#(( william father of the year afton 🥴 ))

[runelocked]

THAT SHUTS HIM UP, EVEN MOMENTARILY. IN THE SEEDY BAR LIGHTING, COLD AND ANGRY, William’s rantings quieten at her words, listening — actually listening — to his daughter. Discomfort like a bed of nails presses into his skin, he’s never done this before!, and gradually, like it’s physically painful, his furious twisted lips smooth out, grow thin and unsure. And the thought occurs to him, that maybe, just maybe —

Is there truth in what she’s saying ?

Because he’s not an idiot. Really, he’s not. Nor is he blind to how his behavior affected his oldest kids: as absent as he’d been, he’d been around enough to recognize exactly what his treatment of them had done to them. But knowing, deep down, where he can push it aside and carry on regardless, is different from hearing it straight from Ollie herself. What is he to do but stand there and listen ? ——— She’s four years old, and he’s swinging her into his arms, calling her his world […] She’s fourteen, and he’s sidling her towards the kitchen, whiskey - heavy voice reminding her that Liz needs picking up from school. ( He’s forty - four now, and he realizes with a start that he has no idea how old she is. Hasn’t bothered to keep track since she’d left. He’s forty - four, but he feels twenty again, staring with startled eyes into the face of his little girl. )

Except she’s not little anymore, is she ? He’s missed that part. William’s gaze darts from hers, ashamed, encased in the heat creeping up his face.

“ . . . You didn’t tell me you had thoughts like that, ” is the only thing he can think to mutter, all the high - strung resentment diminished to pathetic excuses, “ you didn’t talk to me at all. ”

Did he ever ask ? Did he ever bother to show interest ? Souring, a shell of a man, gaunt cheek hollowing as he bites on the inner lining of his mouth hard enough to draw blood. It’s little comfort. The question where did I go wrong ? comes to mind, but the self - pity isn’t there like it usually is when he has time to think about his family. Brief moment of real grief, dredged up by her words: where did I go wrong ?

“ I still loved you. I didn’t — I didn’t have time, Olivia, you don’t under — You’re still my daughter. ” Uncomprehending, words slow. He’s not an idiot, but this is so far beyond anything he’s ever experienced that ignorance fills his voice. “ You knew I loved you. Even when things weren’t perfect. You couldn’t cut me a bit of slack ? ”

CONTINUED. / @feardrummed