Shift OR Drift

Killian

It has been one week since Amberly's mother decided to do a pop-in. No one got an answer from Lexy about why she let the brunette woman who resembles Amberly almost flawlessly into the house. The only true difference my eyes could pull out between the two is Amberly happens to be younger and hotter. Way hotter. Me on the other hand, I have spent the whole week at Amberly's. Thursday night, I managed to convince her to go on a little movie night date with me. It took a lot more convincing than my mind had anticipated. She seemed nervous about the idea when it was first brought up. As if she fears the word date. Lexy and AJ have been walked in on about twenty times now. Royce comes and goes but is mostly the only one sleeping in the new apartment we ended up with. It feels like we rented a three-bedroom, two-bathroom house for one person to stay in. Not that Royce seems to mind all the freedom he has gained.

There has been no word from my mother and father. Not to Royce and especially not to me. They are no one knows where and most likely enjoying their, three months make up right before mother bounces back into the arms of a complete stranger. I gave up trying to keep up with the idea. However, despite my vastly growing hatred for my father, there are certain issues rising in the thick air between us. All week, I have been waiting for him to show up again. Waiting for him to state he hates me and tell Amberly all about the sickening truth. He has not shown. He has not even called me. Royce got the short end of the stick and our beloved father cut him off too. No calls. No cash flow. Nothing. It is as if we are ghosts to him. No longer in existence. I do not mind for even half of a second. I am better off without him in my life although, it causes fear to prickle at the back of my skull. Anticipating his next move. There is one thing he could rip from my grasps that he knows I care about. One thing he has told me to stay away from the start and I never listened. I got one taste of her, and it created a complication. I tried to take away his world, why would he not try to take mine?

Even though he is my father, he is still a revengeful fuck of a man. It is how he became powerful, and quickly. He used his anger and his allies to pull off his revenge strings. There was no such thing as being the poor father with a runaway baby momma anymore. There was no man who carried his feelings on his sleeve. Instead, he shoved them in a bottle and sealed the bottle with a cork and fire. Never letting anything out again. Which is why I bought New Jersey tickets. My father does not deserve my forgiveness. Hell, he does not deserve me ever talking to him again but, I have to do this. For the future of Amberly and I, if there is one, I have to make things right.

Discussing with my father seems like the right way to do it rather than telling Amberly the truth. Royce was right. It did not dawn on me until the way she threw her mom out and what she told me about her. It became clear Amberly blames her mother for the death of Cory; however, the culprit is across the country. The man who could ruin the bond between Amberly and I, is sitting in a penthouse in New Jersey sipping on his whiskey neat, as my mother accompanies him. It was clear, if I told Amberly the truth, I would lose her forever. Right thing be damned. She cannot know. She can never know. This will have to be a secret buried with my family forever. A secret only going through it. My father may not be the correct person to go through it with, however, what other choice is there? Royce was right, she will hate me forever.

Amberly taps my arm bringing me back to earth and gets me out of my head. I give her a half-hearted smile as she lays against my chest with her laptop on her lap. She only has one earbud in as she taps on my arm to the beat she is creating. A new little habit which has started since she began working on songs in front of me. Instead of doing the taps on a notebook with a pencil, she began to tap on my skin. It sends a pulse through me with every tap as her thumb or index finger connects with my skin. The song she is working on was the last song she needs to submit. The last song she has been struggling with. When I asked her about it, she said, the lyrics are all sorts of messed up. The singer goes from fast to slow to medium speed. There is no steady. No particular parts of the song are consistent. It is simply all over the place. No wonder, the producers need an editor. They seem to not be doing very well at their own job. She has shown me some before and after. Every time I tell her she needs to start creating her own music, she laughs. She has shown me one or two of her own but, no more. Her cheeks always turn a small blush color pink when I ask her if she will let me listen to them again. She would never admit it, but there was a certain way about her own music which connected with me.