Chapter 11
Easily downing the frosted shot glass filled with vodka, Joan filled it back up and this went down the same way as the first, shaking her head as she opened her eyes.
It'd been the day from hell, anything and everything that could've gone wrong did and all the prisoners that could've caused trouble or had problems seemed to have picked this day to do it.
This meant there would be a mountain size amount of paperwork to attend to, oh the joys of days like this.
Hence the need of necking vodka shots as soon as you walk through the front door.
Leaning forward onto her thighs as she sat on the couch in the darkened living room, she gave a big sigh, her eyes moving down to her phone beside her, picking it up and scrolling to the messages between her and Vera, fingers hovering over the keyboard on the screen, her attention immediately diverted as she heard that voice.
That distinctive voice.
The voice she'd know anywhere.
Her father.
"Don't you even think about doing that" was the stern order knowing what she was going to do.
Joan frowned up at him stood in the corner of the room.
"What, I wasn't doing anything".
"You were, you were going to text her, that woman that's causing chaos in your once ordered life".
Putting the phone in her trouser pocket she looked at him.
"I wasn't, see...".
He walked nearer to her, dressed in his customary dark suit.
"She's trouble Joan, she's trouble for you. Days like today when you've not done a good job because you've not been the best you can, not been focused enough, not been good enough, and then come home and have a face on you like that, it's not acceptable!".
"But it was just a bad day, things have happened all day, one thing after another..."
He shook his head.
"It's not good enough, you've not been good enough, ever since you were younger I've told you emotions lead to mistakes and look at you now letting them creep in, dare I say it opening yourself up with her, not being like you were as a child, how you were taught by me to be and look what's happening to you!" his voice raising pitch like an army major talking to his squad after a bad performance.
Filling up the glass a third time she downed the clear liquid, feeling the burn on the back of her throat but still the voice boomed at her, berating her for her failures over the years from being a child up until the present day, not following all the things he'd taught her properly.
"I have tried my best today, done things by the book, as I was taught.." the vodka obviously not doing the job at the present moment to dull the tones of the all too familiar hectoring she was getting.
I have tried my best, done all I could have possibly done today, yet here I am trying to defend my actions and prove that I tried to do all I can, again.
Why can't I just be good enough.
Why can't he ever say I did a good job, that he's proud of what I did, what I've achieved, the steps I've taken.
"But I don't think you have, you've been distracted, not focused, because of other unimportant things creeping into your mind, and it's not acceptable Joan, your performance is unacceptable. This emotion I see creeping in, poisoning your record at work, that woman, it's not allowed, it's not good enough for me, you're disappointing me Joan, you'll never be good enough like this. Why do you always disappoint me Joan?!".
With her head in her hands she grabbed handfuls of her loose dark hair, pulling it tight, maybe the pain would distract her mind, make the noise stop.
Nope it didn't.
Still he continued, the tone strong, beating against her eardrums.
An unrelenting barrage of emotional put downs, insults, the ones she'd become accustomed too, expected all the years she'd been alive, from such a young age that she didn't know what praise or proud compliment looked or sounded like.
Nothing was ever good enough, everything she did she could've done better, almost always just shy of the top mark, that top mark that meant he was proud, that she was good enough, that he'd love her, that he'd accept her, that he'd accept she'd tried her best, given her all.
That he'd love her.
Up from the sofa in one swift movement, the room spinning, her knees caught the edge of the table, the vodka bottle rocking before dropping off the edge, hitting the floor and shattering, the liquid cascading over the shiny floor.
"Stop...stop...please!" her hands over her ears almost childlike as she paced the floor in the dining room. "I tried my best, I always try my best..." pulling her suit coat off her body and letting it drop to the floor after which she loosened her tie and then undid the top button of her shirt, finally un tucking it from her trousers, her body suddenly feeling like it was overheating, needing to peel back the layers to help her breathe.
Back to her ears her hands went, tapping them in some small hope of calming her mind and slowing the speed train of abuse she was being subjected to.
"No no no" her voice coming out as a pained cry, watching her father start to move from his position in the living room to where she was pacing in the space at the bottom of the stairs.
I can't take anymore.
I need to get away.
Make him stop.
Make it stop.
Stop my head.
Anything to make it stop.
Shaking her head she bolted for the stairs, steps two at a time until she reached the top, straight into her bedroom and shutting the door, practically running into the en suite, shutting this door too, looking back she made doubly sure it was shut, her hands fumbling with the dials on the shower, setting it to cold, as cold as it could go, her hands and fingers struggling to work together to get it to turn on.
"Come on, please!" she whimpered, desperately gripping the power dial, managing to grip it and turn it on, the water suddenly spraying out into the large shower cubicle.
With the water on Joan leaned back against the wall underneath it, her ears listening intently, her senses heightened, waiting for the click of the door, one of the doors, any of them.
Surely the bedroom door.
Or worse the bathroom door.
Still she waited, her chest heaving as she struggled and failed to keep calm, her body on edge as she waited, dreaded, feared.
Nothing.
No noise.
No doors.
No sounds apart from running water.
Quiet.
Silence.
Swallowing down the lump in her throat, she felt her clothes start to get heavy, the water soaking into them like sponges, her long hair smoothing down her back and shoulders as this too took on the freezing water from the shower.
Leaning her head back against the cold wall her body gave up, her eyes closed, the water cascading down her.
Drawing in a couple of sudden hitching breaths she slid down the wall of the shower, her head in her hands, body shaking with heavy sobs, frightened sobs, closing her eyes and letting the pent up fear and emotion take over, she was too tired to fight it, mentally and physically.
I just want to be good enough.
For someone to be proud of me.
To tell me they're proud.
Show me they're proud.
What does that even mean, someone being proud of me.
What do feelings even mean.
Who am I?
What am I?
Who am I good for...nobody.
Not good for anything or anyone.
Never had been.
No one has ever wanted me.
All my life it's been the same.
A pained wail left her mouth as the anguish found its way out of her head and body, echoing into the cold shower she was currently sat under, knees up to her chin, head further in her hands, sobbing. The sounds bouncing off the walls and lingering in the space where the distraught governor sat looking dwarfed by her surroundings and how she was huddled in the dark cubicle of her en suite.