Is This Love? (On hold)

Showing Love

"No! You can't do that! I really love him and he loves me too." I scream, tears falling down my face.

"Yes, I can do that because I am your father. That boy is detrimental to my reputation... which is... besides the point. He is going to hurt you."

"How can you say that? He hasn't even done anything to me!"

"Shanaya, I will not say it again. I do not want to see you again with that Jackson kid. Do you understand me? If it is brought to my attention that you were involved with him, I will not let you leave the house! AM I CLEAR?"

Reluctantly I say it, the two words that had been branded into me, "Yes, Father."

This is how he shows me he loves me. He doesn't let me do what I want. He hits me, yells at me, treats me like his slave. All he cares about is his image. I love Jackson and nothing can stop me from seeing him.
I think all of this as I saunter off to my bedroom. None of this was going as planned. Jackson had never hurt me. It was just a sick rumor that had been spread by his slutty ex-girlfriend, Rhaina, who still wanted him back after it was clear he hated her.

I walk into the bathroom and stare at my reflection in the mirror. I have light copper skin and really dark brown hair literally to the point where it's black. My nose is slightly upturned and I have large, curious eyes. Everyone says that I have my mother's beauty. I never knew my mother since she passed away when I was an infant, but from the pictures I have seen of her, she was gorgeous. It was hard to imagine that I looked anything like her and that I even shared her blood and genetic makeup. After splashing water on my face to remove the evidence of crying, I put my long locks into a ponytail and retreat into my bedroom.

I need to talk to Simron. I have to get out of this house.

I quickly change into a crop top and leggings with a cardigan on top in case my father was to comment on how "vulgar" the outfit was. I grab my bag and rush downstairs, praying for not too many questions.

"Shanaya?"

"Yes, Father?"

"Where are you going? And what are you wearing?" He was obviously drunk. He would interrogate me with same two questions, regardless if I was going anywhere or not, when he had been drinking.

"I'm going to see Simron. We have to collaborate for a school project," I said in the sweetest, most innocent voice possible.

"Alrighty then, but remember what we talked about earlier; n-no talkin' to that slut," he said slurring every consonant.

"Okay, may I go now?"

"Yes, and my buddies are coming over later so I'll need you to get groceries and cook for us."

"Yes, Father." I hurry out the door before I can make a rash comment through my aggravation. I get in my Buick and search through my phone for Simron's number. I find it and call her.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Can we meet? I don't care what your response is, I'm coming over."

"Alrighty," she says, amused, "See you in a bit."

With that, I toss the phone onto the passenger seat and pull out of my driveway. I had been to Simron's house so many times that I didn't have to think about the directions.

I pull onto her street and turn into the first house on the left. As I am getting out of the car, I freeze. There, standing in front of me, is Jackson.