c l o n e s
found it in one of his room searches.
"One day, you'll have children too," I heard him say through the haze of pain, as I cowered against the wall, "and I hope they are as much a disappointment to you."
And it got worse.
"You're joining the Navy?" I asked.
"Already signed up," I noticed he was only packing the clothes he'd bought with his own money from the gas station.
"I'm gonna be a nuke, work in a submarine."
"Why did you do that?"
"Why do you think? To get away from you. It's the fastest way to get out on my own."
"You're not doing this," I said sternly. "This was not what I wanted for you."
"Really," he said contemptuously. "What exactly was that?"
"I want you to be better than me," I said.
"I am better than you," he said, still packing, "I'm smarter than you, stronger than you, and I am already more successful than you. I have a job, a car, a girlfriend—―"
"You have a girlfriend?"
"I have a career planned out. I am so far above you it's not even funny," he shook his head in disgust.
"I had a plan for you too," I sacrificed–"
"You planned out my life all right. It was going to be exactly like yours."
"I think I have that right," I argued. "After all the sacrifices I made. I have a say in this."
"You don't own me," he retorted.
"It cost me over half a million dollars to bring you into adulthood."
"You don‘t own me."
I raised my hand to strike him, but he stepped forward, fists tight, swelling his chest, locking eyes with me, "I dare you old man. You know damn well I could lay you out easy."
I lowered my hand.
He shook his head, the way my father used to do, and I felt that same rush of shame, "Why the hell did you create a copy of yourself if you hate yourself so much?"
I blinked, Hate myself?
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