Mined Games chapter 11

I started with my most commonly used tactic. “Oh, don’t you remember? You told me to close down the other day. You came home really drunk and mentioned that we should take some time off to get the customers excited for our grand return.” This had about a fifty percent chance of working. My dad liked to drink when he was gambling, and while he was never hostile when drunk, he WAS extremely lazy.

Sadly he wasn’t stupid, and this had come up before. He reached into a pocket and smilingly withdrew a notebook. “Nope. Nice try. But after the last one I started keeping a log of any business decisions I make when drunk.” His smile slipped. “It was that or lock myself up at home. I wasn’t going to risk another Hagfish incident.”

We both shuddered. I wasn’t the only person who he made stupid proclamations to when wasted. He’d actually mostly stopped doing it, but keeping track of slip ups was a good call. My nose twitched as I picked up the phantom smell of hagfish. I shook my head, forcing myself to move on.

Next attempt. “Fine, you caught me. I mentioned I was doing odd jobs and I got bored working here when I could be making money. I figured I’d pick up more hours and pay back the business directly, we barely make anything anyway.”

Money was my dad’s one weakness. He always wanted more of it, and I knew that he would let me off the hook for ignoring my duties if I paid him. To my shock though, he shook his head slowly. “No, Caleb. You didn’t. You haven’t been working. You’ve been training. Somehow. You’re doing something dangerous.” He pointed at my arms, where the silver veins were visible because I hadn’t expected him to be here.

I just shrugged. “That’s just normal results. I must be a late bloomer. Plus with the money from my new job I got a better formula.”

His eyes bored into mine, obsidian mirrors to my own pitch black irises. All the features that made me look sickly and weak make my old man look terrifying. His black hair curls like mine, but it’s longer and he keeps it in a ponytail, somehow coming off rakish, and his eyes are the same dark pits as my own, but rather than look like some kind of freak they make him seem intimidating and powerful.

I hated being on the receiving end of those eyes. That flat stare that I knew my own would never match. “Spatial crystal, judging by the color. But see, spatial crystal is HARDER to condense. You need more mana. Your sensitivity is basically nonexistent. So explain to me how the hell you’re coming up on the third circle in the span of weeks?”

I’d expected him to be mildly interested, maybe to bother me about the money I used, but to my shock, there’s none of that. He looks ANGRY. I can’t remember the last time I saw him angry. Not really. “I…I mean, it’s not a huge deal. I’m just really suited to this formula.”

He looked worried. Which was crazy. My dad didn’t worry about anything except how to scrounge up a couple more coins. He was absent to the point of neglect and didn’t seem to care overly much about me when he WAS around. Not that he’d always been like that, mind you.

When I was little, my dad was always around. This was back before mom died. In fact, we spent all our time together as a family, rarely even leaving the house. It was why we lived behind the shop, so he could make sales without having to be too far from us, though mom and I were never allowed to help out back then.. Dad and mom were stupid in love, and they both doted on me all the time. But after mom got sick and passed away. He withdrew from the house and from me, spending all his time out gambling.

I was around six and I basically raised myself, going over to Tara’s when I didn’t have any food in the house. Olivia was always happy to have me over. Even after they found out how low my sensitivity was. Part of me wondered if that was why he pulled away. We found out around that same time.

But I’d never seen him this upset. He looked like he wanted to punch something and I didn’t get why. All thoughts of diversion left my head, and I walked over to sit at the table. “Ok. What’s got you like this? I won’t lie anymore, though there’s some stuff I won’t tell you.”

If he was going to actually give a shit I could have an honest talk, up to a point, but I wasn’t telling him about the mining company. Frankly, I didn’t trust him. He was dumb with money and way too greedy. Just because he was my old man didn’t make him a saint, good childhood memories or not.

“Did you use any dangerous drugs to increase your condensation rate?” He asked bluntly. “Because I know your sensitivity. You shouldn’t be at second circle yet. You wouldn’t have gotten there in the next year. There are drugs that can boost your speed at the cost of damaging yourself. Is that what you’re using?”

And suddenly it all made sense. I hadn’t even considered what he would think about that, because it wasn’t the same situation, but it looked like one. Looked like I was using the same drugs that had killed my mother.

I didn’t know the specifics. I was too young at the time, but I knew my mom, Sophia was born with a similar problem to the one I had. She had nearly no sensitivity, and I don’t think any of us knew how much it bothered her until she tried to fix it.

Whatever she took burned her up from the inside out. It looked like a fever at first, but it got worse, and worse, until she cooked in her bed. There was nothing we could do to help her. Dad tried, he did everything he could, but no matter what he offered no doctors would ever come to look at her. No one would ever tell me why, I just assumed they didn’t want to be associated with someone who died of using illegal drugs.

I saw red. “Hey.” I said harshly. “Fuck you. You think you can come in here and ask me that? Accuse me of that shit after what you did? You don’t get to ignore me for twelve fucking years and then act like you give a shit.”

I was standing now, my chair on the ground behind me as I glared down at him. I expected sneering, or dismissal, but he just looked…sad. And old. And worn down. He couldn’t argue with me? Say he had his reasons? But no, he just sat there, looking at me like I was breaking his heart, and it made me want to fucking punch him.

“Sorry.” He said hoarsely. “You’re right. You wouldn’t. Just…don’t do anything stupid? There are worse things than being weak. I know it doesn’t feel like that, but there are. Our life isn’t as bad as you think it is, not compared to how it could be.”

My snort was so full of disdain he actually flinched. “Oh sure. The man who gets to come and go as he pleases, who gets treated like a fucking human being by most people, doesn’t think our life is so bad. Guess I was just overreacting. Why act like you give a shit now? You haven’t bothered with me since mom died other than casual conversation, no reason to act like a parent after all this time. Stick to your skillset.”

He looked more hurt by that than I’d expected. We avoided this topic, and had for years. We pretended nothing was wrong, because there was no reason to pick at the scab, but he’d pissed me off, and I didn’t feel like pulling my punches. And if it hurt him…good. He deserved it.

Swallowing hard, he sighed. “I know I can’t say anything to make you feel better. I’ve never been able to, and I won’t bother trying. But the things I do, I do for you. Even if it doesn’t feel like it.”

I shot him an incredulous look. As if I didn’t know what he did with his days. As if everyone didn’t. The drunken degenerate who wasted his life on cards and wine. He’d never tried to defend it before, much less blame it on me.

“You know what.” I said harshly. “I don’t give a shit. The shop will stay closed, because I’m not opening it again. You want someone to work it you hire somebody, I’ve got better things to do. Not everyone is ok with wasting their whole life. Or better yet, do it your fucking self.”

I spun and stormed out of the room, and he didn’t stop me. He didn’t glare, or sneer, or any of that. He just gave me that same sad, apologetic look, and it made me sick. I stormed upstairs and into my room above the store.

Of all the things I expected from him, this wasn’t one of them. Why now? Why try to explain after all this time. Try to make excuses. He never had before. Was me making progress really that terrifying? Did he really even care about me using condensation drugs? If I died the same way mom did?

Mom. I hadn’t thought of her in a long time. I tried not to. It hurt too much. She was the most beautiful person I’d ever known. Kind and sweet and warm. She could put a smile on anyone’s face. I never understood what pushed her to do it. To try to get stronger so suddenly. Was our life not good enough? We were all happy for such a long time. Then it all fell apart so fast.

My sensitivity being low, my mother dying, my dad leaving me alone. The hatred, the disgust, sometimes too much for such a simple thing as weakness. People hated what I stood for. What they used to be. Back when the elves were our masters. Thinking about all this wasn’t helping me. Some of it still confused me, but dwelling never helped anyone.

Focusing on the door of my closet I connected it to the mining company and strode through. I needed to work, to hit some rocks with a pickaxe and maybe condense some mana. To hell with him. I’d quit my job so I could do what I wanted, and once I was stronger I’d be able to buy myself a new place, away from his bullshit.

Heading down to the second floor, I picked up the pickaxe and set to work, allowing the mechanical smash and pull of the pick to soothe my nerves and douse my anger. Physical work helped, made me feel more centered. Something for my hands to do while my mind turned itself off.

If I wanted to move, which I did, it would be even more money, I was already going to be falling behind paying for mana stones and crystals, I couldn’t afford to add more debts on top of that. But I couldn’t stay. Not after that. Not after he accused me of doing something he knew I’d never do.

As I finished the first of the silver stones I looked back at the elevator, focusing on the sign beside it. I knew at least one way to make more money. All I needed to do was work harder, was to focus more. Once I reached the third floor I’d have more options, and that was what was really important. Well then. A hundred gold wasn’t a small amount. Better keep at it.