Leather Kisses

Leather Kisses. 20

At the crack of dawn, the persistent ring of my cell phone woke me up from my deep, peaceful sleep. My hand followed the noise until it clamped onto the rectangular object. The rest of my body remained perfectly still.

"Hullo?" I grumbled into the mouth piece, eyes still closed.

"Riley? Where the hell are you? Empty bed, no note, nothing!"

"Dad?" I shrieked as I jumped up from my sleeping position. The rapid speed caused me to black out for a moment or two.

"Do you have any idea what you've done? What we were going through? To find our own daughter missing? Your mother practically had a heart attack."

Throwing the blankets off of me, I was greeted by the chilling sensation of the winter weather. I curled my toes together, as I got up to close the living room curtains. The early morning sun hurt my sensitive eyes. Dean must have forgotten to call him; I guess he really did have other things on his mind.

"Did she call the police?"

"Well . . . no," my father admitted.

"Then obviously it didn't affect her that much," I mumbled with hostility, before retreating back to the warmth of the couch.

"That's not the point," my father hissed into the phone. "Tell me where you are. I'm coming to get you."

"No you're not," I demanded, as I dug my fingernails into my bare thigh. "I'm not coming home."

"Riley Madison Jennings, you most certainly are. I'm coming to get you, end of discussion."

"Then you're going to have to come to Canada," I heard my father make a sound out of distress and grief. "Kidding . . ."

"I'm not laughing, this is serious," he sighed. "Do you know what my first thought was when I saw your room empty and your window open? It wasn't that you had run away . . . I would have never expected you to leave like that. I thought it was Blake . . ." His voice trembled a bit at the end, which only made me feel more uncomfortable. I never really knew what to say in these situations; how to apologize, how to feel sympathy, how to comfort the person. No matter how hard I tried, it always came out wrong.

"But it wasn't," I murmured. "Dad, I'm fine, see?"

"That's not enough, Riley. Just please, let me take you home so I can stop worrying about you."

"You don't have to worry, Dad. I'm safe," I paused. He wasn't going to give up; he was too determined. "If I tell you where I am, will you promise to let me stay?"

He coughed. "I'll consider it."

"I'm staying at Dean's," I answered, as I held my breath for his reply.

He sure took his precious time. "Fine. You can stay, but only until Sunday. Make sure Dean brings your homework home today so you don't fall behind in school."

"Thank you," I replied graciously.

He kept the conversation going for a bit, asking pointless questions and drawing his own conclusions. I let him go on, because I knew it made him feel better. As I listened half-heartedly, I picked up the sticky note left on the coffee table: Riley, went to school. My mom is at work, but Alex is asleep. He won't bother you. I'll probably be home before he wakes. Make yourself some food and keep yourself entertained. Dean's sloppy, flawed handwriting was actually kind of refreshing and comforting.

"Well, I'm running late for work. I expect a call later," my father finally resigned.

"Okay."

"I love you," he murmured, almost pathetically.