I never chose flight.
A shadow shifted behind the slatted closet door. Somebody was digging through it.
“The fuck you doing here?” I barked, squinting to make out the face.
The shadow turned around. My fucking daddy stared back at me. The little bit of fear in my chest burned off, turning into rage.
I clicked on the light.
He stood there, blinking in the sudden brightness. He looked rough as fuck. Skin sagging. Eyes bloodshot. A worn-out shell of the man who used to scare and beat the shit out of me as a kid. Everybody used to call the nigga Luke Cage because he was so big. Now he just looked pitiful.
“Cia,” he slurred, trying to stand up straight. He was holding something shiny. I moved forward and snatched it out of his hand.
My diamond bezel Rolex. The one I bought when I made my first big check. My whole body tensed.
“Nigga, I ain’t seen you in over a year, and you come back here to steal from me?” I yelled.
He tried to backpedal, his hands shaky as he waved them around. “Nah, son, I wasn’t gonna take it. I just needed to look at it, that’s all. Just needed to feel somethin’ nice for once.”
A dry, humorless laugh escaped me. “Bullshit. You came to rob me. Don’t play me for a fucking idiot.”
His face twisted, resentment sliding into place. “What, you think you better than me now? A little money and you’re too good for where you came from? Gonna fight your own father over a cheap watch?” He stumbled forward, weaving like a drunk tree in the wind.
I just watched him, disgust curdling in my gut. He kept coming, trying to use the same bulky presence that used to make me flinch as a kid. It didn’t work anymore. Now it just made my fists itch.
“Look at you,” he sneered, voice gaining strength. “Your little house. Your little cars. You think you’re the man? Just crazy in the head like me. But think you better.”
My hands curled into fists at my sides. I was holding on, but he kept pushing.
“You out here living soft now,” he went on, voice rising. “You ain’t no man, not really. You a spoiled-ass kid with a check. That’s all you are—a weak singing-ass nigga. You wouldn’t have none of this without me.”
Something snapped in me.
“The fuck you just say?” I growled.
I closed the gap between us, stepping into his space. His sour breath hit my nose, but I didn’t back down.
“You think I got all this because of you? Nigga, you didn’t do shit! You didn’t want to actually help me. You gave me some names to connections and let me do the work. You weren’t a father before then either—you were a fucking menace. Coming around just long enough to fuck with my momma and my head, to beat my ass or bark orders at her until she died. Even after all that, I tried to help you, and now you think you can come up in my house—my house—and talk to me like this? I oughta bust you upside your head like you used to do me.”
He opened his mouth, but I cut him off. “You ain’t shit, and you never been shit,” I hissed. “And now you lookin’ like death, smelling like death, trying to take from the son you didn’t even raise.”
My momma had been the sole provider for me until she died when I was sixteen. He was around when he needed something. He went from traveling musician to drunk, then to fucking crackhead in just a couple years before I made it big at eighteen. I tried to help him. Threw at least a hundred grand at his addiction, put him in rehab, but he refused to help himself. I cut him off.
His hand came up like he was about to push me, but I didn’t give him the chance. I shoved him hard, my palms slamming into his chest. The air whooshed out of his lungs.He fell, hitting the edge of a dresser. My anger went volcanic, watching him play the victim, burning through the last of my restraint.
I didn’t even realize I still had the gun in my hand until I was pointing it at his head.
“Get the fuck out of my house!” I roared, my voice shaking the walls. “I don’t owe you shit. You hear me? Nothing.”
He didn’t say anything back. Just lay there coughing and groaning. That’s when I noticed the carpet staining red.
“Shit.”
I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed, my manager. He answered on the second ring, his voice groggy. “Yo, C. What’s up?”
“I need you to come over, man,” I rasped. “It’s my pops. He broke in, and I think we gotta call someone. He’s leaking from the head.”
Tyrell sighed heavy. “Damn, Ciarán. What the fuck your angry ass do this time? Fuck. Alright, I’ll be there in a few.”
