Mr. Halloway's Pet

Chapter Fourteen

The next morning:

Waking up in a different room isn't as odd as I thought it'd be. The openness makes me feel less like a rat in a cave and more like an actual human waking from their slumber.

I'm grateful dad had brought all my belongings here so I didn't have to worry about it, but it does feel like something is missing.

All the balloons and flowers sit on top of the night stand beside me, along with my glasses and contacts that won't be reusable.

Though my mind still reels at the events of the past few weeks, it's easier to come to terms with the fact that this is my reality.

Instead of feeling out of place in my own life, I now feel a bit more sturdy and ready to piece it back together.

No more sitting about uselessly and feeling sorry for myself. Self pity is not my forte. Though it was a phase of recovery I do feel I needed, I'm glad I've clawed my way out of it.

The time spent in the hospital was good for both physical healing, and mental acceptance.

I do feel the loss of my friends knowing they're now an hour away from me in a whole different town, but they'd never let me forget about them even if their lives depended on it. Upon opening my phone I'm not surprised by the 20 messages from the both of them.

It's only 11AM.

However, once I catch sight of what their messages are about, I feel overjoyed.

"Halloways a mess, man. Looks like a zombie"
-Drea

"He hasn't brushed his hair for a week. He needs an intervention"
-David

With all their messages explaining some variation of Mr. Halloways misery, I smile. I hope he's going through hell. I hope he feels the guilt.

Fuck wishing him the best, he wronged me in more ways than one.

"Good. Give him hell."
-Paige's iPhone

With that as my only response, I set my phone aside and stretch my sore muscles. I wince, both at the thought of Halloway and the tiny pinch of pain at my sudden movement. The stiffness in my muscles leave a burning sensation that I temporarily revel in.

The bruises feel a lot better today, as predicted by Dr. Hactor. Hopefully they're well enough for me to see Drea and David at Joe's today.

I yawn, standing on my jelly feet. It's just temporary, though. The more I walk, the easier it gets.

My eyes observe a large window with a desk and comfortable looking chair sitting right in front, overlooking farmland. The walls of the spacious room are white and hold no decor, adding to the vacant feel. The bedding is also bland, just a gray color, and the nightstand has a clock but that's about it.

The room is lifeless, and I hope I can decorate it to my liking.

I'd like to find a place of my own, but I have no job. Mom was insistent on me not working, another thing I didn't understand and still somewhat don't. I'm not sure if she wanted me to be dependent or if she just respected my wishes of wanting to be a lazy teen with no interest in in finding a job.

A knock interrupts my observation. Dad makes his appearance, peeking his head through the already-opened door, "Hey, sweetheart."

His easy-going voice eases my stress, and I realize how much comfort he brings me despite us being apart the past year.

It's been natural rekindling our paused relationship. He's always been my hero, and when that image of him was shattered, I didn't think the pieces would ever be put back together. But here I am, in the safety of the home my mother and I forced him into.