A Father's Redemption [page 6] - Page 4

I just don't need to tell how beautifully you write as I have been doing it since a while and trust me I'm tired! Actually you did the right thing by not eliminating Manvi completely from the story as she is dead. and what I see, is Jeevs dead too? What's that. Okaay! You give glimpses of Virat's past which is too good.

I felt at relief when I read Nev wouldn't be suffering like Virat much as in your other ff. 😃 That's truly is so sweet of you! I know this comment is nothing but bizarreness, But I actually I don't understand how more should I praise you, I love it! I love the sarcasm Nev show in her every sentence, how she takes things in a light hearted way! The trio are the currently my most favorite characters out of all.

The note: Hey guys, part three. But first, what happened to Jeevika? Jeevika isn't dead I'm not a killer ;) And secondly, I'm not going to tell you what happened to her yet. If this is continued you shall find out. Also, remember I said Maanvi isn't absent from he story completely? Well, here you go.

Three

-Nevaeh-

I woke up and I instantly knew I wasn't sleeping on my bed. Supporting myself on my elbows, I arched up my upper body and saw I was in the living room couch attached to SAM. SAM stood for Systematic Air Machine which contained the miracle drug Vexoparin and oxygen. The doctors in Children's were so chuffed with themselves when they came up with it that they actually threw a party to celebrate. We're talking about medical graduates and PHD holders here dancing to the Macarena. Yeah, that's one party wish I wasn't invited too.

Anyway, several wires from the machine were attached to different lumens on to a single wire, which transferred air and the colourless liquid through the wire. This single wire was then attached to my neck, providing me with the right amount of the drug in to my body keeping my heart pumping. I didn't use it for the past year because I was meant to be 'cured' but now it looks like my heart missed its companion badly.

"We meet again old friend," I muttered at the large, beeping machine beside me. I was anything but pleased.

I sat upright and noticed two rather large blanket covered objects on the sofas opposite mine. A leg was dangling from one of them whilst an arm was hanging out of the other. I can't believe they slept on the single sofas again, despite me telling them not to! They always did this and I couldn't stand it. When we first brought SAM home we couldn't attach it upstairs because only the living room had the correct power outlet, so I spent three days sleeping on the couch. I was the one attached to a machine, not them and still they slept in the living room with me. The couch I slept on was comfortable and huge, so I was okay with it. What I wasn't okay with was them sleeping on the single couches which did not do their large body frames any favours except cause them discomfort. I grabbed my pillows and threw it at them.

"WHAT HAPPENED!"

"I'M AWAKE!"

I flicked an eyebrow, "slept peacefully?"

BP stretched his arms, "best sleep ever. Right Viraat?"

Papa didn't respond, he was sleeping. I looked at BP and shrugged, he nodded and got up and placed Papa's leg properly on to the sofa and covered him with the blanket. "He probably spent the whole night awake because-"

"Of me right?" I completed for him.

He shook his head and placed a kiss on my hair. "Waffles or pancakes?" he asked clearly changing the topic. I gave in and opted for pancakes and he smiled and went towards the kitchen. Fran came minutes after carrying my wash kit. I quickly brushed my teeth and washed my face making sure I made as little noise as possible. It's rare that Papa sleeps when I'm awake; I've never seen him sleep before me in the night or wake after me in the morning. He was just always there, right in front me.

"What do you feel like doing today Nev?" Fran asked brushing my wavy hair.

I thought about all the possible activities I could do sitting on the couch. Studying left my mind as soon as it entered, so that wasn't an option. TV? No, that would just disturb Papa. I looked across the room and saw some scattered Lego and a story flashed through my head.

"Can you please get me Mama's box?" I asked.

She packed up my things and nodded.

As Fran disappeared under one of the arches, I leaned back on to the arm rest and started talking. Call me crazy, but I spent most of my SAM days endlessly chattering in to the air. It wasn't that I expected someone to answer back, I just wanted someone to only listen. However, if you're looking for a logical reason behind my Air Chatting then here it is: You know some people have that favourite spot in their house, a special corner, a comfy widow seat, a square patch on the floor? Well I don't. I love every nook and corner of my house because in them existed my Mothers existence. Her designs, her touch, her thoughts built every aspect of my home. Its funny how when someone would ask me,

'What did your Mom do for a living?' and I would answer,

'She was a homemaker."

They would assume I meant housewife when I literally mean home maker. Let me explain, we (Papa, BP, Pickles and me) lived in a six bedroom, only one of its kind, custom made house in Riverside, California. It was designed by two special people: my Mom and my Auntie. They were architects and they were damn good at their jobs. Our home is situated in a remote area, far away from the noise and the outside world. We had a private beach, four garages (I live with two guys who buy a new car every other month. Okay maybe not months, lets say every year instead), a state of the art gym, cinema room and two pools along with other excess rooms. My Mom and Auntie were the outdoor types so we had a lot of outdoor living spaces scattered around here and there too. One of my Papa's favourite movies is Iron Man so our house kind of looks like his house but it isn't entirely replicated.

Our house rested on a mountain so the exterior was made out from glass panes and white, dusted marble pillars which created the different shapes and levels. The house was sea facing so nearly every room shared the same view. To get to our property you would have to drive up a path off the main road and then pass an intercom gate to enter. Then you would have to go underground considering there weren't really any parking space on a mountain and leave your care in the safe care of one of our garages. It's a pretty awesome house to live in if I must say so myself.

Even though my Mom's not here, I always know her presence lives on in these very walls which made my home. Which is why whenever I missed her, I talked to the air; I talked to her. I kept it short and quiet since Papa was sleeping and only told her about SAM re-entering my life.

"He's like that clinging ex I just can't seem to get rid of Mama, he keeps coming back for my heart," I muttered glaring at the metal machine beep beside me.

Fran came out of the main hallway and walked towards me. "Here you go," she said passing the object to me. I took hold of it gently and thanked her. I inspected the box which lay on my palm and smiled.

The story behind Mama's box

This goes back 18 years ago when both my parents were 21 years old. Mama was studying architecture in Stanford while Papa was studying Law. So my Mama was walking down the corridor, pretty angry at her fate. She had this habit, whenever something went wrong in her life she would blame fate, cursing it was truly against her happiness. This time fate was pretty evil to miss 21 year old Maanvi. it made her meet my Papa.

According to the story, and I've heard about three different versions; Mama was given her first architectural project and it was to create miniature boxes. Yup, exciting isn't it, boxes (!) Like most budding architects she also started as an intern. When you're doing an unpaid job where most of the requirements included making tea and organising paperwork, then designing a box is actually equivalent to a raise. The boxes were to be made for a model for a shipping warehouse which her firm were planning to build. So there she sat on her desk, keeping all distractions away from herself and began to make boxes. She got a little carried away and instead of 25 units, she made 30. Pleased with her self, she left her dorm to get some coffee. This is where it gets interesting, apparently this assclown friend of my Papa's had a bone to pick with my Mama and decided it would be 'a laugh' to mess up her boxes. So the assclown enters her dorm all 'Look at me, ima mess up them boxes, I'm such a big man, grr' and he smashes them. My Papa found out and came causally walking in to the room and told the assclown he was being stupid and acting like an idiot. His exact words were,

"Congratulations! You are now officially known as the model box smasher. Well freaking done."

Did I mention the guy was an assclown? Well, he failed to notice the sarcasm in my father's tone and smiled proudly walking away. My Papa sighed and wondered he made friends with stupid people and turned to leave too but he stopped. He looked at the ruined boxes decided to try and put them back together. He felt sorry for the stranger girl.

10 minutes later..

My Mama walked in with her coffee feeling pleasingly happy until she saw this guy sitting on the floor next to her boxes. Her ruined boxes.

"What the hell!!" she screamed as expected.

"Look, it wasn't me," he tried justifying.

She didn't believe him. "Oh, so a model box smasher decided to magically arrive and destroy my boxes?"

My Papa nodded, "You're quite close actually."

She ordered him to fix her boxes immediately and he responded with a 'What do you think I'm doing?' look.

"Don't try acting smart with me," she said next.

"I don't need to act, intelligence comes to me naturally," he replied arrogantly.

This angered her more and she launched in to a full 'siren speech' my Papa called them. Lectures which never ended. She could go on for days without stopping. Unfortunately my Papa lacked patience and after deciding he finally had enough of her voice, he stood up and taped her mouth with the duct tape in his hands. "Shut up!" he shouted.

She did, partly because of the tape and partly out of shock.

"Firstly, I didn't ruin your boxes, it was Brian and secondly I'm trying to help you here and all you're doing is making my damn ears bleed with this siren of yours. (pause) Well, aren't you going to apologise?"

She motioned at her mouth with her eyes and he raised his eyebrows. "You do realise your hands are free right?"

That's my Mom, oblivious to everything.

"I'm not saying sorry to you," she said after taking off the tape.

"What aren't you going to say to me?" he asked innocently, as if he didn't hear the first time.

"Sorry," she replied.

He smirked, "You didn't have to apologise."

Mama gasped at the realisation and was about to attack but she got pulled down to the floor by Papa first.

"I'm not making them all," he said passing her the tape.

They sat down on the floor for the next thirty minutes and silently made boxes. Mama had already made 12 whilst my Papa was stuck on his first. "Can't you even make a single box?" she asked amazed at his lack of skill.

"Well my fingers were not made to do such delicate work," he answered feeling frustrated.

She laughed. "So what I'm hearing is you have butterfingers?"

"I do not have butter fingers!" he retorted.

"Yes you do."

"No I don't."

"Yes you do."

"Er, no I don't."

According to BP, they fought like that for hours, Papa said it was only for a couple of minutes. I believe BP.

The argument ended with Mama taking hold of Papa's fingers. "You have to hold it gently, look," she said softly. She got nearer to him and my Papa became momentarily breathless. He said that was the first time he found a stranger girl so beautiful. A stranger girl dressed in a knitted jumper and faded skinny jeans with ratty converses.

"Like this," he whispered.

She looked in to his eyes and nodded. If my Papa was short of breath, then my Mama was breathing rapidly. The moment was broken when she suddenly got up, "I have to go," she announced before leaving her room.

And that is how she ended up in the corridor, cursing fate for making her feel woozy, light headed and just plain weird. Things like this weren't meant to happen to her, she always knew exactly what she was feeling, weather it was happiness, anger, sadness or guilt. Then why suddenly an unknown feeling? "You just love to bother me don't you fate? I hope you're enjoying this," she questioned the great high above.

When she returned to her room, my Papa was gone and she sighed a breath of relief. Unfortunately, her next breath was snatched away by the small 4 by 4 metal box with a tiny dent on its side which rested on her desk.

"Nice meeting you stranger girl. And no, I am not a butterfingers, I made the box ;)" said the note beneath it.

So relatable post #4380 I'm the kind of person who drinks hot chocolate in the summer and eats ice cream in the winter.

Thanks for reading :)
Ava