Love Me {Sequel To Last Hope}

Chapter Nineteen-Dad

"And it's hard to hate someone once you understand them." - Lucy Christopher, Stolen: A Letter to My Captor

R Y D E R

I don't understand the concept of grounding. It makes no sense to me. Especially now. I wasn't actually sure if my mother or father or knew Bella missing mattered to me. It did though. Instead of thinking it mattered, or that I even knew, my parents went about everything like it was normal. Meaning my father was pissed off me because of the sport thing, so I was grounded. Being grounded meant; no internet, no phone privileges, no choice in what's on the T.V, no leaving the house except for school, I had to do all the dishes by myself instead of I just helping, and the minute the word sport came out of my mouth I was sent away.

Right now, I didn't know exactly what I was meant to be doing. I was lying around with an empty sketch patch on the living room floor, bored. Rory had fallen asleep on an arm chair, and Rian was at the table trying to build a Lego Death Star.

"I'm taking him to bed." My mother whispered. I slightly looked over my shoulder, watching as my mother Picked up Rory, then stepped over me. My father shot me a glance, before turning back to the T.V.

"I got a call." He said cooly. "The school year has been on for what? Two weeks now? And apparently you've joined a football team..." I felt myself turning stiff. "The reason, I got called about it was because the signature on the note well, looked a little child like." He stared at me and I just gulped. "You know what your mother and I think of you doing sport Ryder. So what? You thought forging my signature was a good idea?"

"I'm sorry-"

He scoffed.  "The thing is Ryder, there is nothing you can say anymore that will matter to us. You've officially lost every ounce of trust we had for you, and I was considering letting you do sport. I was this close," be held his fingers together do they were almost touching, "to letting you play don't kind of sport outside of school. Your mother and I we're going to discuss it with you but then we got the call."

"I-"

"Don't even bother."

I just gulped.

***

I was trying to figure out how it was easy to tell. I sat in my room trying to work it out. I had almost perfectly copied that signature. I could draw to save my life, and copying that signature perfectly had been easy. It had looked almost exactly identical to the ones on any other note I had. Why had anybody thought it was fake.

I laid awake for hours, kicking myself about it. I was doomed. Ultimate doomed. I had never experienced a worser moment. This was hell. What eat out of this dos I have? None. I couldn't get out forging my fathers signature. That was crazy. Even I knew I should never do that and I was the one who did it.

This was the end of my life. I was going to become a crippled fat guy because I wasn't allowed extreme psychical activity until the day I finally became an adult. That meant no football. No soccer. No gym. Not even golf, or frisbee, or anything at all. I was going to be bored. And boredom led to food. And food led to more food. And eating food meant bedding psychical activity other than walking and sulking. And if I didn't get any of that, then I was going to get fat. And I didn't want to be fat. The idea made me shake.

I fell to my bed and tried to find a way out of it. There was no way out of it, of course there wasn't. I was doomed. I had been caught forging my fathers signature. My parents are never going to let me do anything again.

"Ryder! Ryder!"

I just pulled a pillow over my head.

"Ryder! RYDER!"