further until there was an audible crack and a deafening holler of pain pierced the air.

A sharp pain exploded in her wrist, leaving her entire body numb with shock. The tray collided with the floor and the tablets slipped out of her hand, skidding across the marbled tiles and disappearing beneath the bed and the nightstand. He released her and immediately, she collapsed to the floor, pulled the twisted wrist into her chest and screamed in pain. The tears ran endlessly. The wire in her brain was cut and she couldn't think. She retreated, drawing her knees to her chest and pushing herself as far as she could from him, staring at the monster he truly was, through glassy eyes. 

Berty, on the other hand, gazed on with a wooden expression and awaited the next incoming cough. His gaze was long, hard and calculative. In no time, Emma's cries became a part of the muted background while he took the time to admire his work, the 'marionette' he still cared enough for. 

"Emma," he said, eyes never leaving the bulging bruise growing on her wrist, "I'm trying my best. Don't you ever raise your voice at me again. Make another mistake like that and disappoint me again, I will have no choice but to make sure you pay the consequences. Harsh consequences. Much more harsh than any you've experienced," he emphasized. "You have one more chance to prove yourself. Use it wisely."