A/N: This could have been a biography. See end author note.

I will never forgive him. Never. And no matter what he says, this will not make a great story for my kids one day. I just want to forget all this, but, naturally, I have to write this down. Even I must admit it's good. Too good to let go of.

So, I'll write this down, and then erase the whole thing from my memory. From the second I opened those doors until the second I closed the car door. I take a deep breath, I clear my mind of all thoughts and then unlock the memory.

My hand firmly around the suitcase handle, I walk use my free hand to open the door that separates me from my father. The first thing I see is a smiling crowd. It doesn't take too long before I see what they're smiling at. Laughing, even, for some of them.

Anger boils in me, I'm going to kill him.

My father didn't forget to pick me up, no. He's standing about five, six meters from me. He looks very serious, despite what he's holding in his hands. I would say that I have to squint to see what was written. (It's more literary - to me anyway.) But it was so hard to miss.

Written in such big, black and bold letters. A message that makes blood rush to my cheeks, my blood itself firing rage through me. My eyes send death daggers to my father. I want that message of his to burn up. Shrivel like an old's person skin.

Do I still stand a chance of getting away? Pretending I don't know him? Pretending I'm going home alone? Can I just walk past him confidently?

No.

It's pretty obvious who the message is for. I'll go for a speech of indignation.

"Dad!" I'm past the point of being embarrassed of shouting in public. "What the hell are you doing? What was going through your mind?"

All he does is readjust the large cardboard. It must be at least A3. He looks straight at me, serious face still present and says one thing. "Don't you like the message?" His eyebrows raise in disappointment.

The crowd snickers at his innocent tone of voice. Well, they like his message. I feel like ripping his throat out! Let's see him talk then!

"No! And we're in July 2008, dad!" Seriously, putting the year 2014... It's bad enough putting what he put before, but then to add that as year!

People must have looked at him like he's insane. Mad. Crazy. Weird. Don't get me wrong, he is. But they don't know that. Well, at least they didn't before this happened.

"What were you thinking?" I raise my voice a couple decibels. I glance at the crowd; it's grown bigger. Oh, just wonderful. Fabulous.

"Well after all this time - how long? Seven days? Fourteen days? - I was afraid I wouldn't recognize you. Should I not have written this?"

"No! You shouldn't have!" I give a small scream of despair. "Seriously, you're not normal!"

He looks hurt, and I honestly don't give a shit. Let him feel hurt. How would you feel if your father had come to pick you up at the airport, and written on an A3 piece of cardboard "Miss World 2014"?

I mean, come on! What is wrong with him?

"And I've been gone ten days, for your information!" I loosen my grip on my suitcase. Giving a quick look, I see the marks on the handle printed on my hand - red on white.

He shrugs, and signals for me to follow him to the car. Without waiting he turns and starts walking. My whole face widens in shock. I drop my bag to the floor, the loud thwack silences the terminal, and fold my arms.

"Until it's been verified that you're not insane, I'm not following you anywhere." More snickers, muffled laughs, and some laughs that nobody bothered to even try to muffle. Very loud ones, from the back, that echo.

Damn these tall ceilings.

By now I'm on overload, sparks flying everywhere. My mouth going on and on, spewing out words. And it's too late. So I might as well get it all out.

"Come on, I dare you to tell me he's not the least bit crazy!" My hands are raised in the air, beckoning them. Daring them. "Come on."

Suddenly, I catch sight of myself. In some shiny surface, I see myself. And what a sight! I look like sort of mad person, a ranting and raving lunatic.

Just fa-bu-lous. I look like the crazy one now.

Now, the sane (I am perfectly aware of the irony) thing to do, was leave that airport, with whatever little shred of dignity I had left. That is obviously not what I did. Seeing as I'm (was?) insane and all.

Instead, I did the worst thing possible.

I picked my bag up and got out a book. On second thought, I put the book back in the bag and zipped it closed. I wasn't going to throw a book at him.

That's... Too much? you ask. No, au contraire. Not enough.

Mouths drop as they see me to what I do. Everything does not happen in slow motion. This isn't a movie scene from "Cheaper by the dozen" or some other comedy. No, people, this is my life.

Far too soon, I see my bag miss my father by millimeters.

That would have been bad enough, if it wasn't for what came next.

A loud, noise comes from my bag. I think it's the sound of my phone shattering. You know, into a thousand little pieces. The sound of my phone being broken. You know, the irreparable kind of broken.

I can't be too sure. I'm too busy running out of the airport to check the contents of my bag. I reach elevators. The ones that can bring me to the safety of the parking lot, which will bring me to the car, which will bring me home.

I wait impatiently, heart pumping blood so fast that I can feel it in my head, pounding. Boom boom boom. Shame shame shame. I rest first my right temple on the cool car window, then my left temple.

What seems like hours later, my father is there. Now it's in slow motion. My father walking calmly towards me - he seems light years away from me. My suitcase rolling along the uneven ground - the only thing I hear.

I wait for the yelling. There's none. I've broken my phone, had this big fight in public, threw my bag at him, and nothing. Silently we both get in the car.

That's when it hits me - the car drive home is an hour and a half long.

Oh shit. And my father goes, "Kay, do you know where the CD charger is? I wanted to listen to some music on the way here and I couldn't find it. If you find it, tell me, okay?"

"Sure."

There. Done. Nothing else to report. I will now burn my memory, along with the cardboard. Now my father wants to keep it, family joke kind of thing. Of course, he has no idea I'm going to burn it.

A chill makes my too large trousers flap. In case you're wondering, I'm in the garden, it's pitch dark, and it's five A.M.

Yeah, this is my life. Ain't it grand?

I take a step forward and that's when my foot lands on something square and plastic-like. I bite my cheek to not scream in pain. I bend down and pick it up. Using the lighter I was intending to use on the stupid sign, I see what hurt me.

The - would you believe it? - CD charger. I refrain from swearing. A Miss World, after all, does not swear.

A/N: My father actually contemplated doing the stupid sign! And he really did lose his CD charger... I came back from Switzerland today and I'm SO grateful he didn't do the sign... I would have only done the bag throwing bit...

He's writing the other side of this story, it'll be on his account /u/611651/ soon. We might do some more co-writing in the future.

Kayleigh

PS: I'll catch up on nominations for TFPSSA2008 asap. Don't kill me!