Disclaimer: I own nothing from The Deprted.

Mom never liked to talk about who my father was. She never mentioned a name, not even a picture. It was just one of those subjects we don't talk about. Even at 17 years old, I couldn't even lead you on to who my father might be. And yet, I'm pretty okay with it. I guess I'm just like all the other kids in this city. Single mother, no father. No one says anything, and we don't tell. An unnspoken agreement with us and the rest of the world.

I sometimes sit up and try and imagine what sort of guy he could be. Was he gorgeous? Did he and Mom fall madly in love, but it was an affair that wasn't allowed? Was he just a one night stand? Is he even alive? Or is he dead?

I would ask these questions everyday, and completely rack my brain trying to come up with a plausible conclusion.

And you know what? I've got nothing.

But I guess I've got one thing to go on, she always talks about a former patient of hers from before I was born. She says how he had this rough exterior, but inside, he was completely different. He wasn't this evil person society was making him out to be. He was something much more vulnerable, aggervating, stubborn, misunderstood, sweet, and perfect.

I never ask his name.

I know she loved this guy, whoever he was. Guess it wasn't meant to be.

Guess I wasn't supposed to know him.