Ever After

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This chapter is in Mark's perspective.

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I still had the image of him on my mind, the fact that we'd kissed in his backyard a total of (now) two hours ago having no affect on how fresh the memory was. It was like a wound that wouldn't heal, a stain that wouldn't remove; it was as if I'd gotten a tattoo of him on my very face, seeing his eyes staring back at me every time I tried at looking in the mirror.

He was the only person (or thing, rather) keeping my mind off of what was going on inside of the apartment. My father and brother had exchanged a very small amount of words since my entrance, none of which had been directed towards me - no matter how awkward, however, I couldn't help but be appreciative of the fact that my brother had told my father the news before I came home, for I wouldn't have wished my father's wrath on my own worst enemy.

This way was much better - for me, at least. My father would've received time to cool down, thus giving him longer time than usual to think to himself before approaching me, suggesting that we may have to have a "talk."

But there wasn't much to talk about, really; other than the fact that I'd spent the entire school year (thus far) stealing a pair of sneakers, planning on how to get revenge on my new enemies, and (now) losing my job because of it all. I didn't know whether I would exchange all of the days off for days of labour - if I hadn't taken time off, Jack and I wouldn't have gone downtown, nor would we have pulled off such an extravagant sleepover... of course, I did have to rush out of the house early in the morning, but it seemed the only way to make up for having missed the previous day's work.

I couldn't depict how I would go about the situation, although I'd been given more than enough time to plan out what I was going to say. My father and brother had been keeping themselves busy in the bedroom, leaving me to watch reruns of Family Feud with a depressed expression, wishing that our family feud involved the fight for twenty thousand dollars.

As I concluded my third episode in a row with a sip of Coke (which Jack had given me on my way out the door), I heard the doorknob turn, followed by the sight of my father and brother finally emerging from the cavern they'd been attempting at hiding themselves in, as if I couldn't hear them debating on whether or not I should be grounded until I moved out. It wasn't too difficult to ignore, for I'd gotten accustomed to their voices, voices manly and deep like radio announcers', mine sounding like a mouse squeaking - they were voices that weren't easy to reject listening to, unlike mine, which barely made any noise at all.

"Mark," my father said, clearly struggling with containing his anger, "would you like to talk?"

I nodded, the question seemingly stupid, for I didn't have a choice in the matter. It didn't matter what I said - either way, my father would end up giving me a lecture of at least two thousand words, a lecture that I most definitely wasn't in the mood for.

He took a seat beside me on the sofa, my brother squeezing in to my opposing side - I tried not to get my hopes up on whether or not my brother had mentioned Jack. I couldn't quite tell whether I wanted him to have done so already or not. If he had already told my father, he was taking it extremely well - if he hadn't, then I wasn't in the clear yet.

"I don't want to have to dance around the subject," my father insisted, "but it's definitely something that must be talked about."

"What's there to talk about?" I said, casting unintentional shade on the subject.

"'What's there to talk about?'" he mimicked. "Your getting fired is what we need to talk about."

"There's not much to say, really," I lied, not wanting to have to mention Jack before forced into it. "I got fired."