“I’m not letting you leave this house.”
My dad’s words are final, and I know that there’s no getting around them. He doesn’t want me leaving this house tonight, and I know that there’s no way I can get out. Dad always gets his way, and when he doesn’t, all hell breaks loose.
“And why can’t she leave the house?” Mom asks from the living room couch. “Is there a serial killer out? Is there a wild pack of wolves scouring the city for its next victim?” She snaps her fingers. “I got it – you just don’t want her to go and meet up with Dakoda.”
“Shut the hell up, Caroline,” Dad snaps at Mom, “this isn’t any of your business.”
“Actually, John,” Mom says, fighting back, “this is my business. Presley is both mine and your daughter, therefore I have a say in where she can go and who she can meet up with.”
“Exactly,” Dad shouts. “So why are you letting her go see that delinquent, Dakoda?”
Mom doesn’t even look away from the TV. “Why do you think Dakoda is such a delinquent anyway? It’s not like he breaks into businesses or anything of that sort. He’s a nice young man.”
“Caroline,” he seethes, “the boy has tattoos and piercings. Like hell, he dyed his hair red.” Dad throws his hands up in the air. “If that doesn’t spell delinquent, then I have no idea what does.”
“John,” Mom says calmly, still watching her home designing program, “if I remember correctly, you have a tattoo also. Just because this young man has a couple more than you do doesn’t make him terrible.”
Despite the fact that my dad is ragging on Dakoda, I don’t jump to his rescue or anything. Mom seems to have it under control. And that’s the part that I don’t understand. Why is Mom defending Dakoda? It’s not that she hates him or anything, but it’s not like she’s approved of him either.
“I repeat,” Dad says, slamming his hands down onto the kitchen counter, “the boy dyed his hair red.”
This time, Mom looks up at him. “I still don’t see the issue.”
“Goddammit, woman!” Dad hollers at Mom, jumping up from his seat causing the chair to fall backward. “What the hell is your problem? Do you not see why he’s a bad influence on Presley?”
It’s kind of hilarious yet pathetic how my parents are blatantly arguing with me standing in the doorway. It’s not like they try to hide the fact that they absolutely despite each other. That’s the other pathetic thing. They don’t care about my feelings. If they did, then they’d try to hide their feelings for each other more than they do. I feel awkward just standing there, but I don’t move. I can’t.
Mom scoffs, walking up the mini stairs and into the kitchen. “What’s my problem? What’s your problem? It’s not like you’ve ever tried to act like a fatherly figure to Presley before! Why start now?”
“I could say the same to you, bitch,” Dad growls at Mom.
After what he called Mom, I can’t just stand by and watch the fight take its toll. I can’t watch my family fall apart the way it is. I can’t.
“Dad! How could you call Mom that?” I question, walking toward the both of them who are now in front of each other, sizing one another up. It’s looks stupid since Dad is a good four inches taller than Mom even with her heels on.
YOU ARE READING
Dead Hearts
Teen Fiction"Even though his family is broken just like mine, he won’t understand what I did. If I tell him what I did, he’ll think I’m just like the rest of them – fake. But then again, maybe I am just like them." Presley Adams' doesn't know what to do with he...
