My father was passed out on the couch, and I didn’t know how to interact with him.

  The truth was that since learning how my power really works there were many things I just ignored. My father was one of them, and one of the others was myself.

  Even though I learned that guilt was what my power really shows, whenever I use my power on myself it still shows that I murdered my mother.

  It drove me crazy whenever I thought about it.

  I wasn’t a murderer, right?

  I had paraded in front of hundreds of people that I was innocent, that I had not killed my mother. However, what if it was all lies, what if this sin never goes away?

  On the other hand my father was a very different case. Ever since I first saw his sins I had never looked at them again. I was afraid of what they would be.

  If they still showed that I had killed our mother, or that having me as his son was a sin, I knew it would be a blow too fatal.

  I was unwilling to move apart, and too afraid to move closer. That was what our relationship was like for the past dozen years.

  I never really knew who my father was, I only had memories of before my mother’s death.

  After he dived even further into work, he rarely came home, and whenever he did he was greatly drunk. Our interactions were all negotiations of where I would go to school, or him just leaving a packet of money on the table for the month.

  I awkwardly covered him with a spare blanket, and continued onto the rest of my day. Cooking, slight cleaning, and homework. I might have been smart for my age, but I had missed too many days of school to be able to quickly finish my homework.

  The sun was going down before I finally gave up on my homework for the day. I turned on some music and closed my eyes on my bed. It was extremely comfortable, I was even feeling a hint of joy.

  However, a knock on my door ended any relaxation I had. There was only one other person in the house.

  “Come in.” I replied while calming myself. My father probably just wanted to discuss some matters with me.

  The door opened, and my father walked in. His eyes had serious bags under them, adding on the smell of alcohol, if he didn’t have on nice clothes you would have thought him a beggar.

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  He was slightly stunned by the music I was listening to. However, he quickly moved past it and continued to look at me.

  It was only in the good lighting of my room that I noticed his expression. It was filled with worry and concern, something I hadn’t seen on my fathers face in a long time.

  “What do you want?” I asked coldly.

  “Do you think I don’t read the newspaper?” He asked rhetorically.

  “Does it have anything to do with you?” I made a statement in response.

  “When my own son gets hurt like that, how could I do nothing?” He told me in a stronger voice.

  “So, I am your son now? I don’t need your help with this.” I bit back at him.

  My father took a step back as if I had struck him with a blow. He looked down away from me.

  “You have always been my son… I can’t ignore this.” He spoke almost quietly.

  “Do you think that everything happened yesterday? It happened last week, I have already dealt with everything.” I spoke spitefully, some emotions from deeper inside leaked into my words.

  My father also looked shocked to hear this, like he hadn’t considered it.

  “But, as your father, how can I do nothing when I see this?” He asked desperately.

  “Just ignore it, like usual.” I told him, my words were filled with too many dark emotions; loneliness, sadness, despair, anger, and spite. My father’s eyes grew dim in response to my words.

  “It’s not like this suddenly happened, I have been treated like this since the year started.” I spoke airing my grievances. The truth was coming out unwillingly.

  “But…” My father started speaking, but had no further words.

  “But, what? Ever since that day, I no longer had a father.” I threw all my spite at him in words.

  My fathers tense shoulders slumped, he let out a deep sigh and just left.

  I was still seething with anger at him, but I could tell there was also regret.

  I went to sleep shortly after, if luck would have it my father would be gone before I even woke up.

  Unfortunately, when I woke up I could smell something burning in the air. I quickly walked to the kitchen, and I found my father in a cloud of smoke.

  In front of my father was a pan with charred eggs and bacon.

  “What are you doing?” I growled. I immediately pushed him out of the way, painfully, and lowered the heat on the stove.

  My father took two small steps back, and put an expression full of regret on his face.

  “I was trying to cook.” He muttered.

  “You failed.” I scolded him.

  I looked at the time, and found I had plenty. I wafted the kitchen of its smoke and proceeded to cook breakfast.

  Regrettably I decided to make a portion for my father, but an excuse was that without it he might burn the house down.

  “Thank you.” He muttered quietly while beginning to eat.

  I kept eating in silence, but my father suddenly spoke.

  “You have really grown up… without me.”