Roman
“What is she to you?” My father presses again, knowing I will eventually cave and at least allow myself to consider the heavy question and its implications. I do him one even better, surprising both myself and him with the curt reply. It's as honest as it's heavy.
“I think she’s my mate.” The words leave my mouth and they taste bittersweet. I hate the idea of it being true, but I hate it even more that deep down it excites me. It awakens something I made sure it laid dormant years ago.
“Hmm.” He answers, then doesn’t say anything else for what feels like ages.
I can see my dad mulling over what I said, the gears turning inside that brilliant mind of his. All he manages to do for me now is make me feel small, and vulnerable like the time I was young and needed him or my mother f
