My Bully's Father

“No, you don’t just get to walk away without even an acknowledgment of the things you’ve done.”

“So what’re you gonna do, huh? So what mom and I threw stuff on your hair to burn it off, big deal, and besides, it looks like it’s grown back no problem.”

“Why? I never understood; why did you do it? Why did you go out of your way to be such a bitch to me?”

“Oh, cry me a river. I hated you, that’s why, but you were little more than an ugly nuisance; mom is the one who really hated you after she saw you that first time. Something about you looking like someone dad used to like, or at least her hair looked like yours. She’s the one who wanted to burn it off your scalp.”

“Yes, but you’re the one who lured me here. You’re the one who held me down. If your friend hadn’t walked in that night, who knows what else you would've done. I spent years, years trying to gain back my confidence and my self-respect. My hair finally grew back after three years, and thank heaven there was no real permanent damage to my scalp, but that was no thanks to you.”

“None of this matters., it’s all in the past. All that matters is what’s gonna happen when I tell my dad about you.” She smiled and walked out the door, and I just stood there. I think I knew somewhere down deep inside that this day would come. I felt cold, numb, dead even.

I knew I should probably call Gregory and tell him my version of events before she did, but somehow I didn’t have it in me. All my strength is gone, and it’s only now that’s it’s all over that I realize how futile this whole thing was. I cried as I headed back up the stairs to get dressed.

There was no use crying; at least I was spared the injustice of having to see Gregory face to face one last time while he threw me out of his life. At least now, my last memory of the two of us would be of the loving we shared that morning. I’ll even overlook the part where I stood waving goodbye to him from the doorway before becoming too sick to even stand.

I thought that was my only problem. This sudden illness that came out of nowhere. I’m sure it’s some kind of lovesickness because it only happened after he left, and I felt so alone. Now I’ll never see him again, never get to hear his voice calling out for me when I was gone too long from his sight.

I’ll never get to have my little boy who looks just like him or a little girl with my hair and his eyes. I dragged my old suitcase from the closet, glad now that I had not let Gregory talk me into getting rid of it. In the closet and drawers, I took only the things that I’d brought with me, bypassing all the designer brand things he’d bought me over the months.

I used to think I needed all this stuff to feel whole. To fill the void left there by the incessant bullying. I thought I needed what she had, to take everything away from her, everything that gave her power, but now I’d lost the one thing that ever really mattered to me.

MR. JARVIS

SO THAT’S WHAT HAPPENED. It was her; she was the one involved with the situation at my house all those years ago. No wonder I couldn’t find her; that’s not the last name she’d used when she interviewed for the job. But it was easy enough to find her once I had the information.

There was very little to find about the accident, but I followed the breadcrumbs until I found the name of the girl who’d offered to testify. One hour later and I knew more of the details of that night and what led up to it. To say I’m disgusted is putting it lightly.

I got up from my desk and grabbed my suit jacket from behind the chair. It’ll take me about four hours to get to her, but I don’t want her being alone tonight. Business be damned, I’ll get one of my subordinates to take care of it.

SHE WASN’T at home when I got there, and I searched the whole place with my heart in my lungs. Things took a turn when I realized her suitcase was gone. The old battered one, not the overpriced luxury label I’d bought her, and so were her clothes and the few pieces of jewelry I’d bought her until I could get to my regular guy to commission some pieces for her.

Where could she have gone? Where could she be? I knew why she’d ran; I understood how she must feel, what she must be thinking, that I’d hate her, chastise her send her away. But nothing could be further from the truth.