Something That Doesn't Exist

“Gah!” I nearly shrieked as I slammed my bedroom door shut behind me. “I can't take it anymore!”

I threw my arms up in the air and angrily fell back onto my bed for added effect—even though, of course, I was the only one in my room to appreciate the gesture. Feeling slightly deflated, I slowly sat up and curled my legs under me so I was sitting in an Indian-style position. Tiredly, I looked around the decently-sized room with blue walls that were littered with random band and movie posters. The room that had been mine for as long as I can remember. The room that had been my refuge for the past three years. Ever since Missy joined our 'family' (Honestly, who names their kid Missy? I thought fleetingly).

Missy was my father's second wife, with my mother being the first, of course. She and Dad met on one of his longer business trips and, quite rashly, I might add, were married before he returned home. No letter, no email, no phone call. He just came home and said, “Hey girls, I'm home! And boy, do I have a surprise for you!” Seriously, that's a direct quote. At first, Missy seemed pretty cool. Sure, she was a little on the young side, but it's not like that was completely unheard of, or even generally deemed as a bad thing. She really didn't start showing her true colors until about 2 weeks after she moved in with us. Basically, around the time my father went on his next business trip. 

He had a lot of them, business trips. Sometimes he'd be gone for a couple of days, others, several weeks, but for some reason I never seemed to mind all that much. That is, until Missy showed up. Then again, until I was 13, my sister (who, despite the four year age difference, had been my best friend since before I could walk and talk) and I were stuck in this boat together. Even after Sarah went to college, though, I still didn't seem to mind. Maybe it was because my dad had always made it clear the no matter how much he loved his job (and, believe me, he did), he loved us more and he would drop his job in a second if one of us ever gave even the slightest inclination that we didn't want him to return to work. And though Sarah and I would have loved to be able to see our dad at home every night, we loved him too much to do something as selfish as make him choose between something he enjoys doing, and us.

That all changed rather quickly after Sarah's first year in the “Real World.” Not the fact that I loved my dad, or that he loved me, I don't think, but, after the first month alone with her, I did kind of wish that he would just quit his job already. Unfortunately, now that I had a new “mom” in my life, my dad didn't feel that he was needed as much at home as he used to. Plus, he figured that his trips would prove to be great “bonding time” for Missy and me. 

Joy. That meant that while my dad was having fun traveling the world, and my sister was back in college [halfway across the country], it was just me, and and the woman who embodied all things lying, cheating, and, well, just plain evil. And as if this wasn't bad enough, Missy has this knack for making anyone believe anything she wants them to (except for Sarah, and me. I swear, if I didn't hate her so much, I'd say that woman had a gift). Unfortunately, in my father's case, that meant she'd make him believe the three things I listed above about her, about me. Except maybe the evil part, I hope.

Anyway, that's what I was doing in my room now. I'd just had a very eye-awakening conversation with my father. 

After walking past my “parent's” wide open doorway, and witnessing Missy do some.... not so monogamous things as my innocent eyes burned, I somehow managed to blindly make my way down to my original destination—the kitchen. However, rather than completing my original mission of squelching the roar of my incessantly rumbling stomach (which was currently in the process of trying to find the best way to knot itself so it could never be used again), when I regained the use of my senses, I noticed a quiet ringing in my ear. It didn't take me long to realize that I was on the phone on my end while waiting for someone to answer it on theirs.

There was only one person that I'd want to call at a time like this. One person who would believe me, and help me devise a plot to kill the wicked witch upstairs. And when the phone picked up on the fifth ring, she wasn't there.

“Dad, you need to come home,” my mouth stated before my brain could process it and come up with the best course of action to prevent myself from saying it in the first place. This could not end well.

“Whatsa matter, pumkin?” My dad's voice was etched with concern in response to the dead tone I had given him as a greeting. Too late now, might as well get this done and over with.

“It's Missy, Dad,” I began in a slightly more animated tone. “She cheated on you.”
He was quiet for a while, not giving anything away. I held my breath in suspense until I could no longer stand it and jumped into my account of what happened. Everything I heard, everything I saw, all of it was recounted for him. I paused. Nothing.

Just then, Missy walked in and, in her typical ice-queen impersonation, sneered while asking me who I was on the phone with in a way that made the direct translation sound more like “who would want to talk to you.” After a sudden realization brought on by the look on my face, her attitude did a complete 360. In a voice as sweet as icing (ugh, remind me never to eat cake again—oh, wait that's right, I won't be eating anything anymore, so it doesn't matter, I forgot—continue.), she squealed, “ohh, is that your father? Can I talk to him for a moment?”

I begrudgingly passed over the wretched device, and watched, surprisingly without puking, as she trilled how lonely she's been without him, how she wished he would return soon (her look at this point clearly stated the opposite),, and how she believed she and I were finally beginning to get past our differ—

This was where he must have cut her off. I watched as her face drained and became void of all color, and I continued to watch as her face began to get darker, and darker, and darker. As her gaze met mine, the phrase “if looks could kill” passed through my mind, sending an unwelcome shiver down my spine. Great, he must have told her what I'd said. This should be fun. 

After about a 30-second silent stand-off between us, my surprisingly quick-on-her-feet evil stepmother conjured up an elaborate tale about how I've been making her life a living hell since he'd left, and that she only told him we were beginning to get along so he wouldn't be worried about leaving us alone for two more weeks. As my luck would have it, he ate that crap up like it were his last meal. How did she do it?

He must have asked for me again, because the wicked witch handed the phone over with a smirk that made her look like she'd just been told that she'd gotten away with the crime of the century. I gingerly brought the phone to my ear.

“D-daddy?” I asked in that same voice people use while treading across really, really thin ice—which is basically what this situation reminded me of.

“Don't you 'daddy' me!” my dad snapped in a voice that emanated anger while still appearing collected and cool.

I couldn't help it, I yelped. Bad move. The smirk on Missy's face transformed into a cheshire-cat grin, but she stayed quiet.

“But Dad, I—”

“No, Alexis, you listen to me now. I am sick and tired of constantly hearing fantastic stories from you about what Missy's been doing with her time away from me, only to find out that what she's really been doing is fending off your attacks for my attention—”

“But Dad—” I began, my eyes wide with shock: since when do I do anything or anyone's attention?

“I can't believe that, after three years, you'd be so insecure about your position in my life—in my heart—that you'd feel you need to lie about your mother sleeping around, and—”

“She is NOT my mother!” Ok, I know, not helping the situation, but come on. My dad was stunned into silence for a moment. I was about to dive into another rage intensified rant about how I was right, she was wrong, and he was whipped (of which we'd had many of over the past few years), when my father's change in vocal demeanor caught me off guard and put me in check.

“So that's what this is about.” He let out a long, low, exasperated sigh. “I thought so.” A few more seconds passed like hours.

“Look, Lexus,” he pleaded, as if willing me to see reason would make it so. “I miss your mom, too, but she's dead. You—we have to move on. She wouldn't have wanted us to mope around wishing things could have been different. And she sure as hell wouldn't have wanted you to become the kind of person to seek attention, like you've been doing, just because everyone besides you is finally beginning to look past our little tragedy.” I almost interrupted here with a few choice words about how I most certainly was not seeking attention, and how Missy is nothing more than a lying, cheating, conniving little skank, but he pressed on.

“And, I love you, Lexus, but sometimes you just—Look, I care about Missy, a lot. I know we moved a little fast into such a serious relationship, and I know I should have talked to you and your sister about it before we made it so official, but Missy is the first person since your mother's accident to make me feel even the tiniest shred of how I felt back then. Can't you understand that?”

“Of course I can, but—”

“Then can you please just try to get along with her over the next couple of weeks? All I'm asking is that you just give her a chance.” 

Now it was my turn to be exasperated. “But Dad, that's the problem!” I whined. “I've already given her hundreds of chances, thousands even. Haven't yo—”

My dad's voice was dangerously low now. If I hadn't known we were at an impasse before, I knew it now.

“I thought I raised you better than this,” he hissed. A chill ran through me. “I'll admit, I may have been away a lot—more so since your mother died—but you and I both know that whenever I was home, I put you guys first—always! And this is how you repay me? I love you, Lexus, but I have needs, too, and right now, I need for my wife and daughter to get along. So, please, just try. For my sake.” Why did that last part seem as if it should have an “and yours” tacked on there?

After that he asked me to hand the phone back to Missy, which I did while simultaneously trying to find a way to reel my jaw back in before I tripped over it. I didn't even glance at the ice-queen to gauge her reaction to the latest emotions playing themselves out on my face. 

Lethargically, I somehow made it back to my room where I manage to regain some liveliness, which leads us back to the scene you walked in on: me throwing my unwitnessed temper tantrum.

I got off my bed and started pacing my room. I had to do some thing. I couldn't take it anymore. There had to be another way. I stopped my pacing and resumed scanning my room from the place where I stood.

Finally, my eyes rested on my desk—or, rather, my laptop. The screens backdrop was simple: a picture of me and my sister, taken about two months ago in front of her apartment building when we went to visit her and attend her college graduation.

Perfect, I thought. This is it. I'm done playing this stupid game, she has won. Dad made his choice—his mistake, and I will not be around to see him realize it.

As I walked to my desk, I soaked in the picture one last time before I opened up my web browser.