"Can we change the subject? I’d rather not speak about it.” I said to my therapist. 

“I understand this is a sensitive matter, death is never and easy subject, but in order to heal you have to talk about it and accept that it happened.”

 My father thought this was a good idea. I certainly think it’s a waste of time. There’s no healing that needs to be done nor is this a sensitive matter, at least for me. But I guess this could work as a cover for me, to make my “innocence” more believable.

After my session my driver is waiting out front, so I get in the car to make my way home.

I finally make it to my front door and enter. In my home, it’s just me and my father. It’s always been that way. We’ve always had an above average father-son relationship. After the day of the horrible incident, he no longer acknowledges my presence. It’s clear to me that my father is aware of what I’d done on that day. The morning of the horrible incident, we’re in the kitchen hysterically laughing over an inside joke. And he’s completely oblivious as to what would take place that evening. Now, being in his presence makes me feel like a ghost, like I’m the dead one.

It's clear he’s upset with me. We've always been truthful with one another. So, I can understand how he's feeling. But he'll never be able to understand me. Deep down I try and deny that my father knows, but it's obvious. Why else would he stop speaking to me at a time like this if he truly believed my innocence.

 I enter the living room and he’s reclined back on the couch watching TV. He glances at me with eyes of disappointment. I head towards the kitchen to quench my thirst. I walk back into the living room and place myself next to my father. The silence is awkward. I sit back and recline myself allowing myself to relax and ease tension.

I wake up and looking outside I see that its shortly after dusk. The TV is off and there is a blanket over me. I check my watch to make sure of the time. It’s 6:00. I had been asleep for 3 hours. I don’t remember when I fell asleep. Last, I remember we we’re watching one of the cooking shows my father finds entertaining.  

I get up and walk to the other wing of the house. I stand at the door of my father’s office contemplating if I should go in. I slowly turn the nob and peak my head in to see he’s not there. I check the rest of the house. Nowhere to be found. I find that his keys and car are missing.

Curious as to where he would be I grab the phone and dial his number. In all honestly, I wasn’t expecting him to pick up.

Hello?” he says on the other end.

“Where are you?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be home soon”. He hangs up.

That’s unusual of him. What could he be doing? I question.

I head to my bedroom and lie on my bed with my face facing the ceiling. Playing the horrible incident in my head, I start to feel guilt for what I’ve committed. My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of my fathers car pulling into the driveway. I lie in the peace of my solidarity until that too is interrupted by my father’s presence.

“Can we talk?” He says towering over me.

 “Of course,” I say.

 I’m sitting myself up as he gently places him himself next to me on the edge of my bed.

 “I’m sure you’ve noticed the shift in our dynamic the past 3 days. I certainly take fault in that. It’s not right for me to be avoiding you in hard times like these. I left earlier to speak to your therapist about the incident since you haven’t been speaking to me like you usually do. I’m unsure of how you’re doing, and as your father I need to know. But my avoidance was unreasonable. I genuinely thought you’d done something horrible. But I feel guilty for believing that my own son would be capable of such an act. I’m hoping you forgive me and speak to me so we could move on and go back to how we’ve always been.”  

I lift my head and look my father in his eyes. And again, I’m overcome with guilt. My gut is burning and I’m contemplating whether I should tell him the truth. But I continue my act of innocence.

“I miss him” I tell my father.

He pulls me into his chest and hold me there for a while.

Everyone in town believed we were friends. In reality, we despised each other. We had to continue our act for his parents, they admired our “friendship.” My father was well aware of how I felt towards him, which is why he initially didn’t believe my innocence. We couldn’t seem to get away from one another, and I’m certain I loathed him more than he did me. And I had to due away with him. Anyway, that I could.

It's been 2 weeks now since the day of the horrible incident. I feel much relief. The air seems calmer and the blazing guilt that was once burning inside of me has cooled down. My relationships with my father has been repaired, for the most part. I can tell there is still a spark of doubt in his eyes. I see it every time he looks at me.

Now that everything has died down, I can walk the streets without eyes of pity following me everywhere I went. If those eyes knew what I had done, the truth behind the horrible incident, they would have a completely different look.