My father is gone again.

The last words he said to me was, “I’m done eating, go clear the table.”

That was it, he’s gone… to that homewrecker’s house probably to fuck her brains out.

It’s not even 8:20 PM yet and he just casually left, as if that stupid woman didn’t call him four times… as if my mother wasn’t in her room doing the laundry.

I should probably tell him how I feel about him leaving, but what good will my words do to him? My Asian female words?

Double strike.

Maybe if I was the oldest son, my father would stop leaving every night.

But I’m not, and my oldest brother doesn’t give a shit. He thinks Dad has the right to leave… just because Mom wants the divorce doesn’t mean it doesn’t bother her to see him leave.

I hate everyone and I just want everyone to shut up.

Every time my dad pats me on the head and smiles at me, I want to tell him to get his filthy hands off of me.

Every time my mom tells me that they both love me, I want to tell her to stop lying to my face.

But I will not cry. Crying is for weaklings. And in this broken house, being weak is something that I certainly can not afford.

…

I wonder if it would be too much to leave a note on my dad’s pillow…?

“You are a terrible father.”