At My Feet

"So, are you going to get on your hands and knees to beg? How much longer will you keep me waiting?" I asked while pointing my index finger at the empty floor right in front of my feet.

If looks could kill, I would have died an extremely painful death, stabbed by the millions of daggers flying out of my father's eyes from the way he was glaring at me. Even when I was clearly his only route of escape from the impending hell that was awaiting him, it was clear that my father felt nothing but hatred for me. I returned his stare with one of my own as I continued pointing to the floor where I wanted them to get on their hands and knees.

"I'm still waiting. Oh, but if you're not willing, then I'll make sure that some men will escort you out," I said before grinning at them. I could tell that my father was hesitating, and that meant that he was truly considering abandoning whatever pride he had left to get down on his hands and knees to beg for help from his long-abandoned daughter.

Time mov