Always His Baby

Chapter 1
Fight or Flight

Chapter Description: Sheri Tyler is a girl in desperate need of an attitude adjustment.

"Ow, shit! Shit!" She curses, holding the pillow over her head, condemning the sunlight shining through her bedroom window.

Too bright, damn it! Did the sun not realise some people’s eyes are too sensitive after a night of heavy drinking?

How inconsiderate nature was sometimes.

To add to her pounding headache was the bleep of the alarm clock beside her bed. A high-pitched screech piercing her tender ear-drums. The problem was, she didn’t have an alarm clock. Sheri growled beneath the pillow. Dad, again. It’s a wonder he didn’t just go all out and throw a bucket of cold water over her. Oh, he may have come off as the nicest and most generous guy alive, but there was a cold and calculating sadist underneath those warm, kind eyes. She’d known that ever since the day he grounded her after he caught her stealing a fifty pound note from his wallet. She’d missed out on an awesome trip to London with her friends because of him.

Sheri grabs the little clock and unplugs it with a growl, giving her some sweet silence again. But the damage is already done and she curls up beneath her duvet as her bedroom door opens and she can already see the condescending look on Dad’s face.

"Not feeling our best today, are we?" He asks, facetiously; "What a surprise."

She groans and keeps her back to him; "Go away. M’sick."

"From how much you threw up last night, I doubt there is much of that left in you. Here, c’mon." Dad puts a hand to her shoulder and tries to sit her up, offering a glass of cool water.

Sheri wants to tell him where he can stuff his water and continue to ignore him. But her throat is painfully dry. So, with a heavy huff, she sits up and snatches the glass, glugging it down almost spitefully.

Dad rubs her back a little and she keeps a tight hold on her insolence to not lean back into the touch of his firm hand.

"It’s not a race." He says, trying to be jovial. Not wanting this recent turbulence that’s grown between them to be any worse.

Sheri puts the glass down and rubs her face. Her head is still a pain and she picks up on her dad’s attempts to make nice. Maybe she can make this work in her favour? She’s had more than enough years of practice. Always able to get her own way with him. She hums and leans against him, giving him her best ’melt your heart’ smile and innocent brown eyes.

"Don’t feel well, Daddy." She practically mewls, playing off his tentative personality.

He touches her forehead and makes a thoughtful noise; "It was a rough night for you, wasn’t it? It would be rather cruel of me to force you to go to school feeling like this."

"Mmm." She nods, playing the part.

Just when she thinks she can flop back down in bed for the rest of the morning, Dad grips her duvet and hauls it off the bed, leaving her sat in the large True Blood t-shirt he’d had to help her into the night before - half-naked and freezing her feet off. How dare he?!

Her cute mask crumbles and she glares at Dad who is just keeping that same, knowing smile on his face.

"Shame you don’t give me any other choice when you go around, staying out late, getting drunk off your face and vandalising people’s gardens before making me have to haul your backside out of the police station in the middle of the night." He berates her, bundling her bedsheets up for the wash. "Get dressed for school and breakfast will be ready in a bit."

"Screw you!" Sheri growls, pushing her dad out of the way and grabbing her school uniform from the wardrobe.

What right did Dad have to force her to go to school feeling like this? He would let her skive off when she was at Primary if she had so much as a snivel and a warm forehead. Why did he have to get so serious and annoying lately? And always lecturing her all the damn time. It wasn’t like she asked him to come pick her up from the station - she would have been happy staying in the night. The cops would have probably given her a nicer wake-up call too.

She quickly gets changed into her shirt, skirt and blazer before applying her make-up and fixing her hair. She’ll put the eye-shadow on extra heavy for two reasons; one because she knows Jake likes it and two because Dad hates it. She gets to cover both of her bases.

When she goes downstairs, she smells Dad’s making omelettes again - probably arranging the ham to almost look like a face because he still is under the delusion that she’s a stupid kid. And she hates omelettes, they stick to her hips like crazy. She mulls around for a bit, gathering her things and grabbing a banana from the side.

"It’s almost ready." He tells her, probably sensing how restless she is.

She doesn’t look at him but she’s well aware he’s side-eyeing her excessive make-up and short skirt.

"Forget it. I’m meeting my mates at the cafe on my way there." Sheri blows him off, coldly.

She waits for another lecture from Dad but all she receives is a stifled sigh as half of the breakfast he’s made will be heading for the rubbish bin.

"Are you at least going to be home for dinner tonight?" He asks, almost sounding resigned to this new routine.

"Doubt it. Probably going to stay at Jake’s."

That catches Dad’s attention. She knew it would.

He turns off the stove and turns to her, his warm gaze now steeled and sharp.

"You better be joking, missy. You know full well I told you that I don’t want you hanging around that boy anymore after the messes he’s got you into lately."

"Well, I wasn’t with Jake last night so you can hardly use that to hate on him."

"Like Hell I can’t. You got into that mess all by yourself - well bloody done - but I know that boy’s to blame for getting you into all this. Going around, causing trouble, just for the sake of some sick thrill. You don’t even think of the consequences or how it affects other people, do you?"

Sheridan scoffs; "Oh and you never did anything like that when you were a kid? No, I forgot, you were a bloody saint. At least until you knocked up Mum when you were both at school - real big accomplishment for me to look up to there, Dad."

She notices Dad bristle at that. Very rarely did either of them bring up the subject of her mother. When she was a kid, she’d asked about her a few times out of curiosity, but she’d never really missed her. Not like many people who, when they found out she just had her dad, pitied her as if she was left out somehow. She never felt like that though. You don’t miss what you don’t have and, once upon a time, her dad had been all she needed and more in the world.

But that was then, back when she was just a stupid kid. Now she’s older and knows the world is so much bigger than living in this house with her old man who was clearly still bitter about a woman who dumped him fifteen years ago. It was always a pressure point and one Sheridan only ever pushed when she was desperate.

"What me and your mum did was reckless and stupid. If you want to make our mistakes then you’re on the right track." He scalds.

Now Sheridan winces a little at that, grabbing her bag; "Well. Nice to know you think of me as a ’mistake’."

"No, Princess, I didn’t mean it like that." Dad immediately back-tracks; "I’ve never thought that."

"She did though, didn’t she? That’s why she left."

Dad doesn’t answer that. His mouth moves as if he’s trying to come up with a response but he’s got nothing. His eyes reveal the truth.

Sheridan grits her teeth; "That’s what I thought."

She turns to storm out of the house, ignoring her dad’s almost apologetic call of her name. She slams the door behind her as she goes to truly complete the parent vs teen bust-up.

As she stomps off down the street, she keeps her teeth clenched, determined not to cry. Not over her stupid parents or anyone else. Part of her was grateful to her father for not lying to her and another, rather long-lost section of her heart, wished that he would just sugar-coat the truth like he had when she was little. When he’d told her that Father Christmas was real. That there were magic imps living in the rose-bush in Grandma’s garden. And that her mother was a Queen from a far-away land who had to go away and let her be raised in secret and that’s why she was a ’Princess’.

Stupid bloody fairy-tales.

It didn’t really matter to her who her mother was; what mattered was how her dad was becoming such a git lately to the point she wished she did have someone else in the house to talk to. Why couldn’t she have had a brother or sister? Grandma lived too far away and was just as judgemental as Dad lately anyway. Her friends and Jake were all she really had in the world. The ones she could be herself around, be free to do what she want, to blow off steam and not give a toss about the aftermath. And all she needed was to get through school and then she and Jake could get their own place where her dad couldn’t stick his interfering nose where it didn’t belong.

She’s so wrapped up in her angst and her fantasy that she doesn’t notice the woman in the purple poncho until she practically walks straight into her.

"Oi! Watch where you’re going!" Sheridan snaps, adjusting her shoulder bag.

The older woman merely blinks at her.

"’Excuse me’ is what most grown ups say, young lady." She smiles and Sheri cringes a little; "I get the sense that you have rather a lot of growing up to do still."

"Get stuffed." She snarls, shoving past the woman again and spotting her friends by the cafe.

Why would she want to grow up? Adults were lame.