Pretty When You Cry ୨୧ Rafe Cameron

four

A week passed, it was another friday, which meant another party at the boneyard. Usually the Chateau was the pregame house for these occasions, but today they all just decided to meet when they got there, so it was just Isla and John B.

Isla couldn't find an old shirt she loved, a flowy long sleeve white crop top with a low laced neck. She searched the house high and low, finally she decided to check the one room she never entered, her dad's office. She recalled that sometimes he used to fold up laundry in there.

She entered the room, the door creaking. It even smelled like her dad's cologne. It was like walking into a memory.

Isla had a complicated relationship with her father, which only got more complex when he disappeared. She always thought he loved John B more, she never had a doubt in her mind.

Isla was a trouble maker, she'd admit it. She was always out with the Pogues at a party or even just hanging out, but when she came home she always stunk of booze or weed, or a mix. She had gotten close to getting arrested a couple times for miscellaneous things, what she called 'adventures'.

John B did the same, but he never got told off about it. When he had a girl stay the night, Big John would say 'Atta Boy'. When she even spoke of a boy, he yelled at her.

As a kid, he never listened to her. Isla was a really emotionally deep kid, but he didn't hear it. He just worked in his office, bringing in no money, searching for treasure.

So, Isla blamed him for his disappearance. He was chasing miracles. John B called him a dreamer, but Isla just thought he was an idiot.

She took one step into the office before John B came up behind her.

'What are you doing?' he asked.

'Looking for a shirt.'

'We don't go in there, remember? Dad always told us that.'

'What's he gonna do? Come up from the grave and yell at me?'

'Isla!' John B raised his voice.

'What, John B? Literally, what? He used to do laundry in here, I'm just checking. Relax,' she explained.

'He's not dead Isla.'

'He is dead, you just don't wanna believe it.'

'Why'd you give up on him, huh? He told us this could happen!' John B yelled.

'He told you this could happen! He never even fucking talked to me John B! And sorry, but I'm just being realistic. He's dead,' Isla quivered.

'You don't even love him do you?'

'Love and like are two different things John B. He didn't like me either.'

'You were always a shit daughter, you know that?'

Isla's eyes filled with tears. Her own brother was supposed to be on her side. They were going through the same thing in different ways. She wished he could understand.

She looked at the laundry basket on the floor, there and behold- her shirt was there after all. She grabbed it and slammed the door behind her. She headed into her room for a second, then came out with the shirt on and grabbed the keys off the table.

'Stay home,' she harshly demanded, heading out the front door and pulling the door closed quickly behind her.

The drive to the Boneyard was quiet. John B had officially ruined her mood, now she was spiralling. She hated herself for hating her dad. She really did. She just couldn't help but think he wasn't a proper father, not to her anyways. She remembered being a kid and praying to god that her mother would show up. She wanted a mom, a woman in the house that understood her. Instead she was stuck with two boys. Even though her dad was a grown man, he was a boy. He didn't look out for her. She basically raised herself.