It Wasn't Me

Chapter Two

       It took me at least an hour to finally convince my dad that it wasn't me on that tv. At first he just kept trying to change the subject. Almost like it was easier for him to say that it was me on the TV than for him to face what I was pretty sure was the truth, which I found kind of interesting.

Although, once he at least considered the idea of that not being me, he didn't seem at all as puzzled as I thought he would be. He didn't really react much at all now that I think about. Had this happened to him before? His kid or someone he knew snuck out of the house and then came back through the window to find him with this amount of rage. Did this happen with Asher?The thought worried, but also intrigued, me. It soon was trapped behind bars in my mind alongside the pointless things collected from being at school for six hours a day and miscellaneous birthdays.

He took me into his room for the first time since we'd moved here, the air was stale and it reeked of sweat and whiskey. His bed covers were spread out on the floor and his pillow was wedged between his mattress and the used-white wall. He tells me to stay at the doorway as he disappears from my view. I can hear him rustling around in what assume is his closet. He soon returns with a duffle bag in one hand and a piece of paper in the other.

"Listen to me carefully. This paper has a destination you need to get to within about thirty-six hours. Got it? This duffle bag has the main things you'll need." He tosses the duffle bag to me after he stuffs the piece of paper in the side pocket of the bag. He tugs at the zipper a couple times before the pocket zips closed.

"This should get you through at least a couple of nights or so." He turned around and walked back out of view.

"Look, you'll need some stuff along the way that I don't have here, so you'll need some cash." He says from his room. He came back to me and handed me a roll of cash about the size of a baseball.

"Uh," I look down at the wad of cash in my hand then back and him, "Do want to know where this came from?" I said as I arch an eyebrow.

"Oh, quit your worrying. I earned this fairly. Or at least about half of it," he looks back at the roll and squints a little. "I think. Anyway, you gotta have some sorta backup for when ya run out of all your supplies and stuff."

"True." I say as I throw the bag over my shoulder and look up at him.

"Now, I'll drive you out of town in the morning. I'll have to think up some sorta excuse to tell Asher," He brushes his hand against his forehead and moves back his hair from his eyes. "You got an idea of what to tell him?" I have one idea that my dad would sometimes tease Asher with.

When I was younger, around maybe age seven or eight and when Asher was only five, whenever Asher or I got into any sort of trouble, my dad would threaten that he would either burry us out back or send us to military school. It was more of something he did just so Asher would be too scared to get into trouble. Not the best parenting skill my dad has ever come up with, but it sure was effective. For the longest time, when ever Asher would think about doing something stupid around me, I'd just bring up what dad had said and it's like the idea he had just sort of melted away.

He's grown out of that, now that he's realized dad would never actually do that. Which I'm kind of glad about because now he won't start panicking every time he thinks he's done something seriously wrong, even though most of the time the things he does aren't anything Dad would pay much attention to anyway.

Dad tells me to stuff the bag under my bed so it'll be easy to get it in the morning, but so that it's somewhat hidden from Asher. He's got a problem with going through my stuff.

I go into my room and pass Asher sitting at our desk. He was playing this game where he had to shoot off the heads of zombies in order to win. I've played it before, but it's definitely not my favorite game.

I was lucky enough that he had his headphones on. Another advantage was that our bedroom door was on the opposite side of the room from our desk. I was able to walk behind him and stuff the bag under my bed while he yelled, "Die, Zombies, die!"

Just as I stood up, he took off his headphones and spun around. He was obviously caught off guard and wasn't at all expecting to see me because just as he saw me, he fell out of the desk chair and ended up on the floor with a big thud. Being the greatest big brother ever, I laughed while I walked over and sort of pick him up, even though it's more of me pulling and him doing nothing.

"What the heck, Dylan?" He frowns at me. He's trying to keep a straight face, but I can really tell he's struggling to keep from smiling. I noticed, recently especially, that he has a hard time frowning at people unless he's really mad at them to the point where he will not hesitate to attempt to snap your neck. That or he's just thinking about it in his mind. Plus he has the advantage on me, slightly, since he's joined the wrestling team at school recently.

"Hey, that was all you," he rolls his eyes as he gets up.

"Right," he adjusted his shirt and looked up at me. I've got about four inches on him, "So what are you doing in here, anyway?"

I raised an eyebrow, "Well, this is my room."

"Our room," he corrected me.

"Same thing."

"Not really,"

"Whatever."

I hate lying to my brother. Even though he's my brother and all, there are some things that I've learned I should keep secret from him.

Soon Asher and I both agreed that we were tired and needed some sleep later after our conversation. I got into my bed pulled the covers over my half covered legs. I had gotten a pair of jogger type pants from my grandparents for Christmas last year in the mail. They weren't the warmest thing, esecially since the fabric was thin and that they didn't even cover my shins, but they sure were soft against my skin and were kind of comforting. 

I had tried at least a dozen times to drift off to sleep, but nothing worked. I was close at one point during the night, but Asher had gotten up to get a drink of water or something and turned on the brightest light in the house: the bathroom light.

Our bathroom connects to our room, which makes it perfect for late night sessions of getting woken up by a blinding light shining in your face.

He left the door open as he went into the bathroom. I bet he thought I was asleep, and since I'm a pretty heavy sleeper, he hadn't thought to close the door behind him.

I turned on my side to try and block out the light. I'm guessing I finally fell asleep because the next thing I remember from that was dad waking me up and telling me it was time to leave.