Thrust Into His Arms Chapter 63

"I want you to know that I’m really proud of you." He says, sincerely. "Your real Dad would have been too."

"Don’t say that." I whine. "To you are my Dad. Society and biology can go on saying otherwise. . . but you will always be.

As for the bastard who contributed to my birth, I just hope he is dead sowhere.

If he is alive, he should not even dare think of showing up to and mom. No—he should, so then I can tell him to shove his parental rights right up in his ass!"

"Woah, that is venomous kid. Where did the hell did you pick that up from?" His eyes went a little wide in gentle surprise hearing cuss. I could not hold back the laugh that escaped my throat.

"I an it though." I say in a sincere tone. He smiles, "Between us, I hope he doesn’t show up too." He sowhat whispers. I laugh again.

I only ever really laugh when I am around him. He always has this positive energy around him. It is almost like the morning sunlight. It is so soothingly warm.

Makes one feel calm in his presence. Mom on the other hand, is always stern and serious. Jokes and laughter seemingly do not exist to her.

Co to think of it, she never told that she is proud of on successfully passing the scholarship exam. She had only said congratulations in a flat, unnecessary tune. The kind you use with soone you don’t like but do not want to make it obvious to them.

She is the reason I developed my traumatic intelligence. Because of her I learned how to read moods before I could learn to read books. It started from when I was little;

I think maybe four to five years old. She would sotis return ho from work in a very cranky mood and imdiately light up a cigarette. Blowing out harsh smokes in our small one bedroom ho.

unable to read and understand that mood of hers then would run to her trying to show her the paintings that my teacher had made us drawn at school. She would stare at it for re seconds before angrily crumpling it into a paper ball and throwing it across the room. Little was filled with shock and surprise.

Foolish little did not read in between the lines. I did it again. More beautiful this ti. I thought the reason she had flipped is because it was bad-looking. And that was when she cared to explain.

That one was a family painting. I drew her, myself and a third figure whom I had added as a Dad. I had learned from my classmates and teacher that the pair of just and my mother was not a complete family. They saw it as awkward that I don’t have a Dad. That rapidly set the propellers of Mom’s anger in motion. "There is just the two of us! Why would you include that bastard!" She raged. "Why are you even painting at all? Why are you doing everything you can to remind of that bastard!" I was in so much hurt. The kind when your heart shatters. And so much tears when she said that. She later made up for it by taking to an amusent park and on a picnic.

There are tis when she would get even worse than that. She would yell and scold unnecessarily harsh over the tiniest mistakes. At those tis, just misplacing objects is more than enough to get her raging. She would go, "You are just like him!" Or "Why do you have to resemble him? Why didn’t you look like instead?" The unspoken one is, "Why did you have to exist?" She did not need to say it. Her actions were way more louder than the actual words themselves could have been.

I break out of my mory lane trip when Dad receives a call. The person asked where he is and said there is sothing that urgently needed his attention. "I am on my way. I’ll be right there." He says and hangs up. It must be about a newly arrested suspect or so new leads on a case. I look ahead and see that we are still a pretty distance away from the school premise. "Drop off. I’II walk the rest of it. It is no distance from here." I lie considerably.

"No I can take you there. I want to see you go in. I am the chief of the violent cris team in case you have forgotten. Whatever it is can wait until I drop you off." He says warmly. "Well, as the departntal chief, it falls on you to be punctual and attentive than the others." I reason. "It is going to take you at least an hour and half to get to the precinct from here. Drop off here and go attend to whatever it is now. I’II be fine. But you might end up missing an important lead." I add, hoping he would actually listen.

He is too much of a Dad and a real man. He never backs out on his promises. "Getting psychic, are we? How did you know it was about a lead?"

"Because I have a great Dad who is an excellent Jas Bond police officer." I praise matter-of-factly. He smiles. "Jas Bond? That is a little too farfetched. I’m not that great."

I gave a dramatic gasp. "Co on! Let us not forget who singlehandedly solved that singer. . . . What was her na again. . .?" I pause to rember. And it ca.

"Right! Butterfly Lin’s murder! That was you. It was you who also solved the surgical homicide case that everyone claid was just a table death." There are many more feats of his to ntion but just those two would do. "Do you not know that being too humble becos hypocrisy?"