Bluff.

Chapter 4.

                   Questions are asked by the police both at the scene and in the station, and I answer them, just I have before. I used my phone call to say the words "I am at the police station". I explain my "witness account" several times; I went up to the car, going to tell the woman about her son, Carlos, making me feel like something. Not something special. But the kid made me feel something. I also state that I never got the chance. She yelled at me, and slammed the door when I tried to open it, so I walked away. She pulled the trigger when my back was turned, so technically I didn't witness the suicide, in my mind. The cops, however, didn't see it that way – since I heard the gunshot, I must have known that she was dead; and if so why did I not call 911. I argued that since the cops heard the gunshot, or someone would have reported it a block or two away, they would get to the scene faster than it would take for me to describe.

They did not like that response. Mainly because it made sense.

Dad was annoyed that I had got involved at all. An argument started.

"How was I supposed to know she'd off herself?"

"Of course you couldn't have, but that doesn't mean you get involved in her personal life!"

"So I wasn't supposed to tell her that her kid was a gift to the world?"

"That wasn't what I said. I am just mad because you felt the need to get involved in that poor lady's life, even though you knew she was fragile. You lied to the cops. The moment you turned your back on her, you knew she was going to commit suicide."

"You're just mad because death keeps happening when I come near."

The rest of the drive was silent. My father tried giving me dinner (Spaghetti and Meatballs) but, even though I love that meal, I was still mad so I turned it down. He left it outside my door. He forgot about it when he was going to bed, so he stood in it and swore through the door. I had to take a minute under the covers, shaking because I was laughing so hard. Fighting for breath, I threw the cover off my head and, when I had settled myself and regulated my breathing, saw something odd pop up on my laptop screen. I had gotten a Twitter notification.

For those of you not aware how Twitter works (why not?), a Notification is where someone has agreed to follow your profile (It's not creepy, I swear), given your tweet a star or basically copied it (Retweet). The only notifications I get are when, for some unknown reason, I get a follower. Within a short amount of time, maximum a week, I lose said follower. I have 64 constant followers, most are ones I got on my first day who never bothered to unfollow me. Only one person follows me that I care about – my mother.

I created my mother's account because she wanted to see "what lies the government are telling us". In the end she only followed Obama, although she followed a lot of male reality TV show stars. I once joked that she had followed every cute famous guy that had taken off his shirt. She responded with "I also follow the ones who I hope take their shirts off soon".

Eventually, she unfollowed Obama.

The notification was, once again, a follow. I glanced at the name, expecting it to be an Arab name I wouldn't be able to read, let alone pronounce, but it wasn't. "@AUland". I, expecting it to be a football team or something, or maybe stand for Australia, wondered why the user followed me, I had nothing in common with either topic. So I clicked on the little icon that was his profile picture. In that instant, if I had been holding something, I would have dropped it. Instead, I just stared.

AU stood for Arian Underwood.

My first thought was to tell someone. I ran out of the room, down the stairs and into the kitchen, realised it was ultra late and turned around. It was only then I remembered Mom was dead; I wouldn't be able to talk to her about boys. For a brief moment, I considered my father, and then chuckled because that wasn't an option in so many ways. I plodded back up the stairs, smiling a little, and walked into my room. The heel of my right foot landed straight into a meatball, and I groaned softly. It was loud enough though, loud enough for my father to hear and I heard him gasping for air as he laughed.

Life Lesson: No matter how hard you glare, sometimes the door will still laugh.

The next morning, I woke up late, and when I did come down there were pancakes on the table. Dad smiled at me, instinct resulted in a puzzled look, to which I received no reply, only that weirdly warm smile. I ate in silence. He sat down, looked me in the eye, and said words that you learn to fear when you hear them as often I do.

"I have something to tell you."

I calmly placed my pancake on the plate, folded my arms and waited. It seemed to be very difficult for him to say – whatever it was, he was very nervous about it. He wiped his brow, stood up, threw the coffee out and filled a new cup with water. He drank it all in one go, and then looked over his shoulder at me. His brain reached the "whatever" part of panic where you just accept that shit might go down and he opened his mouth to speak. The words he used are the last ones I ever expected him to say.

"Jordan, I am gay."

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How will Jordan react? What about what is happening with Arian?

What do you think should happen? Comment Below! If you enjoyed this chapter, give it a vote please <3 to those of you who have voted for a previous chapter (or maybe the whole book), than I thank you! You make me want to continue writing.

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