"Are you sure you don't want a ride home?" Maud asks for what feels like the hundredth time. I shake my head, trying to mask my irritation. "No, really, I'm fine. Thanks anyway," I reply softly, though my frustration is barely contained.
"But dusk is only half an hour away, and we're passing by your house anyway!" she insists, her voice rising slightly with concern.
"My father will take me home once he's done with whatever he's doing," I respond tersely, barely able to hide the edge in my voice. Maud sighs deeply and shrugs.
"Okay, as you wish," she says, resignation lacing her tone. I nod in acknowledgment. "Thanks. I'll see you on Tuesday at practice!" I call after her, trying to sound upbeat despite the gnawing unease in my chest. She gives me a thumbs-up before sliding into her car and driving off with her parents. I can't help but wonder what they think—probably that I have terrible parents or something. But it's not that bad, is it? My father's just going through a rough patch.
Moments later, Noah emerges from the clubhouse. His face is flushed and his eyes are rimmed with red, as though he's been crying—or worse. His shoulders are hunched, and he scans the area with an anxious, hunted look. "What are you still doing here so late?" I ask, trying to sound casual but failing to hide my concern.
"I should be asking you the same thing," he retorts, his voice trembling with something that feels like panic. He makes his way to his bike, fumbling with the lock in an increasingly frantic manner. His frustration is palpable, each movement more aggressive than the last. He seems desperate, almost like he's trying to escape something.
"Hey, what's wrong with you? Did they kick you off the soccer team or something?" I guess it must be because of some trouble he's gotten into—maybe alcohol or drugs.
"What? No!" he snaps, his voice rising in a raw shout. "Nothing, okay! Absolutely nothing!" His words ricochet off the empty soccer field, echoing in the stillness. The lock falls from his hands with a clatter, the sound sharp and jarring.
"Do you need help?" I offer, my voice soft but insistent. Noah nods, running a shaky hand through his hair as he stares blankly at the clubhouse entrance. I step forward, my fingers deftly working on the stubborn, rusted lock.
"Come on, hurry up!" he hisses, his tone laced with a frantic urgency.
"Yes, I'm working on it! Calm down!" I snap back, frustration creeping into my voice.
"Shhh! Keep it down!" he hisses fiercely, his eyes flashing with anger as he glances over his shoulder. I turn to see my father approaching the field, his figure emerging from the shadows of the clubhouse. The stark contrast of the dim light and his imposing silhouette makes his presence even more menacing.
As my father steps into view, a cold shiver runs down my spine. His face is set in a grim, unyielding mask, and the tension in the air is palpable. Noah's face pales, and his eyes widen with a flicker of fear. I catch the brief, terrified look Noah gives my father before quickly turning away, his movements jerky and uneasy.
"Come on, Lola, we're going home," my father commands, his voice harsh and devoid of warmth. The finality in his tone makes it clear that there will be no arguments.
"Okay, I'm coming. I'm just helping Noah with his lock," I reply, still grappling with the rusted mechanism. The lock seems to be mocking me, its rusted teeth grinding in protest.
"Lola, now," my father insists, his voice cutting through the tense silence with an edge of menace. I look up, confusion and dread mingling in my gut. What is his problem? His zipper is even undone, a detail that seems strangely symbolic.
I glance back at Noah, who gives me a curt nod, his expression unreadable but tinged with a grudging resignation. "Just go," he says tersely, his voice barely above a whisper.
It feels like the walls are closing in, the atmosphere heavy with a sense of dread. "Okay, bye then," I say, my voice clipped. Noah ignores me completely, turning his attention back to the lock with a defeated slump of his shoulders.
I sigh deeply and walk over to my father, who wraps an arm around me with a grip that feels more like a shackle than a gesture of comfort.
Now that I know what's going on, everything falls into place. My father is a dirty scumbag, and I'm paying the price for his filthy actions.
YOU ARE READING
The Masked Killer - A.T Ben Saad || English
Mystery / ThrillerThe FiveFellas had purchased a shared house where they could easily and quickly record YouTube videos. The move went smoothly, and the atmosphere was good. Everything went as planned; there were cozy Friday afternoon drinks, football evenings, parti...
