Why Do You Care About Me? - A Reese Wilkerson Fanfiction

7

As usual, I was alone in my room, playing solitaire on the floor with music playing from my stereo. I decided for the Smiths today, they perfectly matched my depressed mood. Suddenly the door slammed open.

"Get out. Me and Robin are in here now." Kaiya barked at me, a short mousey girl cowering behind her.

"No. Fuck off." She was only this horrible to me around her friends, and it definitely didn't make me any nicer. I didn't even care what her friend thought of me today.

"I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT." Kaiya screeched. I couldn't deal with this shit. I was winning at solitaire, but it didn't matter. I swiped my hand at the cards, making them fly everywhere. I got up and turned of my stereo and left the room, making sure to shove into Kaiya with my shoulder, and she kicked me as I walked away.

"Fuck off Kaiya, you've got your shitty room for you and your friend." I hissed. I threw myself onto the sofa. Caleb was right. Everything was so depressing these days. As if I hadn't figured that out already.

I got excited for a moment, thinking that either Zoe or Emma would go out with me, just to get disappointed, yet again. Why would the answer be any different today?

I wearily got up from the sofa, shoved on Caleb's old trainers which were now mine. I took the key to the garage, from where it was hidden in the kitchen drawer, and went outside to open the garage. 

I fumbled with the key to the little side door. It swung open. The air inside was hot and stuffy since we never went in here anymore. This used to be dad's little hideout. I missed him so much. There was an old sofa at the far wall, a record player and a lamp on the table next to it, a musty old TV and DVD player,  a workbench on the other wall, a bookshelf, a beat up acoustic guitar, even an old mini-fridge, and a fancy poker table. Dad loved poker. He had around 10 different card decks, and hundreds of fancy poker chips. He taught me and all my siblings how to play once and I loved it, but none of my siblings had the attention span to play it, even Caleb. I wanted someone that could do things like that with me.

 I took a black dusty box from the bottom of the bookshelf and sat down on the old yellow sofa and watched all the dust particles fly up. I carefully opened the box.

 It was full to the brim with photos of dad from when he was a boy all the way to his twenties. Him in the Military, school, just having fun with friends and siblings. I sometimes looked through these photos, and always ended up crying. I missed him a lot. It's not like he was a really good dad anyway. But he was my dad. And he wasn't here.

I took the photo from the top of the pile. There he was, holding a beer and standing next to his friend. His face smiled up at me from the photo. Those brown eyes, eyebrows, that smile, were all just like mine. 

 A while back I started making a pile of photos that I wanted to show him or ask him about. I didn't know anymore if I ever would.