Once His [ON BREAK]

Six

hey guys! first a/n before a chapter in a while haha! i just wanna say that thank you for all the support in this story, BUT, i would just love if i would hit at least 30 reads on chapter four? that chapter isn't going so great bc it was published at an odd time! well, without further a due, heres chapter six! love you all!

(btw I put Bryce up as the pic on the side! hope you like hehe ;)
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Doesn't it stink when you're having an amazing dream, then a ring of an alarm clock and a screech from your dad interrupts it? Well, so do I.

But that didn't happen today. What did happen was a nightmare and the consoling words of my father and tears shed by myself. The nightmare had consisted of my brother- of course- and my mother. Both were sitting in our living room, and my father and I had seemed to be out. They were talking, when suddenly my mother had gotten a phone call, apologized to my brother, ran out of the house, and into the car parked in the driveway. My brother had seemed confused.

Finally, after what had seemed like hours in my dreamy mind, there was a scream and the sound of screeching wheels. My mind focussed on my brother, who rushed from my house to see our mother's car flipped over, her dead body lying in the passenger seat. Her blood stained the seats and the glass was shattered on the front window. My nightmare had stopped there.

He had told me she had died in a car crash. I hoped it was true.

I decided not to tell my dad about my dream, but he seemed to have already found out it was about Jacob. He had known by now that each and every tear I shed that was going down my cheek because of that boy. Every scream and yell was directed to him, wherever he was. Every whisper of hate was to him. It all was.

"Sweetie, you have school today." my father informs me, and I groan. I had to go to school , but the snow and cold forced me into the tone of hibernation in my comforter and a Netflix marathon in bed. With a shake of my head and a sympathetic look to my aged father, I finally got up from bed and to my closet.

As I approached the creaky doors, I heard the soft shut of my bedroom door as my father left. I smiled, then turned my attention back to the wooden doors. Opening the old closet up, I pick out a regular outfit: leggings and a band t-shirt. After getting changed, brushing my messy dark curls back into a braid, and stuffing a mint into my mouth, I head downstairs to eat breakfast with my father. We take our time as we eat and talk over breakfast: a meal or microwavable pancakes and syrup.

My father was always in a rush for work or for the train to the city, but today he was a bit more laid back and relaxed, and I worried something was up, so I went to my "go-to" question.

"How's work, dad?" I questioned him, stabbing my fork into my pancake, the syrup oozing off the top of it. I smiled up at him, and he gave me a shaky smile in return. Crumpling up his paper into its neat folds, he closed his eyes and rubbed at his temples with nervousness. After opening his eyes again, I saw in the bright green that something really was up.

"Casey," he begins, then takes my free hand from across the table, "I was let go." he says to me, his eyes burning a hole into my forehead. I crinkle up my nose and gasp, softly taking my hand away from his.

"Why?" I ask, pushing my plate away from me and getting up to throw it into the sink, but my father stops me with a hand around my waist.

"Sit." he orders, and I do. He looks across the table at me with worried eyes, and then lets go of all of it: "Because I asked to be let go." he says to me, his brows crinkled. I take a gulp of breath: my father loved his job, why would he ask to get fired?