MILDEW.
I awoke to the stale and pungent funk of mildew crinkling my nose. It was a familiar yet unfamiliar smell.
But my eyes adjusted faster to the newfound surroundings than my nose. They swept over the peeling paint of the walls and the dirty dishes in the sink. The beginnings of a disorderly and filthy mess.
I have returned.
The thought struck a bolt of a million volts to my mind. Emotions flooded in, followed by waves of recollections. Memories of my past. It was an intensity I felt all over.
Then something grasped the cracks of my heart and the crevices of my brain. It was an aggravating, nerve-wracking, irritating urge. Like an itch one cannot scratch, a sneeze that gets stuck. Like a need to crawl out of one's skin. Like having one's bones quiver and tickle.
A hand slipped into my pocket, and my thumb fell on the cold metal wheel.
One stick.
One flame.
It would take this mess away.
She deserves better than this.
I pulled away my trembling palm and reached towards the line of dirty clothes.
"Lumi... Lumi!"
The door swung open to darkness.
I forced my eyes to adjust. There was shards of broken glass in the the centre of the room and a continued sea of dirty clothes, plastic plates, and trash bags.
But in the corner stood a mattress without a frame.
A frail and pale-faced girl sat atop it with her back against the wall. She stared into the ceiling, not a flinch at the suddenness or a blink at the doorway light, just praying for salvation.
I threw the ragged covers into the corner in one motion. My arms gripped onto her bony shoulders over her. I leaned over her. I was no upper being, nor a saviour. Hell, I was the one who dragged her into this debilitating mess.
But from now I would be here. She wouldn't be alone. Things would be different.
Those words were stuck in my throat like a cloying thick wad of swamp mud. They wouldn't leave me, because her eyes remained murky.
I shook her. I shook and shook her until she craned her neck like a little bird to meet my gaze. Then I wished she hadn't. Those eyes pierced through my heart.
"D-dad?"
That whisper of her was more of a whimper. I couldn't care less.
I had endured years of regret and repent to hear her again.
"Dumpling. I'm sorry. So sorry."
I wrapped and squeezed her tight. There was a frightened inhale, but didn't stop me. She was here, now and again. I didn't know how, or why, or anything about this second chance. But I knew I would forever be there for her from now forth.
*
*
*
I lost all semblance of time during the hug. I didn't stop until she began squirming.
I had released her, but without that physical proximity, I couldn't sit still. She was quickly resting on my lap again with her back on my chest.
"Did I hurt you, dumpling?" I asked.
Her coarse, matted hair was unnoticeable from this position. I wanted to get to work, but she shrank when my hands stroked her hair.
"I-I'm sorry, dumpling."
"It's okay," she mumbled.
"Dad won't hurt you."
Like she did.
Lumi turned her head with a hand held over her chest. There was a frown and a wistfulness in her eyes that I knew I had to listen to.
I turned her around to face me. I wanted to let her know I would be listening.
Her thin, chapped lips opened. "It's not bruised and it's not bleeding, but it hurts here."
My eyes began to water. She was such a sensitive child — how could I not have noticed? Of course she would notice.
"I know, baby dumpling. I know. Dad made a grave mistake. A very big mistake. Dad let you down."
I sniffled and looked around the so-called bedroom. "Dad wasn't there for you in your darkest times, when there was thunder, when there were nightmares. Dad wasn't there for you in the screaming, in the fighting, in the shouting."
But through the shimmer of my teardrops, I saw Lumi shudder. I panicked.
"Don't be afraid, dumpling! She is gone. And Dad has changed. Dad will always be by your side, okay? Dad is here."
And just like that she stilled.
"She is gone?" Lumi whispered. She leaned into me. Her faint breath was tickling my chest.
I wrapped my arms tighter across her back.
"She has left for good, dumpling. Things have changed. It's not scary anymore, okay?"
I had hoped to close the distance with her and set things straight. But now I'm thinking that stirring up her traumas was not the way to go.
After a moment of heavy breathing, there was some movement.
"I'm not scared," Lumi retorted, wrestling herself out my embrace.
Relief washed over me. I found colour return to her face, then her eyes curling into a faint smile.
The defiant look she wore was in a sharp contrast to her meek tone. This was a good sign, right? I seemed to have got through with her.
I chuckled and tried to tidy her bangs.
"If you're not scared, then what are you feeling?" I asked.
She looked towards the ceiling. This time, it was without any murkiness. That innocent daze was so heart-wrenching cute. I didn't know how I ever remained so indifferent to her in my past life.
I wanted to pull her into another tight embrace, but her seriousness stopped me.
"I don't know," Lumi answered. "I, um, it's..."
I was far from a psychologist, but I knew it was normal to struggle describing emotions, especially for six-year-olds like her . It was likely even more so because of her surrounding circumstances and particular upbringing. Such a realization soured my heart more.
I really was such an unworthy and ungrateful parent before…
"That's okay, dumpling. You know the feeling, but you can't say it, right?" She hummed. "You'll learn and find the words as you grow older, so tell Dad everything you feel as you go."
… but that would all change.
I vowed not to waste my second chance. I would raise Lumi into the happiest little girl ever. I would grant all her wishes true. I would help her achieve all her dreams.
That was what she deserved; that was what I owed to her as a father.
Lumi's soft, delicate voice tickled my ears. "I-I want to know what you're feeling as well, Dad."
Though a little taken aback, I thought nothing more of it. I would give her all her wants, after all. It was her first request, and not to mention that she wanted to grow closer to me.
"What I'm feeling is a more complicated version of what you feel, dumpling," I began.
It wasn't my intention to discredit her emotions; I wanted to establish a connection. I was glad to see my words so far didn't bother her.
"Com-pli-ca-ted," Lumi mumbled.
"Yes, dumpling. Complicated. When something has so many bits and pieces to it, it becomes hard to understand."
She tilted her head. "I want to learn more about you, Dad. I want to know everything."
Something about the way she enunciated the word everything was profound. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I attributed it to my absence.
"Are you curious about Dad? Do you have a lot of questions to ask about Dad?"
She nodded. And although her gaze was pure, a sinking feeling in my stomach turned it accusatory. Guilt. It was guilt and regret and shame.
I didn't want my explanation of my poor choices and indifference to make it up to her. I wanted proper, practical actions, not a vindictive life story. Yet I couldn't say no to that frail and expectant of hers.
Though I didn't want to, I emptied myself out anyways. "Where do I start?"
"Dumpling, your dad lost control of his life... high school, car accident, temper, fighting…
I mixed with the wrong crowd. Nicotine... other substances… then unexpected pregnancy."
My voice was shaking when I finished. It was hoarse and barely louder than a whisper. I had expected Lumi to ignore my rambling towards the end—if she could even hear me—but she was still staring at me with rapt attention.
"Sorry, dumpling. I must've bored you. Dad talked and talked. You must've not understood much." I reached over to stroke her hair.
Then she stopped me with a hand on my arm.
"No, Dad. I understood everything."