Not His Girl

Broken Bones Are A Bitch

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Excuse the mistakes

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Soggy cereal is the worst.

I sat at the kitchen table, staring at the bowl in front of me. The milk is tinted blue thanks for the food coloring laced through the Froot Loops, and I’ve been dragging around the ten or so pieces of cereal around with my spoon. They were soaked with milk to the point of breaking apart, and in the back of my mind, I knew this was a message for me to get my shit together and get to school.

However, I was dawdling. I was nervous about going to school today because it was the first day back since what happened with Duke and Gretchen in the basement. Yeah, I wasn’t too keen on seeing Duke, but I was also anxious to see if Gretchen had told anyone.

When I had gotten home Saturday morning, after sleeping over at Olive’s Friday night, Duke was nowhere to be found. According to my mom, who knew nothing of what happened, he claimed that the football team was doing some team-bonding weekend. I didn’t tell my mom what had happened because I was honestly unsure of what she would do to Duke if she found out.

So, I’d had the house to myself for the weekend, which had been both nice and terrible. It was nice because I didn’t have to worry about running into him in my own house, but at the same time, I was alone. I had to stew with my own thoughts, which was almost torture. Sure, Olive and Lillian had popped by yesterday, and my parents were around, but it wasn’t the same.

I kept going over and over what had happened in my head, and I was almost arguing with myself. Part of me wishes that I had stayed behind after finding Duke and Gretchen and listened to what he had to say. If I had been patient, perhaps things would’ve turned out differently.

However, the major part of me sided with the decision to leave. I’m sure others who had been in my position would’ve stayed and listened, but I had been so angry. Looking at Duke filled me with fire, and staying wouldn’t have helped. My guess is that I would’ve exploded and been completely irrational, and his words would go in one ear and out the other.

For me, leaving was the best option I saw at the time. I was hurt and angry and didn’t want to be around the person I blamed for it. Did that make me a coward? Maybe.

And thus, the mental dispute began again.

“Harper?”

I looked up to see my dad in the doorway of the kitchen, squinting at me. He was wearing his favorite pair of polar bear pajama pants and his lucky Ohio State t-shirt, and he looked like he’d just woken up.

“Hi Dad,” I said, waving once.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, foregoing a greeting.

“I…” my voice trailed off as I glanced at the clock on the wall, and I swore as I realized that I was now running late. “I am just leaving!” I declared hurriedly, and I grabbed my backpack from the floor.

I picked up my cereal and dumped it in the kitchen sink, and then I flew out of the kitchen, barely stopping to give my dad a one-arm hug. I snatched my car keys off of the hook in the front hall, and I ran out to my car.