FELIX

On a typical Saturday morning, the autumn sun shines mildly, Annie is watching TV dramas per usual, mom and dad go out for a morning stroll, and everything seems peaceful, a good time to break the rules – again.

I'm sure dad won't mind it if he doesn't see me around for the next couple of hours, but in case he wants to check on his grounded son, there's a bunch of pillows under my blanket.

So I manage to sneak out of the house with my yellow jersey, shin guards and boots in my bag, tiptoeing down the stairs like a thrifty burglar. After a successful escape, I dash across several blocks to the open arena downstreet. The field sites near the central park, a ten minutes' walk from home.

I reach the field when the match is already few minutes into halftime. I would've arrived much earlier if dad hadn't held my phone, but there's always a silver lining – I can save my energy for the second half.

While awaiting the halftime, I sit on the bench, cheering my team on as they shoot the football towards our opponent's goalpost. Every one of them look like they need a boost, it's clear from how jaded they are.

Soon after, the first half ends with a draw.

"Felix!" Some of my friends wave me over.

"I thought you were not going to make it," one of them says.

"And miss this chance? I've been aching to play with those guys since," I turn aside, keeping an eye on our opponents assembled together in a cluster, trying to revive their strength. "There's no way I'd pass this up."

"What happened today though? You're usually never late for a game," another mate asks.

I smile roughly, "you know me, always trying to make a grand entrance."

"Alright! We're going with a new formation for the second half. Our striker has finally arrived!"

*

After a well-played match, which my team wins – as rightfully earned, my teammates go out to celebrate our victory while I hurry home. I can't possibly join them. Other than the fact that I'm still grounded, I've been feeling quite weird for a while.

In the match, something kept begging me to go home on time.

Getting close to the house by evening in casual clothing, my football kit in my bag, I notice dad waiting impatiently on the driveway, and not in a worried or concerned manner.

From the looks of it, he's not going easy on me. The way he gaits around guarding the door just means that I'm in deep trouble. I have no other choice but to answer some queries first before I even think of entering the house.

I walk close enough to the front, but he bridges the gap with quick long strides. "Tell me, where have you been all day?" He yells.

"I went with our neighbours," I respond calmly. "We had an important match, and I had to go." I hope this cross-examination doesn't escalate into something we'll both regret. I can't be this calm for nothing.

"With whose permission?"

No freaking way! So this sick feeling all along is because I didn't ask for permission to leave the house?! This is ridiculous! But knowing dad, he is going to create a mountain out of it anyways. "Do I really have to do that?"

He puckers his brow. "What!!!"

I remain rather impassive, folding my arms and looking away.

This is me trying to put his patience to the test. As expected, he takes it personal and reacts as the uncivilized timeworn man that he is. It was just a game, nothing worth all this trouble. This isn't the first time I've gone out to play football, well, except other times, we don't usually fight the way we've fought over the past few weeks, and I wasn't on house arrest. Maybe it's a build up to this abrasive display, but still uncalled for.

He fetches out my phone from behind him and holds it up to me. "You see this phone? You will never use it again." And then he does the worst thing, sending it to the stamped concrete floor with force.

My eyes and mouth slowly open wide. Behold, my phone smashes into pieces on the floor, the only device that helps to take me out from the craziness at home.

"Dad!!!" I shriek angrily.

"You better keep that unruly defiance in check and start behaving like a sensible child for once or else, I'll do much... much worse!"

"Tell me something new instead! As if it isn't so unfortunate living with you." I raise my voice at him with no care. All the spite I have bottled up for years comes exploding through my nipping mouth. "Why are you trying hard to be a good father? You have no idea how much I hate you! And you're by no means making it any better!"

He stops for a moment to absorb the shock. My response was the least of his expectations, but I doubt that changes anything. "You what... you hate me, huh?!" He draws nearer, fist clutched and ready to punch me into oblivion.

But unlike before when I'd take cover to shield myself, I stand my ground. I'm so sick and tired of tolerating him to exercise his aggressiveness towards me.

"You now have the guts to insult me, huh?!" He growls.

In a microsecond, I feel a punch to my stomach. He hit me somewhere else too but I'm too hurt from the first blow to know where. Then again, I'm too angry to tolerate him any longer. I duck a punch to my face and dodge as many as I can. I try hitting him back with a virtually weak push but I don't think it would cause any effect to his muscly arms.

Mom suddenly appears and dabbles her way in between, separating us from each other. "Phil! What is wrong with you?!"

We both bore holes at each other, panting like mad dogs while the anger's still invigorating.

"That child of yours is not sleeping in my house tonight, and that is final!" He declares.

"Well, I don't give a damn!" I yell back.

"You see that, Maria? You see that?"

"Phil! Felix!" Mom's feeble voice fails her.

"I am dead serious, Maria. He is not sleeping in my house." He faces me. "From now on, you're on your own, kid. Let me see how long you will survive."

"Can't you both just get along with each other for once?" She turns to him. "Honey, no matter what, he's still your son!"

"Mom, please that's enough!" I cut in. "You can stop the pretence now. I've had enough of this. He is not my real father to begin with so I don't care what he does to me."

"Felix!"

I face him. "If you think I'm just being a rebel to you, think again because you have not seen the worst of me," I say my piece and run out of the house, wiping tears from my eyes I didn't know were there, and forcing back what's left.

*

How the universe has been so cruel to me ever since mom remarried.

As the dusky night grows even darker, all what my troubled head thinks of is heading to Xian's house. I arrive there in no time since it's only a few streets away from mine – if it still is at this moment.

I press the bell and wait for someone, hopefully Xian, to open it.

Xian opens the door and immediately sees the lesions on my face and the rest of my body as I writhe in agony. "What are you doing out here at this ungodly hour? More importantly, what happened to you?"

He tries touching my swollen cheek. I shove his hand away and shake my head. That should tell him that I'm in excruciating pain. "Xian, is your dad around?"

"Yes he is. He returned from China yesterday."

"Can we talk outside?" I pull him by hand to the garden beside his house without waiting for his reply.

Once I stop, he gently jerks his hand away. "Did your dad hit you this time?"

"Since I'm at your mercy, let me take your time to tell you what happened," I say jokingly.

"I'm being serious here. What happened?"

"I left the house."

"You left the house!" Xian shouts, covering his mouth in disbelief. "Why?"

"I returned from the field, and dad was waiting for me at the door. He asked me where I was, I answered and that's it."

"What did you say?"

"Why must you think I'm at fault? Why are you even asking me that question?" I exhale. "I told him that I came from the field, nothing else."

"What did you say, Felix?" He asks once again, and this time more intently.

I groan. "He asked why I didn't seek permission before leaving, and I told him that I really didn't have to ask for permission, but I swear, I said it politely."

"Hm." He gives me his typical questioning glare whenever he can see through my fabrications. "You're saying he hit you because of that?"

I sigh again. "You do know me, don't you?"

He folds his arms with outspoken candour. "Go on, I'm listening."

"I said it to his face that he's not my real father and I don't care what he does to me." With my head down in complete vulnerability, I wait for his reaction. I know he's going to tell me off.

"Why did you say that to him?" He queries in a surprisingly not-so-harsh tone. "And you think he'll ever forgive you?"

I raise my head, surprised at how informally he is taking all of this. It's like no matter what I do, he's never taken aback. "I'm not worried about that right now. What I need is a place to lay my head for the night."

"I hope you do know you'll have to go back one day, right?"

I become quiet, mostly because of how brutally honest and blunt he is. I can't start staying with him, specifically when his father is around. Xian won't even let that happen. Also, what exactly am I going to say to Mr. Owen?

"If that's why you came here, you'll have to tell my dad everything," he says seriously.

I gulp hard. "Really? Everything?"

"Yes Felix, everything. Don't worry, I'm sure he will understand you."

"Sure. Your father is a well-known psychologist so I'm certain he will. He must have seen worse cases of juvenile delinquency."

He laughs, "you can still manage to crack a joke in your situation."

What choice do I have?

We could fabricate a lie to tell his father, or just make up some excuse, but Xian is right. Maybe Mr. Owen will understand me with no trouble. Other than being a doctor, he is very warm and welcoming.

"Let's go inside then. It's getting really cold and I'm getting nervous."

* # * #

This chapter hits different if one has ever gone through similar experiences with daddy issues. Feel free to comment what you think and don't forget to vote.