You, Me, And The Divide

Chapter 7

Katie laid sprawled across my bed with her face half buried in one of my pillows. I sat upright beside her with my covers tucked under me. My beautiful darling laptop sat on top of my thighs as I checked the local news. In the large perspective, nobody cared about millionaires these days. Only billionaires and celebrities made the actual news. In the town of West Springdale, however, millionaires were our gossip hotspots. People tracked Mr. Jackson's every breath. If he coughed, there was a photo, and the caption would read "Cold or Cancer?" beneath it. Of course the millionaire's son was a magnet pulling everyone's attention. Parties, flings, the mother mystery. Mystery solved, but the public eyes won't be hearing about it.

It was Saturday morning, and the week was finally over with. People dropped the rumors about Danny and I going steady when he kept hitting on other girls. The stinging, overwhelming hurt in my chest, over the fact Allen was still ignoring me, was still there. He texted me Thursday telling me he needed space. I told him that I knew about the drugs, but he never replied.

Katie groaned and rolled her head to the other side facing me. She was never a morning person. The fact that she wakes up at five every morning makes her seem like she is, but she really isn't. She sleeps in until almost noon on the weekends to make up for it. She calls it beauty sleep, but she looks more like death when she wakes up. On my end of the spectrum, I wake up early compared to other teens. I'm up by eight, and usually, I just lay with Apollo until I force myself up. Apollo hates when I have company. The spoiled pup usually sleeps in their spot.

I caught sight of movement in Allen's room. His curtains that had been pulled closed all week were shuffled open. He stood in front of the windowsill watching out. I carefully lifted the covers off me, so I didn't wake Katie. She didn't even stir. I left my room carefully, but when I got out to the hallway, I hurried all the way to the front door. Dad was in the kitchen like usual. He peaked his head around the corner while I slid my shoes on. I was in baggy pajama shorts and a tank top, so I didn't look entirely ridiculous. Just slightly. He raised his eyebrows as he sipped his coffee.

"I'm going to get answers," I told him before leaving the house as gently as I could.

I cut across our front yards, and contemplated knocking. If I knocked, he might not let me in. It probably wasn't the most courteous thing to do, but I knelt down and picked up their spare key from under the brick where they hid it. I unlocked the door and replaced it back to its hiding place. The house was welcoming, and the photos that hung on the wall were of people I thought I knew. The Allen that would stay out late roasting marshmallows with me. The Allen that used to go to the movies with me because nobody else wanted to go. The Allen that had a paper route when he was Toby's age to help pay for water balloons in summer. The Allen I grew up with. Now there was this stranger in his place.

He was cold now. There was never a time I wouldn't come to him for help, but there was this blanket of lies lacing back years now. I had no idea what happened to start this. Why did he hide this entire other side of his life?

I climbed the stairs up to his room. It had been a few months since I walked these halls, but I recognized all the corners because even as the people grew the house stayed the same. His room was at the end of the hall. I walked along feeling bad about letting myself in, but it was the only way I was going to get answers. When I reached his door, I knocked that time. He opened it probably expecting his dad. He wore a pair of jeans that hung off his hips. His chest, bare, was toned and tanned. His face was a look of frustration and surprise. I pushed myself into his room before he could kick me out. It was a train wreck. Clothes were tossed everywhere. Empty cans and cups littered his dresser amongst assorted unfinished dinners left alone for days. His sheets were balled up at the foot of the bed, and his fitted sheet was half off the mattress.