Waste Gash.

I’m sat at the kitchen table, it’s five am , the sun is rising, the birds are singing and I feel more relaxed than I have ever been. I hadn’t slept all night – it seems too much of an effort. Instead I snuck downstairs at around three and quietly talked to Emily for an hour using dad’s phone again.
When I finished chatting to Emily I made myself some more Earl Grey Tea and lit a cigarette in the dark. The sun was rising but it was still pretty gloomy in the kitchen… it calmed me a little.

It was raining outside. Not that hard, thudding rain, but that calm, soothing rain that soaked you right through. As soon as I opened the back door the smell was amazing, so natural, I loved it!
I do this often. I normally just sit and think, especially if it’s in the early hours of the morning, it seemed nicer and more relaxing.

I suddenly heard unsteady footsteps coming downstairs. Shit, it was dad, I must have woken him up… I wonder – was he coming down here to see what I was up to or why I was sitting in the dark drinking tea? I might not be feeling too well, I old be really upset or something. Or was he coming down to simply tell me off?
He entered the kitchen wearing a pair of simple, black pyjama bottoms and a tight, grey t-shirt. He winced his eyes from the little amounts of light that wandered through the kitchen windows and a few hairs were standing on end from where he had tossed in his sleep.

‘How come you’re up so early?’ He asked when he noticed I was sitting at the table. His voice was small and broken from lack of talking, but he cleared his throat.
I didn’t have time to answer as he started up again. ‘I thought we both agreed that you weren’t going to smoke?’ He asked, this time he gave me time to answer.
‘No, I agreed that I wouldn’t smoke when you were around. Plus, you should know by now that I’d just do it behind your back anyway.’ I reasoned. He picked himself a glass from the cupboard and filled it with fresh water.

‘Is there something wrong?’ He asked. Why did he ask so many questions? ‘No… I can’t really sleep.’ I spoke truthfully. I don’t think there was a reason why I couldn’t sleep, but then again, I did feel somewhat odd this morning.
There were a few moments of silence after dad set his glass down at the table. I still sat, taking the last drag of my cigarette and throwing it past the back door and onto the wet patio. ‘Come here.’ Dad whispered. I looked up at him in confusion. Why? I asked myself.

I stood up wearing nothing but a tight pair of shorts and an oversized shirt, my long, red hair draping over my shoulders and falling down my back. Dad took a few steps over to me and to my surprise he got his arms around me and pulled me close.
I waited for my heart rate to slow down a little, I was shocked! It’s been a good, long six months since I got a hug from my dad. One of them hugs which I’d give ever so quickly give when arriving or leaving. At an airport maybe, I don’t know, a small example of when I’d ever hug my dad.
I pulled my arms up and they clung to his waist and I hugged him back. It wasn’t that husky smell of cigarettes and aftershave that radiated from his body. No, he smelled more like newly washed laundry – he still had that warm, gentle touch. I liked this new smell, it was my dad!
‘I do love you, you know that?’ He breathed. At that moment I felt like I was sinking into the ground. It seemed too good to be true, and I suddenly felt a wave of guilt wash over me for all the times I had been such a bitch to him. Like that time I told him that the Red Hot Chili Peppers were a better band than his, or the time I took the piss out of him and called him a gothtard, even when I used to laugh at him on the TV because I thought he looked like a “twat” when he screamed instead of singing normally.
Guilt, pure guilt - I couldn’t physically sum up the right words to say I was sorry, didn’t have time, he pulled away and with a squeeze of my shoulder he picked up his glass from the table and headed for the stairs. I just stood, speechless.
‘And don’t smoke too many cigarettes!’ He yelled after me. I let out a small laugh before carefully sitting back don in my seat at the table.

Why did he hug me? I don’t know, maybe he sensed that I needed a little bit of extra love. But telling me that he loved me was going to the extreme! He never told me that, not since I was a small child.
A little tear found a way to escape my eye, roll down my cheek and fall onto the ground. I felt loved by my dad! I smiled and thought for a little bit longer.