(Corrine's POV)
The air in the hallway felt thick, like I was swimming through glue. Every glance from those people, every half hidden smirk, felt like a weight pressing down on me. Ha! There I was.. a storm trying not to explode.
"Dad..." my voice cracked before I could stop it. I hated how weak I sounded, so pushed harder.
"Dad, how could you say those things about me? About us?"
His eyes darted nervously toward the people across the room. The ones who didn't even bother to hide their amusement.
"Corrine, please, just listen.."
"No!" I said it short and sharp, the word slicing the air and myself. Without thinking I threw my foot against the wall. Pain shot up my ankle and into my stomach. Crap it hurt! But at least it was something real.
"No, Dad."
He flinched at the sound of my foot hitting the wall again, harder this time.
"Corrine, please," Dad's voice was tight, like he was swallowing glass.
"Can we just talk?"
I don't want to talk. Not with him. Not in front of these idiots laughing behind their fake smiles. I could feel their eyes burying into me. As if I was a sideshow. A circus act that wasn't quite right.
Dad stepped closer, but not too close. I thought he was trying to keep calm, ashamed in front of his workmates. I saw the way his jaw clenched, like he was holding back emotions.
"Those things I said," he finally said, voice low and jagged, "I am sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you."
"Didn't mean to," I echoed, with mockery.
"Didn't mean to? Ahahaha... that easy?"
I slammed my fist into the wall, this time. Because my foot was still throbbing. Still, my knuckles were stinging too. But hey, I couldn't walk out of here if my feet were crippled weren't I?
"Do you think I can take this? You think saying sorry fixes it? Saying you didn't mean to hurt less than what you actually did?"
His eyes flickered with shame and pain, but his mouth stayed shut. Like he was swallowing a bitter pill.
"They don't see the real me," he said almost whispering, coaxing me, "The one who loves you. Both you and Carmen. Let me fix this right, okay?"
"You thought wrong." I started to crack.
"You think love means saying things that make me feel like I don't belong anywhere? Like we were just a mistake in your life?"
He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated.
"Please, let's just sit and talk.."
"Are you trying to make me hate you more?" I shouted, my voice bounced off the walls. Oh crap.. I think I was gonna lose it.
His face tightens, like I punched him where it hurts.
"No. I never wanted that."
"Well, you got it right anyway." I planted my fists on my hips as I tried to keep my knees from trembling.
He stepped closer but quickly stopped himself, like he was afraid to cross a line.
"I know I messed up. I know I hurt you. But I'm still your father."
I laughed, bitter and dry, scraping through my throat.
"Father? Is that what you call this? Because I don't see a father here. Just someone who denounced me, my sister, and my mom!"
The spectators were smirking openly now. Probably were murmuring about me, mocking at this "kid with attitude." I felt my face flush with a mixture of shame and rage. I wanted to smash something... anything... to scream until I was hoarse.
"You know what?" I pointed with my chin.
"Just like your friends back there, my friends at school also laughing behind my back. Your friends are whispering like I'm a joke."
His eyes darkened but his voice was quiet.
"Let's go somewhere else, and talk, okay?"
I hit the wall again. My fist was slamming into paint and plaster, digging into the gypsum beneath. The pain was more stupidly real. Aw.. but it grounded me. Even the fire inside was trying to burn everything down, I could have more control because of the pain.
He gasped and gaped. I could see the fracture beneath his careful mask, the same fracture I felt inside my own chest.
"You think I wanted it like this?" His voice cracked, but he held himself together.
"I thought I was doing what was best."
"Best?" I shook my head, voice rising.
"You think by shaming me, denounced us, were your best? You don't get to say that. We were just bad hands for your streaks!"
I took a breath, trying to hold the tears back. Aw.. aw.. aw.. crap my hand was really hurt. The sharp sting of my swollen knuckles was the only proof that I was real. Not just some sad girl crushed by the weight of silence and shattered trust.
Then I saw it, his eyes shining with guilt and something like pain. The kind of expression when you want to hide away and pretend none of it ever happened.
"Corrine, your hand..", he whispered.
I looked at him like he was a stranger. A man I once called Dad, but no longer could.
"Do you even care, or is this just another show?" My voice was cold and dry as I regained control over my emotions.
"Am I just some part of your act for these idiots around you?"
He flinched, a flash of something raw passing through his eyes.
"No, I care more about you. More than you know."
"But it doesn't feel like it," I said, the tears threatening again behind my eyes, "and that's all that matters to me now."
I turned away, feeling the heavy eyes follow me like vultures watching a wounded animal. My legs trembled with the weight of everything I wanted to scream but couldn't.
"Corrine…" he said softly, trying to reached my shoulder.
I clenched my fists as I swat his hand. I thought my joints would break and nails bit into my skin but I pretended not to feel it.
"No, don't."
Silence stretched between us. I swallowed down the lump in my throat, gathered what little strength I had left, and looked him square in the eye.
"Good day, then, Mr. Ricardo Pad… No. You're not one of the Padillas anymore," I said the words slowly, like a knife sliding through paper, cutting ties.
"Mr. Ricardo Garcia."
His sad eyes locked with mine, and I saw he understood. No more "Dad." Not when the fracture between us felt like the end of something I wasn't ready to fully let go of yet.
I turned and walked away, each step heavy but necessary. I was leaving with a strange mix of fury and a bitter kind of victory, the weight of defeat thrumming low in my chest. The battle wasn't over, but this was my line in the sand.
I didn't look back.